Maria

I first saw Maria sitting all by herself at a local restaurant in Goa taking slow sips of her whiskey. Her brown skin, resembling a shade closer to a plumped up raisin shone brightly under the dim lights. Her movements were slow and engrossing as she deftly flicked the ash from the half burnt cigarette and used her other hand, to dig into a tender piece of chicken or some other meat. 

Seated two tables away, I see her calling out to a waiter by name to refill her glass.

You are looking absolutely stunning today Maria, he tells her while adding two cubes of ice into her glass. Maria smiles back, displaying her pearly whites. A knowing look passes between the two. 

The tempo of the music rises, prompting Maria to down her glass contents in one go while she pushes her way to the dance floor. She is wearing a bright dress which just about covered her generous torso. A pale yellow, with a smattering of purple and blue flowers printed all over; the dress resembled a Mediterranean styled garden.

I assumed she must be closer to her fifties, but her body was lithe and supple with grace. She is swaying her hips, sensuously gyrating to the slow music. The restaurant is filled mostly with elderly couples, holding on to a single drink from the time they have come probably worried about their increasing blood pressures and some other heart ailments. 

The table at the centre is occupied by a group of young men, partying on their own, some of them having left their wives behind maybe to tend to month old babies. One could hear, good old boy’s humour along with some fun banter.

I notice single septuagenarian adults, watching Maria closely. Desire shone in their eyes as they wished to turn the clock back and reclaim their good old youth, to share that one dance with Maria. 

Of the lot, an old man gets up abruptly to make his way to the dance floor. He is wearing a trouser, that must have fitted him well during his youth, but now hangs loosely from his waist down. He makes a feeble attempt to hold it intact with the help of a weathered belt but at the same time I guess he is accustomed to an old habit of entwining his fingers into the loops of his trouser, not able to completely rely on his weathered belt.

His thinning hair is parted to one side. Few grey strands make a poor attempt to cover his receding hairline. 

Maria flashes a broad grin as she sees him tottering towards her. 

But before he could even step on to the dance floor, all his hopes of waltzing with Maria lie squashed, as he sees a young lad tapping Maria’s shoulder from behind. She turns around to find herself in the arms of a tall youth, flashing his dimples on and off, who takes her by surprise by twirling her around for a quick jive number.

The old man realising the oddity of the situation slowly retraces his footsteps, resigning to the fact that he is of no match to this man who is in the prime of his life. 

With his flattering smile and sinewy biceps the man grooves along with Maria in a much accustomed ease; both their bodies moving in a synchronised rhythm. The DJ now sensing the mood has shifted to a slow melodious number. 

People across the restaurant including me are watching their moves with an intent rapture as the couple turn and trot on the beautifully polished floor. 

Looking back, a trail of memories follow me, reminding me of a time when I had gone visiting a circus along with my Dad. 

I was left in a state of complete awe then as I watched along with the rest of the people, the trapeze artists brilliantly swinging from one end of the pole to another, effortlessly, with so much poise and grace, that not even for a single moment, any of us present  there could tear our eyes away from the act.

I am jolted out of my reverie. The dance has ended and there is loud cheering heard, amidst drunken tomfoolery as Maria’s companion returns to the table after planting a kiss on both her cheeks.

Maria dances on her own, aware of her growing list of admirers in the background.

The music has shifted to a slow tempo.

As she continues to groove she is careful enough to lift her dress ever so slightly, revealing ample display of her well-toned legs and a hint of purple underwear.

Her hair, a mass of long black curls, her lips a plum red, and her eyes, a glazed brown and inviting, carries the hint of whiskey in them.

The DJ has stopped singing and I see Maria return to her table. She lights up another cigarette, the orange flicker illuminating her face in those dim lights.

I see a spark of joy in her eyes, sense a feeling of contentment around her. 

Her face lingers around me and I know for a fact that for a long long time I will not be able to forget her.