Five Minutes of Magic

I saw the man first.
He was in a long royal purple tunic with white pants.
A cult member, surely, I thought.

Then I rounded the corner
and saw another man in the same dress.
Ha! A cult convention.

Then I came up against the limits of my knowledge.
It couldn't be a cult.
There were so many of them.
Not just men. Whole families.
And so many beautiful women.

 

 Her sandals.

Those "I Dream of Jeannie" sandals!

 

Happy.
Joyous.
Crackling with energy.

I laughed at myself, recognizing my own American parochialness.
Don't we always compare new information to our old information?
I understood instantly these were a people I had never seen or met before.

One

exquisitely dressed woman

after another

poured out of the hotel.

"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Pakistan, he said. "We are here for a wedding."

The island of Jamaica

sent spectacular sunshine.

"Are you from Pakistan too?"
I asked a gorgeous young woman
dressed differently than the others.
"No, I'm from Jamaica." she said.

"Of course you are!" I thought,
marveling at Istanbul's constant ability
to make the ordinary encounter extraordinary.
I'm sure Jamaicans at Pakistani weddings are a common sight,
don't you think?

Do they have ring bearers

at Pakistani weddings?

I wondered.

A tween

in all of her finery.

I'll picture these lovely people

when I read a story about Pakistan

in the future.

 

I'll picture this little girl

in all of her bracelets

and veils.

The beautiful Pakistani women

blew me kisses

from the bus

as they left.

 

I hope they had a wonderful time.