Vivanta by Taj,
they call themselves,
and add Begumpet,
so there's no mistake.
I cannot find vivanta
in my English dictionary,
so I am looking to find it
in the hotel lobby.
Early on, I looked for it also
in my long, narrow "Superior Room"
(to which as far as I can tell,
there's here no room inferior)
which looks down into
the street and by it the leafy campus of
something called Eagle Court.
I might have seen it and missed it,
in the manga-type pictures
in the hotel restaurant on the ground floor,
pictures in dark colors that suggest future action,
space-age motion in a
restaurant which is bare but has sleek lines
and neat trims—
and also in this pool of red chairs
in the white space in the lobby.
For some reason this hotel suggests also
of Scandinavian cities.
I'm watching real hard now,
looking for vivanta in the
face of the North Eastern woman in the
beige suit, and her colleague the Hyderabadi
woman in the orange sari,
but the women are not seeing action this Sunday
afternoon, like the men
at the travel desk who have been a lot
on the phone in the time I've been here,
and no one has gone to them
and asked to be taken anywhere.
I understand I might not see
what I guess is vivanta
this Sunday afternoon, but I hope I find it
by Monday before I leave,
but I must keep looking,
as I'm doing now,
shifting to stare at orange flowers flanked by
long green leaves with yellow spines
on this round table before me.
I'm looking at their taut petals and
their stiff filaments peaked with
rich brown anthers.
I fear that vivanta's eyes
might arch at me
just as I turn my back to it.