Woodrow Performing

The Tinshulakian bazaar is much like every other marketplace in India. Its ground, vegetation, and people are covered in the same beige dust that seems to blanket the whole triangular country. It is as if one day God had some spring cleaning to do one day and decided to make India his holy magnificent dustpan. This particular part of his holy magnificent dustpan is full of the kind of beige dust that makes hard things look like they are soft, and makes people’s grandmothers or statues look like piles of leaves. The very same kind of devilish beige dust which turns innocent waiting blind dates into squat shrubs. After I shook out the beige dust, I found that my personal squat shrub was actually very good looking. Jelisyal, one lovely young shrub, happens to be the very shrub that first took me to this Tinshulakian bazaar for our first date.

We went to the heart of the bazaar where all of the selling stands and performers gather to sell the fruits of their labor in the dustpan land. Hand in hand we kicked up some beige dust clouds until we got to a growing circle whose center became smaller and smaller. The developing circle of people was like some sort of Urobrus Horrah. Finally after using Jelisyal’s shrub agility moves through the crowd, we made it to the center.

In the opening was the source of all the commotion, a dancing monkey and his grinder. The grinder, a pudgy man in the characteristic Aladdin garb, obviously took second stage to the monkey. You could tell the grinder was like one of those mothers who was always putting her child in the spotlight because of the way he let the monkey steal the show while he stood back and rhythmically turned the crank with his warm toothy smile beaming. The monkey was the jovial sort and danced around in nothing but a tiny little red vest and fez hat. The capuchin seemed to know just what to give his audience, a little shimmy here or a cabbage patch there. So my shrub and I watched the darling little fellow dance his heart out, and then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly, the monkey looked down at his legs. His face slipped from a smile to the half-laugh half-grimace of shock and embarrassment then let forth a piercing tiny screech. He discovered that he had no pants. Utterly mortified, the monkey rushed into the crowd. A few moments later he returned with his composure and a tiny briefcase. He calmly opened it up and produced a pair of finely tailored business pants. Then he put on his pants, making each one of his monkey moves very exact and deliberate. Once he was dressed, he replaced his tiny red fez hat with a black bowler and his grinder set out a sign which read, “Woodrow Performing tomorrow 2:30.” As we left, I swear I saw Woodrow smoking a cigarette with his monkey tail and chuckling to himself.