Nandita's place is a hole in time and space. Sun gently brushes the colors. I get to wear her gift socks with toes in. I read my book, play my game, and we talk and talk and talk. We eat the homemade food. Her mom puts prayersand good intentions and peace in them. Her dad is quiet and interesting, his presence is felt without the need of uttering a word. Her parents are dear to me, extremely dear to me. It's burdens me more and more when I think I'm leaving soon. But I'm thankful, I'm grateful for all the gifts that have been bestowed upon me, yesterday, today and tomorrow. And leaving did me good, and it will do so once more.
Our talks. That dinner we took at Columbia hospital because their thali and their food is so damn good. Riding on your scooter. Your cutiepie advice. How open and good and generous you were to me. How beautiful and compassionate. Our yoginis talks. The pranic healing sessions and courses. The talks, the talks, the talks, the talks, your work that screams and hugs the heart, the green of your bathroom, the sun in your eyes, everything, everything, everything, everything, everything, everything...
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