‘On a day when the wind is perfect, the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty. Today is such a day.’ ~ Rumi

The morning sky is laden with a gathering of monsoon clouds. A light breeze caresses my body. The loose garment makes its softness felt, whenever the breeze swings itself towards me. An enchantment envelops this crisp air. It pulls my naked feet in the direction of a striking presence. He is dancing. His eyes boldly lock into mine, hypnotic, and commanding. Losing all sense of space, I outstretch my fingers to caress his silhouette. He turns away. Now, I see him, only from behind. As he turns away, his palette of enticing colors, metamorphose into subtler hues of grey, black and vandyke browns, with a sudden dash of electric blue appearing, only when he sees me with his profile. The rhythmic sounds of his graceful dancing put me into a state of trance. Like a bashful bride; like a first blossom about to be kissed; he looks at me, through his translucent veil, coyly, enticingly, with a tinge of shivering trepidation that awakens only inside the river of attraction. I allow him to take his time. He waits and watches. The tension lengthens. My heartbeat weaves itself into an eternal gaze. Our eyes lock into each other, once again. Then, in trust and surrender, he swirls around. I receive his ocean of unending beauty. He steps forward, awaiting my reaction. My body remains like a statuette in ecstasy. I remain frozen. He loses interest. He turns around, and speaks aloud a mono-syllable, in a foreign tongue, with a mocking tone, that seems to say, “O Women! such a Mystery!

I remain spellbound. He quietens, momentarily, only to then crescendo into a grand finale, allowing his entire body and being, to ripple and cascade down like an icy and biting waterfall, of pure ambrosia, overflowing across our infinite cosmos. I remain transfixed. He continues to be aware of my locked gaze. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to lower his magnificent cape of feathers, reminding me of a delicate, ornate, snowflake swirling down on a slight flurry in winter; like an autumn-leaf, twirling off the branch ever so gracefully; like the thick and sensuous weight of a village woman’s wet knot of hair, suddenly, let down like a rope swing, after her head bath. He walks away from me with panache. With an agile, charismatic leap, he perches regally on the branch of a mango tree, his face turned away, yet, fully aware of my admiring gaze …

Below: A link about ‘The Dance Lesson’, filmed at the ancient temple town of Swamimalai, in Tamilnadu, India, on the 16th of April 2015.