The graciousness she showed when the priest came to say prayers that one Sunday.
How she asked permission to sit as she could not kneel. And the way she clasped her hands together in the prayer position, it was difficult for her to make them touch but she did it. And she smiled so happily after the service.
Her howling, obviously in pain and scared. Didn’t understand what was going on… I understood. Feel for her.
Doing her exercises with the physiotherapist she was tired!
Always dropping off fruit or some offering on her way down from NE
Mangoes ripe and delicious – the fruit seller holds two in his hands and gestures me over with his eyes and head. A bathariyan dancer could not do better, and I am, as usual fascinated by the endless language Indians have in the nodding of a head, a blink of an eye, a raised eyebrow. Pupils that dart from left to right, a universe of commands in a sea of faces.
I miss you.