Something old, a peacock from the earliest days
Something new, the paper silk from a trip to the bharat varsya
Something barrowed, mukuts that were ordered and never picked up given over to Guru-Gauranga Gandharvika-Giridhari
Something blue, the seed beads on Giridhari’s patka
Leis of petals and roses well beyond fashionably late
Carefully spinning to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa just in case of cloudburst but it didn’t arrive. With a bow of my head I carry on to the main road past the animal hospital to the bridge over the first highway. At the house that taught choc-o-lot to talk-a-lot the gecko meets me and we sprint to Saint Dagwood’s park. The warmer day has brought out the casual peddlers along joggers and those who walk like death walks behind them. But then isn’t always there? The leaping monque says he hasn’t seen us in a while so we talk a few. All along the railroad bridge where the mountain men are looping the loops and defying the ground. They all really don’t care those mountainous men on their bmx rides. At the sufferer thakura we make the left and begin our return journey. Past the dew drop inn and back to the rental center. The trader is drinking a papaya sunrise in a brilliant disguise. As we pass the shop the gecko has to go and I need to take my leave also. I float down the peddler’s ramp and along the street over the rodeo creek to see the bear has taken off his hat and scarf. The wharf road sees me safely to the main one and the long and winding takes me to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa under control. The kalarupa pedals beside me and we chatter a bit about the up coming festivals. We’re both glad I’m single. The sandhya leaps for joy to see us rounding the corner and on our way to the mandir.
With the greatest of ease, style and grace Guru-Gauranga Gandharvika-Giridhari slip into their touch that kills night dress and engage in their pastimes without a trace of the mundane covering over the dhama to keep those who aren’t ready out.