Good People

There are always those people...
people you are glad you met.
people whose innocence broke your heart to bits, and put it together again stronger.
people to whom integrity is integral.
people who actually do as they say. True to life un-hypocrits.
people who are grateful for soemthing you never did.
people who thouroughly underestimate themselves.
people who you dont even know, and who dont even know how much they are touching your life.
people who just make you so happy!
people who just for a moment you made a conncetion with.
Mammas gurl. Daddys too.
people who you protect and want to give the world to but can't.
people you own.
My girl.
Yes there are always those people.
This is for one of them.

Unchained... melody.

In stark contrast to the timlessness of goa, life is moving on.... and at what pace...
Time stood still... and picks up...
People are met and avoided. Friends new and old.
Promises made and kept. Promises made and broken.
Birthdays, a neverending string. Gift shopping. Incessant. Futile. Blah.
Speculation over levels of copulation through the sweltering summer. Futile. Blah.
Marathons for a cause. Me Mumbaikar, Me Marathoner.
Speculation over the rapidly increasing temperature, cursing through the course. Futile.
Habit. Static. Boredom.
Self administered minor hair surgery. A trim so to speak. Futile. Blah.
And still time goes by.
Another year, another birthday, older but none the wiser.
Another year, anotehr challenge, chance, change.
Another year I expect to pass me in a blur of conversation, lessons and memories.
Another year gone by faster than the rest, never ceasing to end but over with a bang.
Another year in the life of...

I wish you were here...

My Goa song.
So I'm back from the land of sun and sand, unscathed and having made no hospital visits.
Back from Goa, where time and timelessness collide, events blurring as the drunken morning.
Sunrise.
The sun ablaze, in all her glory smoldering, sizzling and frying my skin to a golden brown. Golden brown, as I enjoy my chicken, cooked to perfection, delicious as the assortment on the table. Assorted as the members of the group, bonding, chattering away million words a minute. Words coming together in varied conversations. Varied, vibrant and alluring as the hawkers wares, let the bargaining begin. Bargaining for everything, even taxis, we will not triumph. No, not as we triumph over waves at sea. The warm waves, salty waves, invading my watch and my eyes stinging as the air thick with narcotics. Goa’s own poison, on beaches, shacks and streets, 'flying high' they said, as they were while paragliding over the water.
Splash.
The waves kiss my feet, coat it in a warm brown layer of sand.
Stuck.
As the sand sucks me in, I watch the sunset on my last day in paradise.