indescribable grey...

There was a woman in Mumbai with eyes that were an indescribable grey, and every time I found myself trapped in her gentle gaze I felt as if I was swimming through a rain cloud... for they had a hint of sadness in them.  Her smile was subtle and tender and... quite reluctant... for she only smiled at me to be polite... but for two weeks we carried on such an unspoken affair at a small tea-house down the road from the Celestial Elephant Paper Company.  Every after-noon I would arrive for my tea (or a Coffee, some days) and read the English paper... or a magazine... or just day dream of the beauty of the colors of India...

I never knew her name and I never bothered to make conversation with her - though I could have found many things to speak of with her - I do recall that one of the girls, a designer at Celestial Elephant, may have mentioned this beauty, and that they were acquainted, and this woman, with eyes of the sea covered in winter, may have also been a designer...

Every after noon I would arrive before her... place my order and sit at the same table - against the wall to the right of the entrance, facing the window... she would walk in... always as I was ready to sit and place her order and sit at the same table... in front of the window to the right of the entrance and sat facing me... she always carried what looked like a sketch book - though I never saw her draw in it and she carried an agenda - like a Filofax - she would stir her tea slowly... with long thin fingers that blossomed into nails of porcelain... painted and manicured by ancient, mystical creatures from the deep gardens of Agartha... I imagine the swirls she made in her cup of tea opening portals to other worlds and wondered what I must do to get there... she would often loose herself in that trance of stirring her tea and would look up startled when she would wake from her self induce hypnosis... to find my gaze upon her... I would give her a half a smile in approval of her eccentric behavior and she would force herself to smile... that unapologetic... yet, socially acceptable... fake... courtesy smile... which only made my smile bigger and friendlier... quite pleased with myself at inducing what might turn out to be disdain for me from this woman...

And so it was...

For two weeks in Mumbai we carried on this way... it was on the fourth day that I actually found myself anticipating her and placing bets with myself on what she would be wearing and how she would fix her hair... would it be covered under a scarf... would it be tied back... would it be loose and free... would she take pity on this miserable poets soul and allow me a whiff of her dark silky strands... I would dream, some nights, of those mysterious swirls in her tea cup... and the white squall raging in the seas of her eyes... and by the end of the sixth day I found I was writing little poems for her... four or six little lines professing my love for her... and only her... I pledged on my knees... in one poem... to be her champion as she knighted me with her pencil... and swore to never love another... I wrote her poems and promises and reminders to meet me here tomorrow... which I ended up polluting the city with...

Did she know... the desire she inspired in me... the curse of her beauty... did she know... the insanity she was forcing down upon me... did she know?

The day before I left Mumbai  - on this trip - I did not visit the tea-house.  I stopped before I entered and decided to wait for her across the street - there is a small shop there were I hid behind some racks behind the window and stood in silence like a tiger waiting for it’s prey to foolishly stumble into my lair... she walked into my trap... with anticipation... and stopped at the entrance... fidgeting with her blouse and lowered her scarf from her hair - it was tied back today... she wore lipstick the color of blood... dripping from a matador’s sword... and I thought I saw her let out a sigh... she entered as she always did... ignoring the world around her... dismissing the lowly peasants that hold up the kingdom she rules over... haughty little princes... but she stopped at her table and stared out the window... could she see me?

Her face became confused... and her confusion turned somber, and what was the beginning of a smile turned to disappointment as she slowly turned her head to face my empty table... she forced her self to sit and gazed deep into her tea cup...

She sat there for a few minutes pretending to look over her schedule and flipping through the pages of her portfolio... something she never did in all these fourteen days... until now... she re-arranged the objects on her table... and moved them back into place again... she looked around for a ghost that was not there... shifting her head to the sound of a voice she never even heard before... she began to tremble like a squirrel on a delicate branch swaying in the breeze... she looked out the window and back at the entrance... she looked up to the counter but her ghost was nowhere to be found... nowhere...

I watched her come to terms with her solitude and she reluctantly picked up her spoon and lost herself in the swirls in her tea cup...


Farewell, my darling...

I walked out of the shop and headed up the road to the studio...

And I have never been back to that particular tea-house... again...