by Gabriella Sonabend

I sit on the roof of my friends guesthouse with L and 3 Indian men (1 is his friend). I go to the toilet, in my absence this friend warns L not to leave me alone with the other men, not even for 1 minute. They have never been alone with a women before. There I am on the roof, they smoke, they drink rum, they talk about philosophy as they conceive it. They fall further and further into their drinks and laugh and lean back against the concrete low walls. They look up at the red misted sky. Somehow stars still shone through the polluted haze. I keep my eyes turned to the floor, as a women should. L doesn’t look at me, I am physically present, but I am invisible. The men steal coy looks at me. I am not the body they are trying to undress. I am in the red sky, I am on the ghats.

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