Radiance

Rarely smiles like this for an old man passing by, stopping for morning chat over the front rail at Muthu. Elsewhere there was little time, little opportunity or inclination. In the dark corner within his booth the cashier's face illuminated like the bright flame that set the Hindu worshipers in their temples awestruck and inspired. Over eighty the impressive figure sighted mornings and late afternoons circling the streets of the old quarter, tall, slight, hook-nosed, snow-white hair combed back. None carried themselves with such ease through these littered streets over the broken pavements. What the man delivered from the other side of the rail delighted the middle-aged cashier still some way to go himself before he would be able to produce such measures. Out he comes from his cubicle where only he was permitted entry—trusted senior employee—around to the front and up close in a stance again uncommon on our side, at least where males were concerned. Arrow straight and head uptilted, the fingers of the right hand uncurled and knuckles resting on the small of his back while the man received further from the treasure-store of his Tamil compatriot. There seemed to be no more than whispers passed from barely moving lips; it was the radiance and quiet keenness on the other side that spoke loudest. The old man’s route was Meldrum from the waterfront and returning downhill on Trus with the traffic on the road. Did the ancient still have need of the temple along the way?