I went to India December 2006. For a whole month.
Glorious vacation with my life partner, yeah. Just the two of us.
We checked out a way of life we were not used to.
We rekindled what years of child bearing and rearing can snuff out.
And of course we shopped.
In India, shopping is an experience worth a thousand short stories.
He and I, we don't look like we did in those days when we were an item, you know.
Years have drained illusions away so our skin is not as tight on our bodies as before.
With crevices where the rivulets of our tears have worn out places on our faces away.
We discovered our new selves during this month of walking, eating and shopping.
As we discovered the beauty in the glorious spaces and simple acres of India.
Our shopping sprees for a change we decided would be for ourselves, not for the kids.
But we saw a new version of our images on the mirrors there in India.
Images we were used to seeing when we combed our thinning hair or brushed our aging teeth.
On our Canadian mirrors with nice bright white lights in our safe comfort zones.
And here we were, in the middle of crowds and agressive sellers, buying marvelous things.
On dimly lit mirrors that made us look old.
I had to turn some things around. I had to get more.
I had to get something that would matter.
So headlong I went on a spree to buy things for us all in the family.
Things to wear on a happy family occasion, on a happy memorable day.
I decided to buy things for my niece's maybe upcoming engagement.
I bought saris and ghagras and kurta suits and oh the cutest shervani.
For myself, my daughters and husband and my baby three year old son.
The thing is though. That niece, she's a hard to catch fish. Or maybe she is slippery.
She's not involved, she says she isn't, so... she isn't.
She isn't ugly or anything, in fact she is a catch for someone with a heart and a huge wallet.
My niece is clever, she always has been. She's gentle, sweet and maybe can't cook she can clean.
She must find that man real quick or I swear
My only worry, I'm not lying, is that my son will outgrow his cute attire.
Glorious vacation with my life partner, yeah. Just the two of us.
We checked out a way of life we were not used to.
We rekindled what years of child bearing and rearing can snuff out.
And of course we shopped.
In India, shopping is an experience worth a thousand short stories.
He and I, we don't look like we did in those days when we were an item, you know.
Years have drained illusions away so our skin is not as tight on our bodies as before.
With crevices where the rivulets of our tears have worn out places on our faces away.
We discovered our new selves during this month of walking, eating and shopping.
As we discovered the beauty in the glorious spaces and simple acres of India.
Our shopping sprees for a change we decided would be for ourselves, not for the kids.
But we saw a new version of our images on the mirrors there in India.
Images we were used to seeing when we combed our thinning hair or brushed our aging teeth.
On our Canadian mirrors with nice bright white lights in our safe comfort zones.
And here we were, in the middle of crowds and agressive sellers, buying marvelous things.
On dimly lit mirrors that made us look old.
I had to turn some things around. I had to get more.
I had to get something that would matter.
So headlong I went on a spree to buy things for us all in the family.
Things to wear on a happy family occasion, on a happy memorable day.
I decided to buy things for my niece's maybe upcoming engagement.
I bought saris and ghagras and kurta suits and oh the cutest shervani.
For myself, my daughters and husband and my baby three year old son.
The thing is though. That niece, she's a hard to catch fish. Or maybe she is slippery.
She's not involved, she says she isn't, so... she isn't.
She isn't ugly or anything, in fact she is a catch for someone with a heart and a huge wallet.
My niece is clever, she always has been. She's gentle, sweet and maybe can't cook she can clean.
She must find that man real quick or I swear
My only worry, I'm not lying, is that my son will outgrow his cute attire.
