Gypsies don't kiss

by Ee'da


The train pulled further and further away from the station, till Luxmi was nothing but

a faint dot in the distance.

His heart sank beneath the floor of the train carriage. He felt like throwing up and

couldn’t tell if it was connected to his emotions, or to the samosa he had bought from

the food-peddler at the train station.

His mind kept going back to their first conversation. How nonchalant she had been!

Tom had pointed out the Rajasthani men with colourful turbans and moustaches that

thinned out in the end and made a comment about how uncomfortable it must be to

kiss a man with such a thick moustache.

“No toou-uch, no kiss…only puck,” Luxmi had said in broken English while making

a circle with thumb and index finger touching on one hand, and using the index finger

of the other to mimic the act of sexual penetration.

He had wanted to take her with him, right there and then. He had wanted to touch her

and caress her face softly, to let her know the meaning of tenderness.

In the 5 months that he had been backpacking in India, he had never met anyone like

Luxmi.

She had an attitude and a fearlessness about her. Like she had been through the worst

and she had the ability to scratch any pain away like it was a skin irritation. The onyx

black kajal lined her almond eyes, making their whites stand out even more.

“When you go bak to Uh-Mer-Rika, dun forget me…” Luxmi’s voice echoed in his

head.

“ If only she knew…” thought Tom.

Contact