Alien Landscape

crimson on white

an old indian lady collapsed on the fringes of a giant, humid bazaar tent. the few people gathered around her had damp and orange faces like tired lamps.

their shocked eyes quietly molested the fallen woman. several people fanned her with unrolled bundles of newspaper. there were excited murmurs and wide eyes. there she was, sprawled on the dirty wooden floor, stained with discarded food of greedy children.

her sari was bright green and gold. her face was a beautiful dark dusky brown and her hair was like cobweb. she was the only thing of a colour other than orange in that bazaar tent. a tissue paper laid quiet near her right hand. vividly white and crimson. blood was pulsing out of her nose.

nobody seemed to have called an ambulance. it just seemed like there was no need to somehow.

it was because this old bird who caved in an oven-hot bazaar tent was smiling radiantly. her white teeth complimented the deep brown of her skin and the bright green of her sari. she laid there smiling at the people around her as they puzzled over what to do next. she seemed anything but hurt.

i smiled at how this old woman managed to gather around her a crowd of selfish shoppers, turned from their routine path. there she was, the eye of the storm, serene and careless. the trigger of dormant kind hearts.

beautiful, i thought and walked away. that smile. she's probably dying and she couldn't care less. well. the world can take care of itself. i am no hero. she will be fine.

she is in good hands.
Posted by NHJ 8/26/2006 06:37:00 pm

Saturday, August 26, 2006