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.
