the brass bells rang, the pappadams crackled, the kheer amongst kheers is vermicelli she recognises
The land is a little too known for her, but it's the first time she has set foot there
She tells me, how she remembers me
she tugs at the suture that I had weaved and imprisoned my soul behind
It leaks of longing, reeks of missing
But neither of us is in proximity to hold hands and share a moment of this grief
And then she speaks of a house and a garden, that we would be at
I tell her, my choice of trees would be bitter lemons and lime trees
in a garden walled by jackfruit trees, and palm, coconut palms and me ... how can I discount those
She drifts to sleep, speaking
I drift to my coldness, adrift in the dead of the night
I smile, knowing she has finally seen what I have been telling her
Of those places and the astonishingly lovely food
