His manners, those of an old fashion gentleman. Hanging from his neck, an indian necklace, a reminder of his beloved Mother India. His hair, curly and black. His brown eyes, deep and penetrating.
The very first glimpse of him, he didn't look like it. He, actually, looked like a very serious and taciturn person. But coffee after coffee he grew on me and I began to appreciate his marvellous show. He would go around the island on an imaginary horse and dancing at the rythm of a personal silent tune. And I would enjoy observing him as he used to say he observed life. "My goal in life is to stop thinking" he told me. I think my french clown is absolutely right.
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