Three paintings of three gods on an indigo wall. Three paintings on an indigo wall. An indigo wall. The barber next to it and his mirror: another man. Few steps away: a tea stall. A woman in a red saree is making tea while two men in white shirts wait just when an autowalla steps out of his auto, sits on the pavement, and starts crying reminding me of my own sorrows and not his and then my grandmother’s death and her death and her death and the dust surrounded everything.
This is Jaipur.
How am I here?
What is happening?
Mansarovar?, the server asked me.
No, Tilak Nagar.
Behind the Ganesh temple?
Yes, yes. Right behind it.
My grandfather used to have a house there, he said.
I walked out of the Anokhi cafe and saw that indigo wall again. It had a pink stain. I suddenly remembered: Musee Matisse. A black figure with a red dot on its left side.
Beyond Six Rivers 