Last March I spent some time in India, where naturally I thought it was a good idea to get some henna done. When we came to the city of Varanasi, which boarders the Ganges River, I found a small shop on the side of the street. They sold your average snack bar items, cola, and cigarettes. After some broken conversation about daughters, I ended up with a meeting time that evening to come and get some henna.
I showed up a little nervous, but she took me into her shop through a back passage which looked like an unfinished industrial building. There were cats and dirt mounds and the dark dampness of empty spaces. After turning left then right then climbed some stairs and balanced across a cement beam, we popped out into a hallway leading upstairs. Now inside again, even though we never went outside, she brought me into her daughters room in her home.
Surprised at the least, I sat on her bed and looked into the life of this women. She came and sat down and began to draw on me designs and patterns.