Long before Atticus
and Scout, Boo
and the south,
it was Gregory Peck
who introduced me
to horror. While the city
cooled its hiss and spite
on the backs of vegetable
vendors, we'd spend
our summers in Delhi
sweating out the days
in front of the color t.v.,
watching horror movies—
our only antidote for
the flash and hustle
of Hindi musicals.
We were the first
in the neighborhood
to see the real color
of fear—the red stab
of blood sliced across
the screen, the monster's
hue come to life in true
green. It proved how far
my grandfather had come
from his boyhood
of maharajahs
and the British,
far from the world
of black-and-white,
world wrung free
of color. We'd do
anything for a shiver
on those hot days—
shadows that bent corners
into mystery, endings
that left us thirsty
for something
that wasn't sweet.
Vandana Khanna's work has appeared in Indiana Review, Hayden's
Ferry Review, and Crazyhorse among others. Her first
collection of poetry won the Crab Orchard Review First Book Prize
and was published by Southern Illinois University Press in the fall of
2001.