Difference between revisions of "The gate of alchemy"

From PhalkeFactory
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the sun is jumping off the polishes surfaces of the shaving mirrors lined on the street side, and slapping potential customers on their faces. who would want to be a customer then.
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the roads closest to the station has people selling mirrors, and close by, hidden somewhere, making them.
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then a large dark shadow like form begins to fill in all those mirrors, it is a cart, a wooden cart, the one my people hope to see when they come to this land, the one painted in water colours, with washes of light through the trees.. [[what is on the cart]] is not so clear, it is some bulky material covered with a cloth. is there a man in there, yes there is, some form, of human size, moving. I catch M's arm. M turns and gives his signature childlike smile with its gentle enquiry..
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the sun shines off the liquid mirrors trapped in their cases, slapping the customers with their glare.  
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there is something projecting out of the cloth- an accordion.. a music suddenly takes the air and i ask M excitedly, you think this is some local performance under the cloth, on a moving bullock cart?
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Customers grimace and walk away, clutching their shopping bag.  
 
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Silver still, in mirrors, but the beginnings of gold.
 
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A little ahead piece by piece, technologies of the late 19th and 20th century appear on road side shops, today is the weekly market, technology by technology, old cathode ray tubes, x rays, eastman cameras.. you do not know if you have to look here for gold, would you dismantle all this?
 
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no one to sight, is making anything, only selling old things, but the sounds of making- hammering, tinkling, tapping, hitting, sweating seem to be playing from tiny juke boxes in the shops. Now and then, smoke from a silent explosion, like in a melies film.  
 
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large cutouts- baburao patwardhan (sic), edison, tesla.
 
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Beyond the shops is the maidan. There is a tent up there, large, covering everything, high. in a corner, outside the reach of the tent, in a small high shack made of dirty white cloths, sits panditji.
 

Revision as of 14:47, 5 April 2015

the sun is jumping off the polishes surfaces of the shaving mirrors lined on the street side, and slapping potential customers on their faces. who would want to be a customer then. then a large dark shadow like form begins to fill in all those mirrors, it is a cart, a wooden cart, the one my people hope to see when they come to this land, the one painted in water colours, with washes of light through the trees.. what is on the cart is not so clear, it is some bulky material covered with a cloth. is there a man in there, yes there is, some form, of human size, moving. I catch M's arm. M turns and gives his signature childlike smile with its gentle enquiry.. there is something projecting out of the cloth- an accordion.. a music suddenly takes the air and i ask M excitedly, you think this is some local performance under the cloth, on a moving bullock cart?

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