Dear little lady beneath the window sill,
I’ve missed your rendition of Twinkle Twinkle since my return to England; watching only the end of your bow peek above the window sill as you repeat, and again, then perfect. The fact that your grandma attempted to sing with you in a language evidently alien to her used to make me smile. I listened, looking past your grandfather as he pottered and tended the plants behind the window that separated my cupboard garden and his makeshift shed; I looked for your bow which would wink above the line behind him.
I’d probably have been smoking a cheeky cigarette, or sitting at a bench in the cave’s kitchen and I remember never being annoyed at your playing, little lady beneath the window sill. That’s quite the surprise considering how many times you played it. I wondered whether this was fun for you. Or whether it was all part of the ‘perfecting’ process. I do hope it made you smile now and again either way.
It’s funny, little lady, now that I am far away, the things I hear from my window are different. Notwithstanding the drunks at the weekend, the voices are mainly families. This morning I heard ‘can I cross?’ yelled, sing song at a ‘mother’ lagging behind. I imagined the voice was probably on a scooter, or was streaming ahead with her doll and pram. Then the bin men came and through my open windows I could here them shout to each other. It’s funny, little lady, I smiled at their voices, I understood what they were saying – I was firmly planted home.
I must admit though, I miss my scooter terribly. I knew I would. Mounting pavements to avoid traffic, zooming (albeit silently) through Shanghai back streets, my hair whipping back; my eyes keen to catch a moment, stop, photograph then away zoom. I miss meeting a friend on the corner, laughing as she tries to swing her leg over the back behind me and not offering any assistance because it was so funny. Stopping in the middle of the road and leaving my bike to grab some radioactive strawberries from Avocado lady is very different to standing at the entrance to the vast imposing Fruit and Veg section in Sainsbury’s. Stopping at random bars, sitting atop Scoot in my pyjamas and eating a breakfast pancake watching the hecticness of the wet market unfold on a Sunday morning on Donghu/Changle inspires no comparison – but there are sausage rolls here: crisp, flakey, irresistible…
Transport alternatives here seem over-thought, expensive and regulated though, little lady. As I walked through the NO PEDESTRIAN EXIT exit of M&S carpark yesterday I recoiled slightly at the overbearing safety measure, the apparent need to paint ‘NO PEDESTRIAN EXIT’ on the floor, and lamented that a pedestrian does not seem to be given the credit to look both ways and a driver to slow on entry to a car park. I wanted my fully charged, electric scooter, a traffic jam, and a pavement freeway with human obstacles to avoid; I craved the challenge.
Living in your city, little lady, opened my eyes. When you must stop every five paces in the FFC because there is ‘something’ to remember/photograph/experience: a pavement vehicle loaded impossibly with boxes, a face to embed, a makeshift barber stand under a sheet on the street; the pancake lady packing up at 10 so the shift of dumpling makers could start for their stint before the noodle man took over later. Mad cat lady sitting, selling her insoles and swinging on the rotating chair she’d salvaged. I try to recall a journey of faces from my lane cave to the ice cream shop, stopping at lights and edging past the Mobike riders for whom taking off is a risky business. The bumps in the road, the randomly beautiful and intricate buildings; the long haired beggar that likes to entertain for his well-earned money; the young man stretching and swinging fresh noodles for the day, his sister sitting next to him on her phone: bored. The velour clad granny, talking violently to her companion – now and again they would wallop their upper arms or clap their hands: their circulation probably much better than mine at thirty years junior. The chairs! So many of them. The old people sitting on chairs. So many of them!
I aim to see my city like that. To notice now that I know what real noticing is. And I have to tell you that when I had been back a day and my train rounded a building to reveal The Shard glinting in the sun, the cranes building a city that is timeless yet ever changing, I felt that rush. That rush of anticipation and adventure that I was so fearful I’d lose when returning home. Then I realised that I would be fine.
So, there we are little lady beneath the window sill. I am back in London, a new adventure afoot. I hope you’ve mastered Twinkle Twinkle and have been rewarded for your commitment. I wonder if one day I will visit and hear you again. Perhaps when you have grown above the sill, beyond your granddad’s pots and out of the lane that made me part of Shanghai. I’ll not forget you, or mad cat lady, or the sweet warm cake aroma cloud that Ben the baker filled our lane with. I wonder if you’ll remember that strange westerner not much taller than you that loved her cave and her neighbours for a brief and happy time. Good luck and thank you.
She went to Shanghai 