I am standing with Siobhan, Malik Qureshi and his new wife in the forecourt of the hotel and temple grounds. His wife is beautiful, a petite Indian woman with the typical South Asian coloringwarm South Asian coloring and delicate hands, dark straight hair and thin, especially compared to Malik who has become quite portly since I last saw him, thicker now that he is much older.
Read more
But Malik retains his jovial manner and I am quite jealous of his new bride. He reminds me of his Scottish roots as we stand together making introductions and then his wife leads me away over to one of the temples, a Roman-like columned building to show me around.
“What is your last name?” I ask her, but her response is not clear.
“No I mean your original last name,” I repeat.
But I still can’t make it out though she too goes on to assure me of her own Scottish heritage.
A light spitting rain starts as we walk over to another building where she has to perform a family ritual, part of the marriage ceremony . She wants me to come and it feels quite illicit. I cannot suppress a little desire for her despite my being Malik’s friend.
We climb the steps to a new Hindu temple fronted by square grey concrete panels, through the gaps of which I can see red alters and other religious goings on.
On the top step she squares up to one of the gaps and propels herself with both arms in one graceful movement into the temple. A blur of red and orange sari disappears behind the right side panel before she turns around to motion me in.
I try the same manoevre but I am bigger than her and not as fit, and I struggle to lift myself over the step and through.
“I’m going to need some help,” I excuse myself.
Then I try to angle myself in, instead of approaching the entrance full on as she did. But still it won’t work. And Malik’s new bride puts a fireside log in the gap between the panels so that I can grab onto the log instead of having to push myself up from the step. But that won’t work either.
And then a man who would be a priest comes over from the left side near the altar, his thick square hands open, palms up, in front of me. I see only large pudgy hands with thickset carved life lines; they fill the gap between the panels, as if to give me something to hold.
Goddess from the Sri Circle Maramma Temple via Wallpaper Flare
