i’ve had a brilliant spell of days; all a melange of delight.
lazy, hippie afternoons. the red high-tops. bright sea greeny tshirts. grass, swings and wicker chairs. jar juice, crisp potato wedges, and moroccan mint tea. hours at crosswords; resting against the wall, reading books i dont have to pay for. old movies with dramatic story lines and indian filmy-ness.
pani puri for dinner. malai kulfi to finish. turns out orion and canis major make for brilliant lighting, as beggar children ask you for a soft drink and the waves wash over the mangrove edged beach, where stray dogs scamper amongst the rock and litter and look at you with love in their eyes. pieces i am stitching together. for a quilt. so when i’m old, i will be covered and as i die, i will feel nice and whole. like a warm chicken pot pie in a ceramic ramekin.
looking at the peepal tree outside the coffee shop window, whose heart shaped leaves go nod-nod-nod in the wind, head upturned with my hair against the wooden table, i ask my horowitz immersed cousin; who do you miss now?
she looks up from her book.
our answers are the same.