
The Afghan Cafe was the opposite of ‘The bitches Milk-bar’. She was so beautiful, it made grown men weep. She could be seen above her counter at the back of her small cafe, in the semi darkness of a cosily lit up area. She was Afghani, dark skinned with large kohl eyes which would look out and scan the passing scene for possible customers, or possible future husband. It was situated on a very busy street but away from the main shopping centre. We were told by a friend of a friend that her brother had put her there in the business to earn some money and hopefully also find a suitable partner. At the time, around the late eighties the only connection to Afghanistan were the thousands of Afghan camels roaming the North and North West of Australia as a result of those early goods and telegraph services between Southern Australia and Northern territory by camel trains led by their Afghan camel drivers. We knew of course that the development of outback Australia would have been very difficult if not impossible if not for those early Afghans coming to Australia as early as the 1830’s.
Whatever the motive, the beautiful eyed single Afghan lady sat in this restaurant cafe from late afternoon till the last of the customers would leave. The restaurant’s fare was genuine Afghan dishes. They were always tasty but not too spicy, more sweetish than chilli with raisins and dates, much use of lemon juice and yoghurt. The cafe- restaurant was small and seated perhaps not much more than twelve or fifteen people. We loved going there and then all of a sudden it was closed and it became a laundry. She would have found a partner. This is what we all thought and hoped. She was too beautiful to be sitting there forever. Or did she go back to Afghanistan?
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Asty:
I still trust a truly beautiful woman but age begets a wonderful filter. The heavely made up Goddess or the bright red ruby rouged one might be the first to be filtered out.
I am also somewhat prejudiced against all those shaven Goddesses , it is all a bit too airbrushed and dulled.
The hirsute has an advantage over those and if , on top of all that, they are naturally drawn to hearth , stove and garlic, well, it is moving towards Goddess status.
What makes a God, I wonder?
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Beauty is in eye of the beholder indeed; I have seen some stunning Iranian or Afgan women, but this one wasn’t one of them (in my eyes).
Reading ato’s reply I was reminded of this most beautiful Swedish man;
the young husband of my daughter’s Swedish girlfriend.
I think it was the combination of his unaffected beauty, intelligence, modesty, natural kindness and curiosity that blew me away…
Curiously enough, Gerard could not even remember him!
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Reminds me of an Iranian, lady, Gez.
Parent-teacher night. Always some tension hovering over your desk, always some aloofness, edginess, uncertainty but when this lady came to talk about her son, her beauty startled me that much that I became a total moron. Couldn’t utter a word. I loved her son. He was a great kid, diligent, obedient, intelligent, the best in the class and I wanted to tell her all that. Usually these sorts of interviews are great, easy, smiles and handshakes all round but this woman knocked me over with the beauty of her face. I noticed nothing else about her. She just appeared before my eyes as I lifted them from a note book I was reading.
I’ve no way of describing that beauty. What it was exactly that made her stand out so much and if I ever see her again, it will not be because of certain features that I’d recognise her but because of her beauty. Couldn’t tell you what her eyes looked like, her nose, lips, anything. Just that she made me gasp.
I’ve seen many, many, beautiful women -aren’t they all? Aren’t Mrs At and my two daughters, my sister, my mother, all my cousins beautiful? They are. Yet this woman for some incomprehensible reason, took my brain away. I stuttered and stammered and smiled like dickwik and… really, I can’t remember what I did or said to that woman that night. It’s the sort of scene one calls a blur. Gorrrd only knows what she thought of me -she was an academic of some description- and what she would have said to her family about me but I’d hate to think.
It was the only time ever that I had felt that… gong on the head?
I told Mrs At about her and she agreed that some women are truly stunning. As a nurse, and a midwife for many years, she saw one or two that also took her breath away, as the pidly cliche says.
Incidentally, the school had a fairly large number of Iranian kids so I had seen many Iranian parents, mothers, included before that night. This woman was the stuff that even the best of dreams can’t concoct.
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Ah… atomou and Gerard, I too know what it is to be struck by a woman’s beauty (and also what it is like to be struck by a woman who did not appreciate my being struck by her beauty!)
One in particular stands out in my memory; a dusky Tunisian seventeen-year-old with almond eyes, delicate aristorcratic features and very long, crinkly black hair… I’ll never forget her, or her kissing me goodbye twice on each cheek, the ‘French way’ at Charing Cross station when she returned to Tunisia…
Nothing could ever have come of it though; she was the daughter of the Tunisian ambassador and I was a London street-urchin; a busker…
🙂
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Atomou:
When they are so beautiful, I feel that they are also ‘good’ and without failure or fault. It is almost as if their beauty is naturally imbued with all the qualities that one can imagine, or even those that haven’t been imagined. Is that true, or can they turn out to be bitches?
Of course they are is just embelishments that are constructed within a second of viewing the woman’s beauty. All is lost then, certainly reason and logic. Loosing one’s heart. Love is blind.
Many a man has perhaps regretted being blinded by looks alone.
Even so, my experience so far has underpinned and vindicated my belief that a truly beautiful woman is also a good woman.
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As I’m sure Atomou would agree, beauty so striking makes it easy to understand how belief can arise in deities incarnate, and demigods and demigoddesses too…
Indeed, the people of the ancient world were very conscious of the power of ‘glamour’… this referred to the magical power of a combination of wealth, charisma and beauty, enhanced by all the artificial technologies possible and available, to sway people’s opinions of those ‘glamorous’ and charismatic individuals. The art of makeup has always been one of these technologies and comprises a large part of female magic… and of course, not only women; even men in the ancient world used makeup to enhance their natural beauty.
It’s always with great sadness, however, that one eventually discovers, as one invariably does, that even goddesses are human too; all too human!
I’ve given up looking for goddesses; I prefer human beings to goddesses anytime! Gods and goddesses are ultimately far too demanding and are rarely worth the effort… (Princesses, of course, are royalty and thus ‘God’s children and among ‘The Chosen’; demigods to all intents and purposes…)
It saddens me too, how few women seem to be happy to be just human… So many of them seem to want to think of themselves as goddesses… and to be thought of as such. The same is true of men, of course; indeed the desire for apotheosis is cultivated at the very heart of our culture; and has been for millenia… they call it ‘ambition’ and it has always been recognized as a dangerous condition.
Furthermore, history demonstrates over and over again that it can be very wearing trying to live within the boundaries of the fantasies of gods or demigods.
I don’t trust beauty; beauty lies… Ugliness at least is honest.
Lao tzu says: “You see the beautiful; yet this is just the ugly. You see the ugly; but this is just the beautiful.” (Or words to that effect!)
🙂
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