Literary Safari

Ever noticed that manhole covers in NYC streets have a “Made in India” stamp? Well, they do. This week, the NYT featured a fascinating article and slideshow (From Ladles of Molten Metal) about the work conditions of foundry workers in India, the very men who make the manhole covers. See “New York Man Hole Covers, Forged Barefoot in India.”

There was a fervent discussion about both over at Sepia Mutiny a few days ago, and it prompted me to remember this lovely poem by Purvi Shah from her book Terrain Tracks (New Rivers Press), a collection that won the 2005 Many Voices Project prize from New Rivers Press, and is a finalist for the 2007 Asian American Writers Workshop Members’ Choice Awards.

Made in India, Immigrant Song #3

(a note from a New York City streetwalker)

Some worker in the sweat

of Madras, some former weaver

from Kashmir, some hand in Ahmadabad’s dust,

has been pounding iron again.

 

The New York streets swell with feet;

multihued tracks glide over the flat steel

disks which offer entry into the city’s interior

lairs. The writing seeps through our soles

though few fathom the signature, “Made

in India .” These alien

 

metal coins, transported

like my birth, mask

a labyrinth of tunnels

in a city where origin

and destination are confused.

Sometimes I wear the stamp

on myself; sometimes I feel

the wear of a surrounding world erase

the fine etchings. Here the imprint

 

of India is a traveler’s

mutation: the body’s chamber is made

hole, the skin not smooth, circular,

but cloaking a bumpy network

of channels, spirit mobile, expanding.

Copyright © Purvi Shah. Used by permission of the poet. Read more poetry by Purvi Shah here.

These manholes have been a source of much fascination to me for a while. Last year, they inspired a short story I wrote for Kahani magazine, “Made in India.” It began:

On the streets of New York City, there are many cast iron manhole covers that say “MADE IN INDIA.” Whenever I see one, I stand on its giant letters and pretend that I am Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. I click my heels together and whisper to myself, “There’s no place like India, the home where I was born.” Then I shut my eyes and imagine what would happen if the manhole cover flew off and sucked me in. Would I shoot through the darkness and land in India? Thud! What would I see? [read the full story]

The manhole covers have inspired more than poetry and short stories. In this article from Little India, we learn about artists including Michele Brody who created a line of lighting that transforms the into Mandalas and more!

And, that’s my roundabout poetry celebration of the day. For a full Poetry Friday roundup and a lovely Billy Collins poem, make sure you visit Two Writing Teachers. Have a great weekend. I’ll be back next week!