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I don't recall how our conversation began.

Perhaps it was something about you in a black and white photograph wearing a long overcoat

In a country whose winters are different from mine and colder.

What was the conversation about?

Do you recall?

I recall you made biryani that evening,

With mint and rose petals from your garden

And garnished it with fried onions on top.

I kept waiting for you to taste it and tell me how it was,

And you kept saying, “dum lag rha hai abhi bhi”.

You are my biryani memories.

You like heavy music and heavy women

Me, I like Mumford and Sons -You think they are boring.

I like auto rides and you don't.

You scold me for my silliness in saying I have no coordination in my motor movements

And then send me kisses to make up for it when I sulk.

You like driving and I,

I'd like to sit beside you one day.

We talk of old soaps Cinthols and Lirils and smells

Of winters and autumns.

I tell you I like wooden porches and picket fences,

You say “that is so american.”

If only you could look at the behind my eyes you would know

That picket fences and wooden porches and orange juice and warm breathes in the winter fog and kisses and holding hands

Is really rather Tatun-ish

Cigarettes after sex

Erotica

And subtle innuendos

And my shyness and yr confidence

Mingling and mixing like rain and earth.

Your stare on my body would melt me and I want you but I don't want you

For there are too many fears of losing my head

But you cook and sing and play the bass and have beautiful hands and feet that look like they have just got a pedicure and you tell me “it's fine babe”

And boy I long for touch.

And writing about all of this

All the food and smells and sex requires a lot of effort

Because all I really want is to have a beer and a cigarette with you.