seeing skin in cochin

I sat down at Mahārāja College Stadium in Eraṇākuḷam a few weeks back. The sun was setting. The trash was burning. And this goddess was running laps in a T-shirt and short shorts.

Like Osho said, if a man can stop to take in the beauty of a flower or a waterfall, why not the beauty of a woman?

She was leggy but curvy, long ponytail, milk-coffee skin. Electric. She did five or six laps at a time, always in perfect form, relaxed but in control, barely slowing from the first lap to the last. She didn’t acknowledge the male gaze or shy from it. She was in the zone. Pure dedication. Balanced. She was perfect yet humble.

Yet what threw me at first glance was her T-shirt and short shorts. I was surprised to realize it, but I never saw that much skin on a woman the whole time I was on the Deccan, for months. For reals? So was I still in South Asia? Where was I? I was spun.

Don’t ask for photos. I didn’t take none. I was a witness from afar, not a cameraman. May You find your own waterfalls and sundown goddesses.

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