" e Y e S "

     Markets at a tourist destination had always interested me. Sometimes its the colors, sometimes the intensity and at some rare times their unbelievable existence. Being born at such a place these art effects had always been present in my human architecture. Colorful rugs to bronze Buddhas, the market had a feel of impermanence as if everything there had a sole in it. One afternoon I was just standing outside my restaurant and exchanging pleasantries with travelers when I saw her for the first time. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a sleek white shirt, with slits. Her hair trimmed to beauty as if giving strength to the rest of her person. And I think I imagined the half smile glowing on her beautiful face. At first I thought she was a writer or a journalist, traveling her way into freedom and exploring the world she wrote about. I wondered what she wrote about?  In the evening while working on a desert in the kitchen, it struck me how beautiful she was and I thought I should ask her over for a cup of coffee next time I saw her. I think my thoughts floated into the Desert as I heard a shout at the table. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  It was a regular evening at the restaurant and after closing for the day we made some starry pictures. The strength of her sight was still with me and I was thinking to myself if I had a crush. What had taken me over were the sobriety of her presence and the silent and docile attempt of a smile that was trying in vain to hide the explorer within. Or so it looked to me that afternoon. I didn’t see her for the next few days and had almost forgotten the instance, when out to have coffee with a friend I saw her at the coffee house. And in the short glance I could steal, I realized. I was right she is beautiful!

Two things surprised me that day, I was a romantic and she was speaking my native language.

I didn’t see her again for some days and thought she had moved on. The streets were getting deserted as winters were coming in. The bronze Buddha’s were being packed into wooden boxes and were being taken to be displayed somewhere else. On some other street somewhere like mine, where there’s a sole in things.

Love and grace,

eMONK