Friday, 21 February 2014

Driving by auto rickshaw to The Kashi Art Cafe ...








I leaned out of the auto rickshaw as we rattled up Burgher Street - my linen shirt was scented with spices and dust - I'd seen boys play cricket on the old Parade Ground - girls in dazzling saris were singing hymns in Saint Francis' Church - noble trees overlooked secret gardens behind white walls - the ghosts of Dutch tea brokers flocked around the ice cream cart -

Stray dogs slept in the shade - they had yellow eyes and thin muzzles - at night they would run through Jew Town, under shuttered windows, past story haunted merchants' houses - 

We were making our way to the Kashi Art Cafe - after our treatments, we had a craving for cappuccinos - Jane and Ken sat next to me - Sophie, Anne and Paul rode in the auto rickshaw in front of us -

We spoke joyously of ginger lemonade and icy Kingfisher beers - the auto rickshaw bounced over the rough road surface - I had lost 4 kilos - I stared at the driver's narrow brown neck -

Outside the cafe, I remembered the tiny cups of black tea we had drunk at Dr Bagi's - already, that part of my life was in the past -

I thought of the ending of the The Great Gatsby - my dad would quote those words -

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past" - 

As I stood there, in the hot vivid street, I felt a sweet anguish pierce my heart -









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