Sunday, July 03, 2005
the seat on the bed is the same as it has always been. it's been about eight years. after tomorrow i wonder when i will sit on this bed again, thump the bathroom door open again, sprawl on the floor and drink juice from oversized plastic glases. change is good, i like adventures, but there are so many things these walls enclose!flowers- lots and lots of flowers. it looks like a factory back there, a team of men putting together a set for this great lovely act in the play of our lives. tiny died, we only just noticed. sad :(
yards and yards of pink and orange silk; there is a surprise underskirt of green-brown tissue. she twirls around girlishly, and we all are princessess with her. she is tall and slender; a tree of youth and prettiness a little tired around the eyes.
green chooridar pyjama. silk slides on easily. it's hot outside. the make-up woman draws eyeliner on me with eye shadow, i am fascinated by it. meesha and i have matching toes.
the dupatta is as long as mall road. all eight boys and girls look so GOOD! ayesha's smiling. dancing, dupatta keeps getting in the way, ali is jumping about like a small grasshopper. saman's hair is a cloud by now. small little cousin is adorable in her little lehnga and teeka; she looks like a cherub. i ask her if she's bored, she shakes her head, peeking up at me with curious, amused eyed. i teach her the feety step and we dance about a while before tamkeen takes her home.
everyone sprawls gratefully on the sofas in the air-conditioned drawing room. i am cosy. friends, i think, are quite wonderful to have. my feet are dirty from throwing my khussay in a corner and walking all over the place barefoot.
crammed in the backest backseat, us five have a conversation that flits from topic to topic like an indecisive bee. everyone is mellowed, like deep yellow, from all the dancing and mixture of adventure and comfortableness of knowing each other well enough to not have to think before speaking.
sadia's t-shirt is basic blue. taties are not that good to eat. the oven mittens have a funny pattern on them. we drink guava squash and try to grasp that step one is complete. my pillow slopes, squished rooui; we whisper and giggle. tania is sleeping with the keys clutched in her hand.
lots of clothes. i like the white saris best. hot chocolate in a lime green mug. capri is crowded, we get achaar too. the family seated behind our table is sweet; the father feeds a skinny, restlesss little boy niwalay of halwa and poori at intervals. his glasses remind me of ali bigbrother and for an instant i rearrange the faces and smile to myself at the result. it looks good.
everyone's bones are languid with tiredness, smudged remnants of tenacious kajal soften eyes. ayesha drives fast. i am scrunched low in my seat. the world is doused brighter green. it feels like oregon. the sky is washed pale blue, the way skies look after a lot of rain: exhausted, breathing deeply, satisfied for a while. a little like us.
Mina at 5:04 PM
