A poem on the matyrs of the cause of progress.

In Autumn 1981, I met quite a few people that either were Asian Indians or had strong ties to India. One was my roommate, the great Indian author Pinki Virani (’Bitter Chocolate’). I also photographed some Indian protestors, and interviewed the great British journalist James Cameron, who was married to an Indian woman. In the end, I should have written a story about Indians near the close of my semester in London, but didn’t, and more’s the pity for that.