dilluns, 27 de juny del 2011

Recordar: Tornar a passar per el cor.

Dear Kathmandu, 

I leave you now. I leave with mud-splattered calves. I’ve given up trying to scrub the spots off. They always find their way back, so I’m keeping them like patterns of skinny teardrops. I still remember what you look like in winter and I can see you beyond the stickiness of summer and the wetness of monsoon. But I like it when you tattoo mud on my body and stall me in shops long enough to make friends who don’t talk about the weather.

I want to leave you with this short goodbye note for your pillow when you wake up. As I write, I realize how much I choose to miss you. Or rather, the image of you mapped in my mind. I remember naming your streets when I arrived, but when I visit them now and later, I’m not a stranger. And when I get lost you spit me out some place I recognize. Then, I find myself smiling widely at the rickshaw dai, the yogurt baajey, the tarkari didi, the dhoop bhai as though my curved lips and polished teeth validate their lives. 

I won’t make a list of your things I love, Kathmandu. Lists are inadequate and for the weak of heart. Except of course your street lassi, I even enjoy the smell of the dirty rag that lingers as I lick the sides of the glass. Or your happy hours that roll, your part time beggars, your motorcycle monks, your flying monkeys, your fight over who gets to sit up front with the tempo driver, your STD and ISD booths, your momos, your large buses with squeaky horns, your wooden box-shop for candy, matches ad cigarrettes, paan and your shaky side saddle bicycle rides.

But I must leave you.
Anyway, I've made some tea for you. When you wake up, the milky skin will have surfaced. I know how much you love to chew it.

I'll call when I can,

Love,

Anna

PS: hay una chica que cree que en el mundo no existen malas personas, yo no lo pongo en duda, pero ella es la primera buena persona de verdad que he conocido. A ti, tambien te hechare de menos! :D

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