We went out for vanilla scoops- 2/each, then met 3 Kashmiri ex- Techies selling Samovar tea…(its a brew of cinnamon flags, saffron shreds stewed over coal & Kehwa steam), 7pm
The dark lashed Kashmiri sons & I trade shares of different lives.
He has had a bullet wound in his arm. 6ish feet tall, smiling gentle. Life will be Life, he says in the gaudy silent sun. Somewhere a local UTuber murmurs a Psalm for Relief. Somewhere a child is born, somewhere another will bury. Some days we are Hymns raining in 40° sunwaves
Some days we are like gingerlime in glasses, other days We melt like wax in holders, held in Palms, still held. I’m speechless but smile back at the Tea Guys.
Two weeks later we met again. This time I have fewer words, the Tea is warmer. One of them with grey Tee, he shares recipe. Says their Ma lives back home & we could visit please, he insists.
Sure, I reply, and return a proper Indian response. And some more. I tell him how much God loves him, yes my Christ. He is not totally surprised. I want to tell him more, but the street is busy. I will return ;
back home it feels safe
while another evening swelters, its asking rain.
Leave a comment