tuk tuk ride in Lisbon

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"What do you think of Brexit?" asked the tuk tuk driver leaving us at Bairro Alto viewpoint where I noticed Lisbon bearing its orange heart out to every being that walked with her. 

All Saints day it was, when the November shook the core of this city. What now remains a ruin, I stood in the centre wondering if the transformation of this church lead to the beauty of boundless blue sky but I couldn't help thinking about the stories that were buried deep underneath.

The other day, we walked towards the High Cross from where I could see the Palace of Pena. I asked my sister if the queens ever walked this garden because my feet was hurting. The palace was placed beautifully and even the ignored rocks etched in the valley of lake knew that it owed its magnificence to the German mine engineer so I did not want to complain. 

This heart does not owe any apology when it feels out of place and thats what your sister is for to remind you that the other lady that sang her heart out whilst serving a glass of Ginja, took a breath of poise at the same time you lost your faith. We filled our stomach with a salty truth: we knew we had to leave this place tomorrow. So we got off in the next station following the lady with the hand luggage and there we spent another seven minutes at Oriente with a lesson that the lady with baggage always comes with a price tag of your minutes, hours and days.

We packed one Pastel De Nata for two because we were too busy wondering about our brothers and the drunk lady who served us, whilst her friend went to pick up her children from school... We visited many homes but I only pre paid for Lisbon. I knew what I would get from it but in between the yellow shoulder and beneath the Carmo Convent was the ruins yearning to tell its story. I wondered if it really wanted to say something or hear its own story again just to know if, indeed, time has changed anything at all...

Practising the speech by the sea, I realised the waves attempting to make a bouquet out of its sound. It reminded me of the time spent in Melbourne and I have never been the same. So we took a few breath in Se de Lisboa which was not quiet any more even though it provided caution at the door. People were too holy to walk in silence instead the fraction of their flashes were messing up my mind where the Presence wanted to hold its place.

That time when the woman saved my sister: I still don't know if the couple were guilty because we were tourist and they were talking in Portuguese. So right and wrong was not something we could spell but we took the left lane and walked away from Parca de Commercio. I know my sister will never be the same as well.

I was just happy to wear my starry trousers that day where we wasted hours but the stars are sacred because every time I talk to them, their bright eyes never failed to make me feel home wherever I go. I know I am safe.

Riding a Tuk Tuk on a marble feet, the day before I was leaving, "Welcome to my country" she said with such determination that my heart crumbled, its whispers spiralled down my bones and my words melted on the same marble renewed in 1755 because I knew that my naturalised country wanted itself out...When my voice finally found its breath, she fastened her seat belt and drove away. I am still wondering... is it too late? 




 

 




 

 


 
 




 


 



 


 


 


 

 



Photography by Smriti Rai and Ashu K Rai


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