A quaint little café overlooking the sapphire-blue beach; soaking-in the sun, sipping lemonade, the Smiths in the background and snatches of conversation.
Walks along cobbled streets, shopping for summer dresses, aahaing a cafe here, ooohing a cottage there, a litter of labs totter down the side-walk, as a horse-driven carriage leaves us behind.
A new morning, beginning with breakfast, sunlight streaming through the windows; smells of freshly roasted coffee beans and newly baked bread; and women in chic white, vermilion on their foreheads, snippets of french, talk of the auro and the ashram.
At dusk, walking by the shore, watching the sun set into the water, smooth stone against skin, wind in hair, salt on lips; carefully concealed memories surface and, threaten to choke. A masquerade parade passes by, throws across a safety, a new mask.
Leaning on his shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep; dreams come. Too soon, a gentle shake, a reminder, return to reality.
Time to get off the bus, it seems.
I love the imagery. A few sentences and you managed to make me yearn for all of it. To see Pondicherry through your eyes. You are beautiful.
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