She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

In a shop in the Little India, I found a museum of pickles: chili pickle, mango pickle, cauliflower pickle, turnip pickle, lime, green mango, ginger, carrot and garlic, beautifully stacked like a row of whores in the streets of Bangkok, quietly divine like a line of nuns in the plaza of Vatican. And I fell in love.