what_the_fcuk
Bluelighter
Mango Lassi
The afternoon draws slowly as I sit sipping by mango lassi on an old wooden weather beaten bench seat on Sudder St, Kolcutta. Although the sun shines brightly and the warmth is felt all around, the rays struggle to penetrate through the perpetual haze. Locals go about their daily business, business men carrying satchels containg important files...or their lunch, wives with children in tow hurrying to the markets, school or somewhere else they need to be. Rickshaw drivers and old yellow motor cabs all parked in a semi organised line all smoking cigarettes or bedis touting all that go by.
I sit on my old park bench, surrounded by sounds, Bengali idle chatter, the chorus of motor vehicle horns, myriads of smells, tiki rolls cooking a little down the road, the whir of the blender as another lassi is prepared.
I sit sipping my lassi and spy three little girls, all covered in grime, their dresses once printed with summery themes now all in tatters and covered in grime. Their shoulder length hair all matted, almost dread locked, they all look the same, aged a few years apart, sisters I conclude, the three mouseketeers I think to myself. They skip down the cobbled footpath side by side, all pearly white smiles and heading my way.
Another sip of my mango lassi and the three are upon me. The elder one, maybe aged 7, beaming her pearly whites, a grin ear to ear, "Baksheesh" mister, "Baksheesh". Then a chorus of three "Baksheesh" "Baksheesh".
Three little voices, three little bodies surrounding me, blocking my view.
I say "No Baksheesh; you give me baksheesh", thrusting out my hand waiting for some money. Three little faces all shocked at the turn around, then three beaming smiles, a tourist that's not an easy push around.
The littlest one motions with her grubby little hand, a feeding motion. I ask the three "are you all hungry?" "Yes, yes" the reply, in stereo sound.
The elder points to a fruit cart across the road and before I know it I'm dragged by three sets of hands to where he stands.
I buy six bananas and a large bunch of grapes and pass them out to the three mousekatters. I pay the fruit seller and the girls are all chatter, facing each other dividing up their spoils.
I leave them and head back to my seat to finish my lassi.
I sit back down and watch them across the road, still dividing their spoils, laughing and chatting like only family can do.
The three turn around and trot back towards me, dodging the traffic, ignoring the car horns. The three all perch next to me, two younger ones to the left, the older to my right, on the old wooden bench that creaks a little sigh under the added weight. "For you mister", the older one says, as she offers some of the peeled banana towards my face. "I'm not hungry", I say as I motion for her to eat. She insists, thrusting the fruit toward me again. Then the other two, who haven't yet had a bite, follow suit and ask me to eat. I say to the three " I bought the fruit for you, not for me", "please eat", as I sip the last of my lassi. The elder one, to my right, beaming from ear to ear, "We will not eat until you have a share" I look deep in her doe like eyes and realise she is serious, hungry or not, they will not eat until I share.
I take the banana from her stained little hand and take the smallest of bites; two more bananas are thrust from my left. A nibble from each, then a hand full of grapes. Three gorgeous beaming smiles, the three all then stand. The elder one then says, "We have nothing, but we give you half", and before the tear rolls down my cheek, three little mousekatters are off, skipping down the street, "Thank you mister" "Thank you mister" trailing off, mixed in with the sounds of Kolcutta.
I sit on the old bench seat, an empty lassie in my hand, processing the profound experience I have just had. I feel a stare coming from within the shop, the lassi guy, who was watching the show unfold says in between blending "Welcome to Kolcutta". I smile not a smile of smug, but a smile of amazement, of the humbling experience I have just had. I have learnt more here in a day than a lifetime in the west. I thank my little mouseketeers and I thank you India, you are forever in my heart and I can't wait to return. I see my three mouseketeers, every single night, when I shut my eyes, you are forever with me and I hope you are well. I pray I be privileged to meet you again when I return to your beautiful country, there's no other place like she.
DarrenG(copyright)
The afternoon draws slowly as I sit sipping by mango lassi on an old wooden weather beaten bench seat on Sudder St, Kolcutta. Although the sun shines brightly and the warmth is felt all around, the rays struggle to penetrate through the perpetual haze. Locals go about their daily business, business men carrying satchels containg important files...or their lunch, wives with children in tow hurrying to the markets, school or somewhere else they need to be. Rickshaw drivers and old yellow motor cabs all parked in a semi organised line all smoking cigarettes or bedis touting all that go by.
I sit on my old park bench, surrounded by sounds, Bengali idle chatter, the chorus of motor vehicle horns, myriads of smells, tiki rolls cooking a little down the road, the whir of the blender as another lassi is prepared.
I sit sipping my lassi and spy three little girls, all covered in grime, their dresses once printed with summery themes now all in tatters and covered in grime. Their shoulder length hair all matted, almost dread locked, they all look the same, aged a few years apart, sisters I conclude, the three mouseketeers I think to myself. They skip down the cobbled footpath side by side, all pearly white smiles and heading my way.
Another sip of my mango lassi and the three are upon me. The elder one, maybe aged 7, beaming her pearly whites, a grin ear to ear, "Baksheesh" mister, "Baksheesh". Then a chorus of three "Baksheesh" "Baksheesh".
Three little voices, three little bodies surrounding me, blocking my view.
I say "No Baksheesh; you give me baksheesh", thrusting out my hand waiting for some money. Three little faces all shocked at the turn around, then three beaming smiles, a tourist that's not an easy push around.
The littlest one motions with her grubby little hand, a feeding motion. I ask the three "are you all hungry?" "Yes, yes" the reply, in stereo sound.
The elder points to a fruit cart across the road and before I know it I'm dragged by three sets of hands to where he stands.
I buy six bananas and a large bunch of grapes and pass them out to the three mousekatters. I pay the fruit seller and the girls are all chatter, facing each other dividing up their spoils.
I leave them and head back to my seat to finish my lassi.
I sit back down and watch them across the road, still dividing their spoils, laughing and chatting like only family can do.
The three turn around and trot back towards me, dodging the traffic, ignoring the car horns. The three all perch next to me, two younger ones to the left, the older to my right, on the old wooden bench that creaks a little sigh under the added weight. "For you mister", the older one says, as she offers some of the peeled banana towards my face. "I'm not hungry", I say as I motion for her to eat. She insists, thrusting the fruit toward me again. Then the other two, who haven't yet had a bite, follow suit and ask me to eat. I say to the three " I bought the fruit for you, not for me", "please eat", as I sip the last of my lassi. The elder one, to my right, beaming from ear to ear, "We will not eat until you have a share" I look deep in her doe like eyes and realise she is serious, hungry or not, they will not eat until I share.
I take the banana from her stained little hand and take the smallest of bites; two more bananas are thrust from my left. A nibble from each, then a hand full of grapes. Three gorgeous beaming smiles, the three all then stand. The elder one then says, "We have nothing, but we give you half", and before the tear rolls down my cheek, three little mousekatters are off, skipping down the street, "Thank you mister" "Thank you mister" trailing off, mixed in with the sounds of Kolcutta.
I sit on the old bench seat, an empty lassie in my hand, processing the profound experience I have just had. I feel a stare coming from within the shop, the lassi guy, who was watching the show unfold says in between blending "Welcome to Kolcutta". I smile not a smile of smug, but a smile of amazement, of the humbling experience I have just had. I have learnt more here in a day than a lifetime in the west. I thank my little mouseketeers and I thank you India, you are forever in my heart and I can't wait to return. I see my three mouseketeers, every single night, when I shut my eyes, you are forever with me and I hope you are well. I pray I be privileged to meet you again when I return to your beautiful country, there's no other place like she.
DarrenG(copyright)
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
), that much is evident by your desciptive style. but like I said, i think you should pick something not-so-easy, because you havent really told me anything from your story and you dont seem *that* into it (but that would probably be because its not *really* my genre, im more into cyberpunk.)
:D
