Indian Children Never Cry: A poemey prosey experience of sorts

Indian children never cry
Her left eye was somewhere else,
the little girl who tapped me for a mile along Juhu Beach.
Her skirt too big, too long, torn, no shirt on...
I sat alone to write as the Red Sun sank down the back of Mumbai
Alittle boy black as a belt called out "Hello, Heya!", his big teeth glimmering like crystal inside a rock's mouth
I couldn't help smile and laugh at his easy way
An invitation
He sent a little pig-tailed girl with teeth just the same to kneel in front of me
She raised her fingers to her mouth, wants money for food.
I said "No", smiled, watched the sun, a sat sleeping beast, red and round above the Arabian sea
The boy joined the pig-tailed girl and we shared smiles, he never once asked for money
Then another, littler boy
The three in a row at my toes
My first Indian friends
I swiped my arm scross the sand between us to make a smooth surface
They watched me patient, curious
First I drew the pig-tailed girl and pointed to her
They understood and laughed and laughed, falling onto one another, letting their bodies flop forward-back, side to side
The little girl with the lazy left eye joined in...and another
All their eyes on me...they wanted more
I longed to touch their faces, to hold the boy with the white teeth in my arms, throw him like a monkey on my back
I wondered if they were not the most lovable children I'd ever met, here, small beggers in Mumbai
I drew all of them, and I drew turtles and waves and the dog asleep on the chipped wall behind us...they burst into laughter with each recognition
A crowd slowly formed around me...1/2 a dozen teenage boys, a lady selling henna stamps, a chatty tour guide- he'd been to New Jersey:>, a few families, even a dog came to check the commotion, and the children laughed and laughed....
I finally convinced them to draw aswell, kept pointing to them and the smooth sand, so they swiped each their own spot and drew me.
He never asked for money..the little boy with the white teeth
I wanted to take their photograph, but didn't feel right.
People kept gathering..too many.
I got up, bewildered, followed the tour guide to the jewelry shop his boss owned. The shop turned out to be a room in his house of sheet metal and a desk where he emptied 8 boxes of silver, gold, rubies, lemon topaz, tiger's eye, Jade from China....and I am left alone as Tony the tour guide ducked out to grab his hash.
I bought a toe ring and smoked Kashmire with the tour guide who rode with me 2 hrs in the melodic blazing horns and yells of the music that is Mumbai...I learned to dance with it a bit on that ride back to my hostel in Chembur.
Those children marked me
stayed in front of my eyes like the red sun, the sun you know will fall but if you watch it, keep your eyes set, it seems it isn't moving at all, this beautiful gift will stay there forever
Look away just a moment though, someone calls your name, a tour guide asks you a question, and there is just a pink trail in the sky.
Where do the children go?
There laughter, laughter, pink trails of sweet laughter...
Indian children never cry

post script: Out of Mumbai! Thank you Shiva! The train was 9 hours, a comfy little bunk bed with 4 others all wonderful people, travelers, finally I feel ok, open, safe... I arrived in a tiny beach town in North Goa yesterday called Mandrem. It was late and I could not find a place so a kind lady who does massage showed me an empty rooftop overlooking the water above a restaurant. I slept there and under the stars. Today I found a beach shack in the sand beside the water with a toilet and hot water! 500 IRS (about 11 dollars) per night. I will stay here for two weeks, write, read, swim, gutiar, explore, yoga and eat (mmmm). I went back to the rooftop tonight and did my yoga routine to the setting sun on the Arabian Sea...