Man without his woman

I was standing there, outside the gold shop. My eyes roamed around while I hold the two trolleys. One filled with my kids, the other with my groceries. Then I gazed at the overly designed gold arranged on the neck of a headless manequin. But somehow I was brought to look at a few men, perhaps about seven of them, huddling over one man, their friend, holding a bracelet.

One look at them, you can probably tell the kind of work they do. Unruled hair, untidy clothes, skin dry and hard probably exposed to the scorching sun too long. The bracelet man, let's call him that, was looking and admiring at the gold. Asked for approval, which is not really needed, from his friends.

Nod! Nod! They answered obligingly. Closer huddle.

There, at the other end of the counter is a well dressed man. Mr. Salesman his name is. He was punching some numbers in his big calculator. Then he turned the machine to them so that they can see how much the bracelet cost. He looked disinterested with this group. He wasn't even focusing to the bracelet man. His eyes were everywhere, except the bracelet man.

Ahhh he was sure bracelet man would not buy the bracelet in the end. It's too expensive for him. Plus it is really a cheap bracelet. He doesn't even care if he doesn't make this sale.

Then, bracelet man decided that perhaps he need a second option. He pointed into the glass box. Another bracelet. A thinner one this time.

Mr. Salesman, without a smile on his face, punched something into his machine and routinedly showed it to them.

Further huddles. Discuss. Discuss. Shake heads. And one of the seven men said something.

Then bracelet man said something nice to Mr. Salesman. Like, I will think about it. Next time maybe. Have a nice day. Or maybe he said fuck you. I don't know.

To you too.

They went out of the shop noisily discussing something in a language I do not understand.

I don't know why, but I find this scene rather romantic.

Bracelet man is probably a man who had to leave his wife, his family, the things he loved, his country to come here and earned some money. Money that his country cannot provide for him. He had to live in the country where people do not care about him. If he falls in a ditch and die, he would be just another face in the mortuary. He had to live in an uncomfortable crowded house without a woman in his life. (I am not sure whether you can resort to other woman here. Let's not talk about that okay. I am trying to be romantic).

It's probably time for him to go home. What can be a better symbol of appreciation and love and hard earned money's worth than gold to his wife, to him at least.

These men had probably from gone one gold shop to another, surveying for the cheapest but yet the nicest piece of jewellery. I find this rather touching. All the effort dragging the many men along, to find that piece of gold for his awaiting wife. He could have just pointed out the cheapest and go off. Why bother eh?

The bothering is what I find romantic.

I hope his wife appreciates it.

Woman's Wiles

In this manner she pleaded with gentle coaxing,
The while her tears fell upon her cheeks.
How could his firmness and endurance abide
When even without tears she could charm his heart?
That rain brought forth a flash of lightning
Which kindled a spark in the heart of that poor man.
Since the man was the slave of her fair face,
How was it when she stooped to slavish entreaties?
When she whose airs set thy heart a-quaking,
When she weeps, how feelest thou then?
When she whose coquetry makes thy heart bleed
Condescends to entreaties, how is it then?
She who subdues us with her pride and severity,
What plea is left us when she begins to plead?
When she who traded in naught but bloodshed
Submits at last, ah! what a profit she makes!
God has adorned them "fair in the sight of men;"
From her whom God has adorned how can man escape?
Since He created him "to dwell together with her,"
How can Adam sever himself from his Eve?
Though he be Rustum, son of Zal, and braver than Hamza,
Yet he is submissive to the behests of his dame.
He by whose preaching the world was entranced

Mawlana Rumi