A Take-away
I stay in the car, waiting for chicken tikka masala, the engine ticking, cooling, till I get out into late summer. Outside isn’t far, but it is a different country, a nation of light, an immersion in radiance, even at dusk. Outside you hear everything, see all the light there is, way beyond LEDs. You feel air, heat, aromas. The smell of honey for example, from gumtrees flowering, seeps over the road like a honeycomb sauna. Yuin people listening to Country – to honey filling the air, birds, dryness, insects, the wind – know six or seven seasons. I tell Sammi of the honey bomb discharging outside her shop when I collect the food. But it’s busy in there. Outside, Indian seasoning mingles with the honey season, coriander garnishes, Taj Mahal archways. All countries coexist in this moment by the car in the warm saffron night and infinite hum of outside. |