After Anne and Sophie had examined the fabrics in Trinity Textiles, we called in the bakery for chai - there was a gents beauty parlour just along the pavement, offering a range of treatments - nearby was a workshop where motor bikes were serviced - oil glistened on the fingers of the mechanics as they delved into the innards of Royal Enfield Bullets - I remembered passing this sleepy arcade when we were trying to find Mayas Beach House, pale westerners riding in the Toyota -
Sitting in the bakery, we wondered what was meant by wedding makeup for men - we sipped chai from small cups - the chai was very sweet and milky, dispensed by a curious machine -
The interior of the bakery was pristine - you took off your shoes or sandals, to enter barefoot - we ate powdery biscuits, looked out at the sun bleached dazzling street - a plump man, wearing just a dhoti, with a thin towel draped over his shoulder, bought some sticky looking confectionery -
Outside, there was no activity - the mechanics had disappeared - no auto rickshaw drivers were waiting for custom at the cross roads - the fan above our heads was still -
For a moment, it was as though time had congealed, that we had been there for years, sipping our sugary chai, clinging onto our names -
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