Sundowners, books & a party

We will be hosting a party at Ike’s bookstore in Durban to celebrate our matrimonials in South Africa.

Ike’s is on the second floor of a two-story colonial building, with shelves of books all over, books laid out on tables, many old and rare, especially from/about countries and lands in Africa. It’s not packed with serpentine towers of books facing you at every step, like bookstores in Mumbai or Delhi, but has broad walkways and much mulling space between bookcases. There’s a little room off the main one, with a lovely old table and nicer bookshelves with some of the more precious finds. But the best part is stepping out of the large french doors onto the balcony that encircles the store. There, there’s ample room for a sofa, chairs, table – calling out for marrying the cocktail hour with a good sunset, conversation or perhaps that simplest of pleasures – reading a good book. Very civilized.

Bulla & Everyone Else

Everyone sings in India. Birj mentioned this in passing. I had forgotten it. This is the song, he said, that all the kids on the streets were singing when I was last there.

Friday morning, I put on Rabbi in the car. Bulla streams out as the sun glances off downtown San Francisco. I’m approaching the city, on the bay bridge. Rabbi’s sound, Bulleh Shah’s words, kids with nothing who keep singing the words of a Sufi poet from the mid-18th century.

Nor did I create the difference of faith
Nor did I create adam-eve
Nor did I name myself
Beginning or end I know just the self
Do not acknowledge duality
There’s none wiser than I
Who is this Bulla Shah
Bulla! I know not who I am