Making a lamp
After a couple nights in a bad hotel in Pune, India, I rented a flat. The main room had four powdery, light green-washed cement walls with a lone, bare, unfrosted light bulb sticking out of one at a strange angle.
Surprisingly, the bulb lit. The room was attacked by daggers of harsh light.
I made a pilgrimage to Mahatma Gandhi Road:
part medieval strip mall, part maze,
all noise and smell and chaos,
with back alleys not unlike my childhood basement.
I found strips of rosewood, handmade paper, twine, some glue, and a cheap gent's saw.
I squeezed into a rickshaw with my treasures and careened back to my new home.
The path of lamp making had stumbled onto me.