Sunday, February 25, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
"
Namaste TJW!
Kites darting and fleeting, jousting restless in the sunset skies above the dome and spire rooftops of an ancient Mughal kingdom, this is the beauty that steals my time in Lucknow. "
On Jarard's motorbike, we speed underneath ancient goldfish inscripted gates. This is the old Lucknow, with its breathtaking architecture. I had no idea. By feeling, I suspect we are moving into a more different area of lucknow. There are many completely covered women. Longer lingering stares from the pedestrians. Currently I have been anticipatign whiplash with my hands near Jarard's waist. I start to feel self-conscious about touch. And look around for appropriate ways to hold and seat myself. I have difficulty finding examples of woman travelling with a man on motorbike. I adjust my hand to brace his back upon abrupt stops.
We speed down lanes nearly missing a Muslim Shiite woman buying milk, her eyes peering from curtain of black that conceals her body.
Above another Muslim woman shakes out sheets of fabric that rolls down the side of building, laundry out to dry. I gasp when my eyes extend beyond her, there are so many patangs in the skies. I call Jarard's attn to it, "Look!" "I know he says. And thought the better of it, we are moving so fast through narrow alley. Having trusted my day's program to Jarard, I do not question where we are going, just hoping that is closer to scene of these patang. Blur of Hindi, directions feedback, on off motorbike, doors open close, backagain, uturns,... we are on the rooftop of Jarard's uncle. He shows me his pigeons, a hobby. The men chat. I am happy to watch the dance of the patang. Silohuettes of kiteflyers from distant rooftops, their heads bent to the sky. The sun is setting. Jarard calls out my name. Behind me, his "uncle" son has taken my jerky and set a purple patang up. "They are flying it for you!." Jarard tells me. I am all smiles watching patang lift higher and higher joining the pagentry above. The son hands me the line, and I let the line run between my fingers and thumb as I was shown earlier. It's not long, before the line goes slack between my forefingers. It plummets and catches between two powerline. I am concern, (Louie the Lightning Bug, "No playing kites around powerlines" jingle through my head). They tell me not to worry, the lines here are not naked.
The son, with expert maneuver, skillfully sets the dangling kite in flight, and flicks it from beneath and out from between the lines several hundred meters away. Amazing!
Namaste TJW!
Kites darting and fleeting, jousting restless in the sunset skies above the dome and spire rooftops of an ancient Mughal kingdom, this is the beauty that steals my time in Lucknow. "
On Jarard's motorbike, we speed underneath ancient goldfish inscripted gates. This is the old Lucknow, with its breathtaking architecture. I had no idea. By feeling, I suspect we are moving into a more different area of lucknow. There are many completely covered women. Longer lingering stares from the pedestrians. Currently I have been anticipatign whiplash with my hands near Jarard's waist. I start to feel self-conscious about touch. And look around for appropriate ways to hold and seat myself. I have difficulty finding examples of woman travelling with a man on motorbike. I adjust my hand to brace his back upon abrupt stops.
We speed down lanes nearly missing a Muslim Shiite woman buying milk, her eyes peering from curtain of black that conceals her body.
Above another Muslim woman shakes out sheets of fabric that rolls down the side of building, laundry out to dry. I gasp when my eyes extend beyond her, there are so many patangs in the skies. I call Jarard's attn to it, "Look!" "I know he says. And thought the better of it, we are moving so fast through narrow alley. Having trusted my day's program to Jarard, I do not question where we are going, just hoping that is closer to scene of these patang. Blur of Hindi, directions feedback, on off motorbike, doors open close, backagain, uturns,... we are on the rooftop of Jarard's uncle. He shows me his pigeons, a hobby. The men chat. I am happy to watch the dance of the patang. Silohuettes of kiteflyers from distant rooftops, their heads bent to the sky. The sun is setting. Jarard calls out my name. Behind me, his "uncle" son has taken my jerky and set a purple patang up. "They are flying it for you!." Jarard tells me. I am all smiles watching patang lift higher and higher joining the pagentry above. The son hands me the line, and I let the line run between my fingers and thumb as I was shown earlier. It's not long, before the line goes slack between my forefingers. It plummets and catches between two powerline. I am concern, (Louie the Lightning Bug, "No playing kites around powerlines" jingle through my head). They tell me not to worry, the lines here are not naked.
The son, with expert maneuver, skillfully sets the dangling kite in flight, and flicks it from beneath and out from between the lines several hundred meters away. Amazing!
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