Pretty cup.

I liked the cup. It was blue at the bottom and had red and white design at the top. The tea drank from it had this peculiar taste of tea that is being drank from a blue and red cup with white designs. If you don't know what am I talking about then the loss is absolutely yours...

I was sitting by a wooden table with a blue and red cup of tea in my hand and my eyes were examining the surroundings. Tall chair with a red colour pillow, a poster of a film star from the sixties, a guy who dropped in for a moment to enjoy his office coffee break, cups arranged neatly on the shelf.

They were sitting two tables away from mine. Early twenties I guess, he might have been slightly elder to her. They were both busy smiling at each other and I think he might have even wanted to hold her hand but was too scared of doing so in front of strangers.
She lowered her eyes to study the menu card.  She wanted to enjoy some of the exotic tastes that the place was offering. She zered on a strawberry flavoured green tea, which was being advertised as one of those rarities that one is supposed to try in order to become a true connoisseur of tea. It was also one of the most expensive items in the card and I could see for a moment a glimpse of panic in his eyes as he tried calculate in his mind whether he would have enough money in his wallet to be able to pay the bill. He was still smiling.

She was pretty. Big dove like eyes smeared with kajal. Long hair. Glowing skin. Straight teeth.

'You know... I could only marry a man who would gift me a diamond in an 18kt golden ring' she said.

She was pretty. She was pretty indeed. Eyebrow threading. Golden facial. Legs and hands waxing. Hairdresser. French manicure. Pedicure. Hand cream. Under-eye cream. Moisturising cream. Lipstick. Perfume.

He was still smiling. With a smile on his face he would drop out of college and study correspondence to join the call center to earn those few thousands that he would put into his bank account. He would eat once a day to save those few hundreds so that she could have her strawberry tea once a week. He would walk everywhere to save those few coins so that he could pay for her auto back home in the evening. He would do this stupid job once in his life that would make him feel ashamed of himself but would allow him to put those few thousands more into the bank. He would cut his foot and not go to the doctor to save a few hundreds and his foot would become swollen and hurt for six weeks. He would not go to see the sea with his friends to save few hundreds that he would otherwise have to spend on a ticket. He would not get himself a dog to save money that he would have to spend on dog's food, instead he would put few hundreds more into his account every month.

She enjoyed her tea. It had a flavour of sophistication mixed with a pinch of aestheticism. She had always been inclined towards beauty - the walls of her house were full of paintings that she bought at auctions or during her visits to art galleries. She would finish law at one of the ivy league universities and work in a foreign bank. One day the son of her parents' friends would gift her a platinum ring with 2 diamonds. One day at work she would catch a glimpse of a bit familiar face of a man applying for a loan. Unable to recollect the face she would just think to herself how silly those little people are - they do not know how to succeed in life and constantly beg big companies to give them money to survive.

He would not be given a loan. With tears in his eyes he would raise the ax to cut down the olive tree that his grandfather planted  after returning from his only travel abroad. The tree was just about to give fruits... He sold the land to the multinational construction company - the land would be converted into a calling center of a foreign bank. They would install big computers and college drop outs would be calling people to offer them loans and credit cards.

I finished my cup of black tea and paid the bill. As I went out I spotted a child sleeping on the ground at the construction site across the street. She kept her head on a pillow made out of her mother's sari and was dreaming of  her village and the girls playing with a blue ball by the river. A squirrel run up the wall. I could spot a single line on its grey fur, as if somebody had touched it with a finger dipped in paint. 

I looked back. She was still pretty. He was still smiling.

The pianist.

He always loved the piano. It was its presence in the living room that would link the old worlds with  today. His fingers were long and bony and he would often catch himself observing the lumbricals of his hand as he played.
Black key... vibration. White key... vibration.
It made him feel as if the music was not coming out of the piano strings but from all the muscles and bones of his body as he stretched himself to fill the room with his presence.
There was a lot to fill up as the room was large and empty of furniture. Only the piano stood at the center. He would sit next to it, eat, drink and sometimes even fall asleep. He once even dreamt a strange dream of having become a magician who stood by the river with a torn blue cloth in his hand. What could that mean he had no idea.
Having no ideas was a rather general state for him. He had no idea about the world, no idea about people, no idea about wars. All he knew were the black and white sounds coming out from his piano. It would always make him think of magic - this simple fact that by pressing one key he could create most unbelievable sounds that would paint the white walls of his room with different designs.
He enjoyed having his own ways - he would cry where other people would laugh and smile while others would try to wag their fists. He could not understand their ways and they were equally unable to understand his. He got used to the fact that he and his piano grew into becoming each other's best friends, best men, old husband and wife who had lived together for so long that they had eradicated any form of communication as it was no longer needed. They knew each other too well.
He was sitting by the piano that day trying to master the most intricate choreographies for his fingers when his efforts were interrupted  by a sudden knock on the doors. That seemed strange to him as nobody ever came this side - his house was far away from everywhere, everything and everybody. He thought that the sound was just a game of his imagination. He was getting old after all. However, the knocking seemed to continue and irritated as he might have been he could not ignore it any longer. He stood up and walked slowly towards the doors. The knocking  was becoming louder and louder with every step he took. He got scared and paused for a moment. Somebody began to bang hard against the doors. He could not ignore the loud sound so he decided to press the handle.

As he opened the doors he could see a little girl standing outside. Her hair was drenched in the rain of her tears.

'Can you see me?... Can you see me?' she cried. 'Can you see me? Cause nobody else can!!! Can you?'

Of course he could see her. What kind of question was that? Of course he could see her, yet he did not know how to say that to her. He was not good with words. Music was his domain.

'Can you see me?' she was almost shouting.

Not knowing what to do he suddenly pulled the child closer to himself and kept his hand on her head. The girl looked at him with her big green eyes 'Do you know that squirrels have marks on their fur because they were once touched by the hand of a man?' she asked.
'Yes, I heard about that I guess' he said 'it's an old story'
'It's not so old' said the girl 'I made it up yesterday only. May I tell you a story?'
He was lost for words, his hand however, began to play with girls hair. It seemed as if nobody had brushed them for years.
'Yes' the words flew suddenly out of his mouth 'I would love to listen.'

The water cycle

She could feel the heavy blocks of ice melting under her skin,
They would climb out of her body to fly away like clouds that the wind would send towards his window.
She blew a petal out of her hand.
It turned into a kite.
The rain began at midnight.
The drops were heavy and each of them fell on the leaves of a creeper that was searching for its way through a tiny crack in the wall.
A green leaf found itself growing on a dry branch of a tree.
She kept her head on his knees.
It felt soft.
Her hands morphed into a creeper climbing up his body to fill up the crack in his chest.
She touched ice and it began to melt.
Drops fell down her hands and as each of them hit the ground she could feel leaves and branches growing out of her body.
His head was resting in her shadow.

The two butterflies found their way out of the white metro car.
I think I saw them sitting on a leaf as I drank tea on a cold morning after the rain.