High As A Kite
April 29th 2006 05:04
Journal extract from Amritsar, India.....
...."Sitting on the roof of my hotel in the Old City. Looking beyond, a mushroomed water tank projects up, then outwards from the commercial building blocks. The colours turns pale grey and brown; washed in cloud and smog. Lights in the distance increase in size as they too are enveloped in the mist, and they bathe the streets in a fire-glow.
On a rooftop across the lane children fly kites in a soft, semi-present breeze. The kites flutter, dip, then arc upwards in permutations of flight. The children notice me watching from the opposite terrace, and manouver the kite close to where i am sitting on the roof, only metres away. One of them waves a signal, and at first I think he wants me to catch the kite, pull in the string from his side of the lane, and take a turn in flying it.
I make a grab for it, and the children yell out in anguish. "No! No!", fingers waggling side to side accompany furrowed brows and mock shock. I shuffle through charades until I find one suitable to convey my intent of joining them on their rooftop. They decline when understanding the gesticulations, so I sit, and watch.
The kites decend into the distance, many more this time, and remind me of the eagles I saw so often in Bombay, circling aboves parks, open spaces, and seaside districts. These kites remind me of the flight of those eagles, but they are somehow more erratic, playfully illogical.
The light darkens, and the children on the terrace want 10rupees for my entertainment. "10 rupee. You give. O.K.?"
At first I redden with a clench-teethed cynicism, but the emotion quickly passes, and I chuckle to myself. Somehow the question fits, and I remember not to take myself, or this place, too seriously.
They throw a string with a rock attached as a weight from their terrace to mine, and I tie a 10 rupee note to the string, giving it a tug to signal the exchange is complete. They pull it back, and it dangles precarously before hitting awnings on the way back up, much to their worry. Finally, they grasp the note, and hold it up to the faded light, delighted with the donation. Dancing over the parting wall between their building and the next, they wave goodbye, and I can imagine the smiles on their faces rendered black by the shadows".....
...."Sitting on the roof of my hotel in the Old City. Looking beyond, a mushroomed water tank projects up, then outwards from the commercial building blocks. The colours turns pale grey and brown; washed in cloud and smog. Lights in the distance increase in size as they too are enveloped in the mist, and they bathe the streets in a fire-glow.
The kites decend into the distance, many more this time, and remind me of the eagles I saw so often in Bombay, circling aboves parks, open spaces, and seaside districts. These kites remind me of the flight of those eagles, but they are somehow more erratic, playfully illogical.
The light darkens, and the children on the terrace want 10rupees for my entertainment. "10 rupee. You give. O.K.?"
They throw a string with a rock attached as a weight from their terrace to mine, and I tie a 10 rupee note to the string, giving it a tug to signal the exchange is complete. They pull it back, and it dangles precarously before hitting awnings on the way back up, much to their worry. Finally, they grasp the note, and hold it up to the faded light, delighted with the donation. Dancing over the parting wall between their building and the next, they wave goodbye, and I can imagine the smiles on their faces rendered black by the shadows".....
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