Indian Free Flow

I've been searching for words, eloquent enough, big enough, thin enough...words to start to describe India. Better writers have done it. There's plenty written...about the movement, colors, people, the air and smells. My attempt is a free flow written while watching India from backseat of at car, a pretty cushy place to be. For some, two woven walls and a thatch roof makes a home. Tarp tents with laundry on the line outside...vertical sticks to support the structure. So much dirt, pavement with holes and cracks. Women bent over sweeping, every day taking care of their small piece of earth with handmade brooms. Bathing in the river, water green and still. Hands scrubbing laundry, beating the cloth against rocks. The road a constant tide of people moving from one place to another...on foot with sandals or bare, bikes, motorcycles, auto rickshaws, buses...small spaces packed with people. A dozen school boys all together in a small rickshaw, backpacks tied up outside the doors. Dust covering everything as if it's all old. Garbage piled up, cows grazing grass and goats eating garbage. Dogs trotting around with puppies, darting across the street. More cows crossing four lanes of traffic. Fields of rice, flooded. Banana trees, men pushing bikes heavy with green bananas, women carry loads balanced upon their heads. Colorful roadside temples enclosed in barbed wire...deities decorated with fresh flowers. Ganesh, Shiva, sandalwood, cement. Little girls dressed up in yellow frills with jasmine tied up in braids. School boys in matching plaid, walking hand in hand through traffic. A few dozen motorcycles weaving through traffic with women wearing brilliant colors perched gracefully sideways on the back, both legs on one side, holding a duffel bag, or a baby, or a scarf over her face. Turquoise, yellow, florals, peacocks, sequins, silk...so much color. Piles of dirt, piles of rock...men chopping wood, women forming cow dung into perfect patties to stack for fuel. Men stand off the roadside, urinating in the ditch. An old woman, dressed in long green fabric holds a rope tied to a few cows. Life is constant here--horns honking, constant motion. People making a living, surviving, worshipping, talking, giving birth, getting lost, everything all at once. Impossible to digest. To witness it is an experience that takes on its own life. My eyes can only digest a small fraction of what happens every second out the car window. I blink and there's something new I've never seen before. Never even imagined. Making bricks, selling tires, butchering chickens, stacking eggs, serving tea...it all carries on and on and on. Always this way....