Lens #938

I wake up to the singing of the children in the next building. I listen to the song lying in bed very still trying to recognize a snippet which will remind me of my own schooling here. Then I realize it is not a song but multiplication tables being said out aloud in a sing song way and then I can't resist listening very carefully to see if they make a mistake. But they make no mistakes no stray voice saying the wrong number even once.

I look over at Krista. She is fast asleep. I notice she needs to sleep longer in this city that is so new so different for her from what she grew up around.

I carefully shut the wooden door behind me and walk out. It is still very early in the morning. The air smells so familiar as it mingles with another familiar smell that I recognize as the smell of my own sweat and at that point that mingled smell of air and sweat hits me so hard as only memories that are hard to imagine or verbalize being memories of the nose the ones that are stowed away in a separate part of our brains only to be brought out like a hard hitting cricket ball cracking your skull when it is time.

So I reel as I walk down the street and pass a woman sitting on the street on a red plastic stool just outside the door of her house with an enormous striped cat sitting next to her. I smile at the woman and the cat runs away. I walk up the hill up and up as auto rickshaws pass me full of little children in uniforms. Blue 'half pants' and white 'half shirts.' There are so many trees here along the road and they are all orange bursting with my favorite color. I smile to myself happy to be home.

As I turn the corner I come across a very long line of well groomed and orderly men and women standing with papers of some kind in their hands. I follow the the line to see where it leads to and end up at the Portuguese consulate. These people are probably applying for visas to emigrate to Portugal. I can not imagine standing in line to emigrate to Portugal so I continue up up the hill. I come to two large and identical houses with one big difference. One is freshly painted and the other is completely paintless looking much the color and texture of the dirt I am standing on at the edge of the road. One of these is the Cardinal's house and the other the Chief Minister's. But which is which? I decide that the freshly painted one the one that looks official and grand must be the Chief Minister's and the one trying to merge into the dirt the Cardinal's. I could be wrong.

Up up the hill to a college and All India Radio office. Both are in the same building overlooking the valley. Beautiful boys and girls are milling around on the street. One boy has a blue scarf a white tshirt and pink nikes on. The girl he is talking to is wearing a green salwaar khameez with beige sandals and has white flowers in her hair. Are they students or are they employees of the government radio station perhaps announcers or even anchors? I decide that the girl is a radio announcer and the boy is a college student.

At the top of the hill is a sign that says 'joggers park'. I go in and walk around the jogging track. It is soft and bouncy. And very clean. There are rose bushes lining the track. Then I come to a giant sand box. It is huge I mean its like being at a small beach. Do the joggers end their jog with a nice roll in the sand? Or maybe they build a castle before heading off to work or to stand in line at the Portuguese consulate. I see no one there in the entire park so I can't ask. I hum multiplication tables to myself and walk down the hill.