Pushkar, Indien, January -96
A sandy dessert path winds around the mountain passing by a small tea-house. There he sits under the tree, like a living shadow without words, with the fire as his only company, Shivgiri. I have been waiting for over a week to get a chance to draw him. He is transient, but I manage to frame his face with lumps of heavy matted hair. His eyes wander, roam over the mountain or fly like a beautiful bird over his fireplace.
Shaken I realise, that by trying to change some lines with my fingers, I have touched his face instead of my drawing, he hardly notices what has happened, as we are one.
Next morning he is gone, and days are passing before I find him again.
He did not get any food and milk at the chai-house, and now remains only a gap at the dessert path under the tree where he sat.
But he knows where I am, though he cannot se me, and his face has been captured in my memory like a living portrait.

Pushkar, Indien, jan -96
En sandet ørkensti løber rundt om bjerget og forbi et lille thehus. Der sidder han under træet som en levende skygge uden ord, ShivGiri. Jeg har ventet i over en uge med at få en chance til at tegne ham. Så flygtig er han, selvom jeg indrammer hans ansigt med store klumper af hår, for hans øjne flakker, flakker på vandring over bjerget eller som en smuk fugl der flyver over hans ildsted.
Rystet opdager jeg, at jeg har rørt ved hans ansigt i et forsøg på at forændre nogle liner ved hans øje, istedet for tegningen. Men han bemærker knapt hvad det er sket, da det er som om vi er et.
Næste dag er han borte, og der går dage inden jeg finder ham igen.
Han fik ingen mad og mælk ved thehuset og du findes der et tomrum ved ørkenstien under træet hvor han sad.
Men han ved, hvor jeg er, selvom han ikke ser mig og hans ansigt har sat sig fast i min erindring som et levende portræt.

Back to the picture of ShivGiri