The curiosity of meeting her.
It was not a 'thing' until I knew it could be a thing . One can experience a thousand phenomenons in life and pass them without realizing their presence. When I met a foreigner, it was surreal. Why? Let's have a look.
Every culture with its beauty, engulfs a body, beautiful and exotic ready to give an experience. Cultural identity is something, one whenever associated becomes the defining moment of the practices followed. The taste, habits, notions, beliefs, the attached awkwardness and the weird phenomenons form the crux of identity that differentiates it from others. Thus meeting a stranger who speaks a language unknown to us, with an accent we aren't aware of and expressions we cannot understand, is an event which one should enjoy.
It was like symphony. One whose theme I could not understand,whose meaning I could not deduce, but continuously intrigued me. Why was I finding it to be a thing of beauty, to be appreciated, I did not know. It was like Ghalib's verse, where on one hand I was aware of the depth it exuded upon hearing, while on the other hand I could not measure it. I became an illiterate, stargazing like a fool staring into the blue moon, my mouth gaping wide, just staring. Was it the pure and unblemished appreciation, or a 'philia' of some sort. Can't say.
I wouldn't call myself a narrator of beauty. It had to be something godsend, that has pulled out such words buried deep in my belly.
Taj Mahal? No. I've kissed and touched it. It was cold, beautiful stone. Find something better to paint its lovely picture.Like a smoke screen blew apart to reveal 'something' hidden for so long from my eyes. What was I, and what have I become.
A crime by God if you ask, yes a crime. Surreal, but beautiful. Happy to have met 'the foreigner'.
It was not a 'thing' until I knew it could be a thing . One can experience a thousand phenomenons in life and pass them without realizing their presence. When I met a foreigner, it was surreal. Why? Let's have a look.
Every culture with its beauty, engulfs a body, beautiful and exotic ready to give an experience. Cultural identity is something, one whenever associated becomes the defining moment of the practices followed. The taste, habits, notions, beliefs, the attached awkwardness and the weird phenomenons form the crux of identity that differentiates it from others. Thus meeting a stranger who speaks a language unknown to us, with an accent we aren't aware of and expressions we cannot understand, is an event which one should enjoy.
It was like symphony. One whose theme I could not understand,whose meaning I could not deduce, but continuously intrigued me. Why was I finding it to be a thing of beauty, to be appreciated, I did not know. It was like Ghalib's verse, where on one hand I was aware of the depth it exuded upon hearing, while on the other hand I could not measure it. I became an illiterate, stargazing like a fool staring into the blue moon, my mouth gaping wide, just staring. Was it the pure and unblemished appreciation, or a 'philia' of some sort. Can't say.
I wouldn't call myself a narrator of beauty. It had to be something godsend, that has pulled out such words buried deep in my belly.
Taj Mahal? No. I've kissed and touched it. It was cold, beautiful stone. Find something better to paint its lovely picture.Like a smoke screen blew apart to reveal 'something' hidden for so long from my eyes. What was I, and what have I become.
A crime by God if you ask, yes a crime. Surreal, but beautiful. Happy to have met 'the foreigner'.
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