Walking around like I did this morning to the amazing cultural amalgam of anawrahta street, aptly named india town but you can find genes from all over the world, mingling and mixing.
Once many years I was walking around like this
Walking Around is the title of a poem by Pablo Neruda.
I came across a enamel engraver's shop and he had two faces next to one another: one of his and another of Che.
I introduced my self, an unofficial emissary from that distant island of CHE.. Aung Kyaw Kyaw did not speak any English but it did not stop us becoming friends and over the years, I would make it a point to exchange hellos and rub shoulders at his shop.
This time was no different.
I was wondering around, not like a ghost as I do in Palermo in Buenos Aires, but more of myself, as if I am two people, doubled upon one another, happier than a donkey.
where was the watch shop where Yakoub lorded over and Vasu toiled at the intricacies of the watch?
The rapid economic advance took away the Umbrella repair and shoe repair shops and no more the man with his glue to repair the ageing handbags of ageing ladies ?
I went up and down the street, to my disappointment i did not see any sign, but i did not give up. In between bookstores and paper shops that sells school notes and optics galore and an elderly lady selling last of her samosas, I found hidden his name, in between two plaques, advertising a Gynaecologist's services and another one for a dentist: Aung Kyaw Kyaw ...
I saw his seated in the last row of a couple of seats in the shop, an erstwhile mansion now crowded with shops and people offering the minutest of all services. I went up to him. He had aged but he scrutinized my face, what was he thinking?
Cuba I shouted and i could see a squint of recognition.
I explained the purpose of my visit, he nodded knowing well nothing I said was understood,he invited me to sit down and pointed out to the sign of yesteryears hidden behind of him and Che..
CHE
I have not forgotten you
I found you once again in the busy streets of the Indian town in Rangoon
Once many years I was walking around like this
Walking Around is the title of a poem by Pablo Neruda.
I came across a enamel engraver's shop and he had two faces next to one another: one of his and another of Che.
I introduced my self, an unofficial emissary from that distant island of CHE.. Aung Kyaw Kyaw did not speak any English but it did not stop us becoming friends and over the years, I would make it a point to exchange hellos and rub shoulders at his shop.
This time was no different.
I was wondering around, not like a ghost as I do in Palermo in Buenos Aires, but more of myself, as if I am two people, doubled upon one another, happier than a donkey.
where was the watch shop where Yakoub lorded over and Vasu toiled at the intricacies of the watch?
The rapid economic advance took away the Umbrella repair and shoe repair shops and no more the man with his glue to repair the ageing handbags of ageing ladies ?
I went up and down the street, to my disappointment i did not see any sign, but i did not give up. In between bookstores and paper shops that sells school notes and optics galore and an elderly lady selling last of her samosas, I found hidden his name, in between two plaques, advertising a Gynaecologist's services and another one for a dentist: Aung Kyaw Kyaw ...
I saw his seated in the last row of a couple of seats in the shop, an erstwhile mansion now crowded with shops and people offering the minutest of all services. I went up to him. He had aged but he scrutinized my face, what was he thinking?
Cuba I shouted and i could see a squint of recognition.
I explained the purpose of my visit, he nodded knowing well nothing I said was understood,he invited me to sit down and pointed out to the sign of yesteryears hidden behind of him and Che..
I have not forgotten you
I found you once again in the busy streets of the Indian town in Rangoon
