The Smuggling Experience


The checks, scans,
immigration and thumb
impressions, the wait and walk
at the airports turn me
insane.

The luggage is examined
in three centres. Queuing, I
endure the formalities with
disenchanted cheer.

My laptop is skimmed
naked, as if it is dreadfully ill.
Documents, mails, and photos
remain no longer private.

The objective test completed
I become the subject. A lady officer
passes the wand along my sides.
to a squeaky noise.

The second examination
is performed. This time
the beep shouts loud. She
becomes panicky.

She talks to herself.
What could this woman have? Mostly
narcotics hidden or gold masqueraded
between her sari folds.

She cries out to her senior.
Enter a burly woman with thick
who gives a strong push,
I stagger to the corner.

Holds me in her hefty
arms. She looks into my eyes,
trying to discover the ploy
thinks I am a smuggler.

She bids me to remove
the bangles, and chain.
She thinks of the reward
she would be entitled to

The tool circulates
with a spin. This time falls
quiet. Takes a step back,
smiles awkward, whisks away.

I am free to go.Condescend
a benign smile, Wish to say
better luck next time
refrain with an effort.

The aircraft is ready to board.
Go through the jet bridge.
after wearing the bangles
and chain. They being real gold
>

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