Brown eyes

Brown eyes have always spoken to me. But these brown eyes that accompany me all the the way from Milan, to New Delhi, to Kathmandu, fascinate me. They are the most deep, mysterious eyes I’ve ever seen.

Kathmandu, heavy musons rain when I arrive. Rush, colours, contrasts, strong smells and spicy senses. Brown eyes again, only now they have a name: Dipika, the twelve years old daughter of the woman who is running the organization, in whose rented house I am hosted.

Chiya, I love it!! Hot milk tea. The leaves are boiled with mink, sugar and spices; cinnamon I recognize. It’s very sweet, that is how they drink it, Pramila tells me and she smiles. We have it now as a welcome drink, but we will have it for all breakfasts.  What do we do now?, the Eastern-Western girl in me asks. We chat … comes Sujan’s very relaxed answer, and so we did.

They leave the doors to the rooms open. It’s impolite, to use a terms I know … to close it. One doesn’t have to knock on the door, they just go in, sit, accompany. Naturally.

I wake up at 6:19 am in the morning; fresh and without the terrible headaches I’ve been having in the last days before leaving. Brown eyes will tell me good morning, and smile.