能與風語的畫家 A painter who could speak to the wind- Jane

With a smile that hinted at forgotten worlds, Jane began her story, her voice weaving through the chaos of the market.

2024.04.30

在新德里熙熙攘攘、五顏六色的市場中，繁花似錦的織品和雜亂無章的聲音之間，有一位神秘的人物在當地人只簡單地稱呼她為「珍」。儘管她有一個普通的英文名字，珍卻一點也不普通。她的臉上裝飾著傳統的印度珠寶，這些珠寶在炙熱的太陽下閃閃發光，而她的存在總是被香煙和神秘的氛圍所籠罩。

珍多年前來到印度，她的過去是一些她很少分享的故事拼湊而成。有人說她是一位畫家，來這裡捕捉印度的鮮豔色彩於畫布之上，也有人私下裡談論她是一顆破碎的心在新世界尋找慰藉。但對街頭的孩子們來說，她是個充滿趣味和喜悅的人物，講述的故事比商店裡的紗麗還要豐富多彩。

特別的一天，一個名叫阿峻的小男孩走向她，他的眼睛帶著年輕人特有的大膽，「珍，給我講個故事，」他懇求道，拉著她飄逸裙子的一角。珍微笑著，那笑容彷彿隱藏著被遺忘的世界，她開始講述，她的聲音在市場的混亂中穿梭。

「很久很久以前，在一個擁有無盡藍天和金色沙地的土地上，住著一位能與風語的畫家...」珍的故事展開了，吸引了一群渴望聽故事的聽眾。她的故事不僅僅是逃避現實；它們是通往那些沒有夢想的人夢想的橋樑。

當太陽沉到地平線以下，長長的陰影籠罩了市場，聽眾們散去，每個人都帶走了珍的一點魔法。圍繞著她的神秘氛圍隨著每個故事的講述而增加，使她成為了新德里街頭的傳奇，一個故事、夢想的傳遞者，偶爾也會揭露她那神秘過去的一瞥。

In the colorful, bustling markets of New Delhi, amidst the kaleidoscope of fabrics and the cacophony of voices, there wandered an enigmatic figure known to the locals simply as "Jane." Despite her common English name, Jane was anything but ordinary. She adorned her face with traditional Indian jewelry, which glistened under the scorching sun, and her presence was always veiled in a shimmering haze of incense and mystery.

Jane had arrived in India years ago, her past a patchwork of stories she seldom shared. Some said she was a painter who had come to capture the vivid hues of India on canvas, others whispered of a broken heart seeking solace in the arms of a new world. But to the children of the streets, she was a figure of intrigue and delight, spinning tales more colorful than the saris in the shops.

One particular day, a little boy named Arjun approached her, his eyes wide with the audacity of youth. "Tell me a story, Jane," he implored, tugging at the edge of her flowing skirt. With a smile that hinted at forgotten worlds, Jane began her story, her voice weaving through the chaos of the market.

"Once upon a time, in a land filled with endless blue skies and golden sands, there lived a painter who could speak to the wind..." Jane's story unfolded, drawing a crowd of eager listeners. Her tales were not just escapism; they were bridges to the dreams of those who had none.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the market, the listeners dispersed, each carrying a piece of Jane's magic. The mystique surrounding her grew with every story, making her a legend of the streets of New Delhi, a bearer of stories, dreams, and an occasional glimpse into her mysterious past.

My Name is Jane.