Harpooning the angel was easy

tugging him down to the dhow,

mending him, to nail him to the mast,

was hard

Unfolding his wings to steer

against the crosswinds through the Arabian Sea

through Ratnataka was

sheer joy

So we sailed

Past floating mines

Past the coastline with its oil rigs on fire

We saw what effendi Rimbaud saw: azure swells, cruel

moons, harrowing dawns,

unforgiving suns, where, flotsam-pale, ravished, drowned

and pensive men float by

Gibreel, Gibreel, we shouted, stick to the saffron side of sea

The Green is dangerous

We saw the ships draped in cotton and raw silk

The arrogance of Tata banners and flags

Their Filippino crewmen tossing watermelon rinds

To hungry sharks

and the red eddies, marking the graves of slave ships.

and we corked by

the last game-fish

wrapped in pashmina shawls

followed by fishermen with bait, with hook and sinker

and sticks of dynamite

Ahoy Land!

Gibreel, Gibreel stick to the saffron side of sea

The mist lifting its skirt

To an indifferent grey

Where are the Himalayas? Where is Cochin?

The captain brought out the maps, the compass,

The GPS, soggy Jules Verne's pages,

Soggier biscuits

Ahoy, Mumbai!

Brought down the mast

Folded the wings

Loaded the cameras, the Sim Cards

Easing the boat

Ahoy Gandhiland's shopping malls

Behind the Gun Boats

Behind the Gateway

The Taj on fire!