“I will now show you all of the statues of all the Kama Sutra art of love positions!” The tour guide I’ve hired for the day itches his chimney colored whiskers and grins, revealing a few gold capped teeth. I can’t help but wonder if he’s smiling because he just got a sale or because he’ll be explaining in detail the art of the love positions to me personally, since I am alone. I try not to think about it as I take off my Target -purchased “Ugg” boots (no shoes in the temple please)
The statues are more graphic than one may think because they literally hide nothing, body parts and all. I’m standing in the middle of five temples. The guide starts his lesson on the art of Tantra, and I tune out for just a second because I notice a garden behind us that can only be described as the one Marie Antoinette kept in Versailles. For a blink of an eye I’m in a fairy tale being swept away by lavender and plum pink rose bushes. The trees so green and so vibrant that I am humbled. Scents of sweet rose and cardamom fill the air and smell as if someone is burning incense.
I purchase a small book of the mystic Kama Sutra for fifty rupees which I bargained and got for half the price. Feeling proud of my mastered bargaining skills (thanks to being in India for almost two months), I smirk to myself and pull on a fur hat (fake, of course). I’m preparing for a motorcycle ride to a tree house that’s about an hour away.
The motorcycle is smooth. The sun is setting and a golden glow softens the sky. I pass little turquoise huts with women in bright purple saris squatting and mixing stew in copper bowls that sparkle. Fires are being lit by the fathers, husbands and brothers and the warmth radiates on my cheeks. I’m going to admit that I cried here today, on this drive.
I arrive at the tree house. It’s pitch black. The only light is from the sparkly stars in the sky and the soft moon. A path is made by candlelight through the woods, beyond the trees, and up a winding staircase to the tree house.
The tree house is made of dark cedar and smells exactly so. A long claw foot oak table stands strong in the middle of the room decorated for a king. There are no windows and the view overlooks mountains that go on for all eternity. I am in a poem, I think. The waiter brings sweet chai and I admittedly light a cigarette and begin planning my wedding because it’s definitely here. That is when I get married of course .I should probably start with a boyfriend.
I’m humbled by India’s beauty and grace. If anyone is planning a trip to India, Khajuraho and this tree house are a must.
Alice can be reached at AliceActress@yahoo.com