"Jews Street", said the white letters on the bright green board. I read it aloud in my mind again and again.. there was a rustic charm in even the name, I thought.
Probably I must have stood there and mused for a few abnormally long minutes, for I had to run to catch up with the others who had already walked a few feet ahead
Tip-toeing on the wet pavement with quick short steps lest I wet the only jeans I had packed for my weekend trip, my eyes traced the all the little bric-a-bracs in the dimly lit curios shops lining either side of the narrow pavement.
There had been a light drizzle just a few minutes ago and people were hurrying up with coloured umbrellas, gently clashing against each other as they made their way in opposite directions.
My eyes were still hungrily scanning the curios shops. I wasn't looking for anything in particular.. the sight was a feast for my eyes.
The huge hand-blown glass lamps in unimaginably bright shades of shocking pinks, bottle greens, deep blues and placid browns with ornate brass filigree, the exquisite beligian glass chandeliers, hand-painted ivory tiles with intricate designs in blue, the delicately done cross-stitch napkins all were a story in itself, of a bygone era of riches.. a bygone era, now easily price-tagged and sold as "anitques".
An old Jewish lady sat in one of the shops, soft yellow light casting a warm glow on her creme gown draping her frail body, as she fiddled with a piece of white cloth, coaxing her aged eyes to get the stitches right, in vain. The now sunken eyes still had a warmth in them, the same warmth familiar to every grand-child on earth.
I walked past more shops lining the roads, to reach the synagogue at the other end, standing silently and seemingly reluctanct to communicate, for whoever comes these days speak a foreign tongue, except for the few others like the grandma in creme gown who sat there coaxing her aged eyes to get the stitches right, in vain..
PS: Pics will come soon :)
[Edited] : Pic added!