Medjool via Hindi Rope Trick (Tendril Fetish Still Being Explored)

January 4, 2010

Storefront; but it's where your mind goes.

Local Storefront; but it’s where your mind goes.

He was a date, or a fig; all deep brown skin wrinkled yet shining like the skins of those divine fruits that’d been sitting seductively in the earthenware bowl at the center of the plain wooden table. I noticed movement outside the window. Randhi laughed: The teeth still residing in his head (the fronts and one canine were missing–I never thought to ask him where or when they’d left his mouth) shone in the fuzzy Bombay afternoon like freshly whitewashed fence planks. He walked over to the window, sat on the sill and looked up as I pinpointed the movement–it was a dried-out vine that slithered up the side of the temple like one of the cobras that the charmers in the marketplace below lulled to submission with movement and the whisperings of a Hindi flute.

 
“This serpent,” Randhi said, “will not bite. But you’re welcome to follow its brown scales to the top of this temple. You can see the whole of the Untouchables’ district from here. And from there, the view inside yourself is most pleasing.”
 
He stood up from the sill, and gestured at the window. It was an incongruous movement, florid and almost show-business-y coming from this turbaned and sari-clad Indian. But the leaves looked sturdy and ready to carry me to someplace wonderful if I just clambered out to them.Unabated, this climb to Unseen
 
I stepped through the window, my right hand hooking into the mass of leaf, stem, tendril, and root. And as I began climbing, I glanced back into the chamber.

Randhi’s resonant laughter filled the room, despite the fact that the shiny and wrinkled Medjoul Date of a man had disappeared.

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