Tashi
Her short dusty hair painfully snarled around colored rubber bands and her chin barely high enough to reach the wobbly teahouse table top, she stretched one tiny dirt encrusted hand up to us. Her dark eyes shifted around the room as she mumbled her broken requests for money and her slim lip quivered under the oncoming flood of snot. Her vacant face was nearly obscured by the shred of tissue passed to her as she tilted her head upward and blew into it. A sodden tissue removed and a grubby face reappeared. She swayed, almost sat, pulled herself up to the edge of the table before trotting wearily back out the door. Her stained pink jacket disappeared into the blinding Lhasa daylight and left a stained pink shadow where she had stood.
Gamachuni
The oblong pale pink bundle was completely covered when it landed in my lap. A thin paisley printed scarf lifted revealed the newest Tibetan baby I had ever beheld. Face round and pale like a bowl of butter tea and features so tiny they might have not been there at all. Only face and blanket... perhaps only face. Pink mouth open and gasping for breath in this place of scant air with little help from a nose so small it may have only been painted on. Eyes only slits barely able to open squinting dark eyes rolling around. No sound save for breathing. No dimples save the two seen by a doting father alone.
Juktsa
Tousled dark hair peeping over the rim of a huge metallic garbage container. His name called out created a scramble amid scraps of food, bits of paper, and flies. His torn plastic backpack hung nearly empty and his sweaty stained fist clutched the entire days earnings of small notes as he lept over the sticky smelly rim. His laughter betrayed his embarrassment as he rubbed his free hand on his formerly red and white sweater vest only barely concealing the thinness of his small frame. His stomach forced him to sheepishly ask for bread and his dark flashing eyes could not seem to make contact with those of the bread giver who politely looked away as she hands the warm bag to him. His ages unwashed face grinned widely in appreciation and he scampered off in a cloud of filth to eat.
Cipando
A pale yellow green speck of dirt seen at a distance on a gray street. Her face literally lit up in recognition of the pale stranger and she dashed through small puddles of dank street water to receive an equally pleased greeting. Her stiff short hair makes her gender a guessing game for the untrained eye, but her smile of sudden comfort and safety as my hand blackens from rubbing her back bathed the senses in young sweet femininity. Her small sun and filth darkened hand is only big enough to clasp one of my fingers and together we walked over to the fried bread stall nearby. She stood close and leaned backwards against my leg, her round head only arriving at knee level, and watched the bread fried just for her. She stared in unrestrained disbelief as if by looking away it might disappear. The warm sack of bread hugged to her body and she refused to say good bye.
