nostalgic wanderlust

I am homesick

for lengthy conversations with French Buddhists

on the sandy cliffs of Margao, where I got my nose pierced

January 2nd, 2011. I am lonely without

the tens of millions of silvery sand grains

which shimmered with the sea in the too-early moonlight

as we kicked amber beer bottles into the waves,

where they would float in, back, out…there I was

peace

finally understanding what the hippies were raving about

the wind carried my hair into the sky

and I walked into the ocean fearlessly,

looking great in my Sunday best.

Now I think I may have drowned there, three years past

I do not recognise me

Deepa

Deepa

Deepa

This was taken on the day of Holi, the Indian celebration of fertility and rebirth – celebrated by throwing colored powder on everyone. I celebrated it by staying over night with the family of the girl in this picture, Deepa, and dancing and throwing dye powder literally all night.

This photo was taken the morning after – tired and full of tea and good food, we struggled to be as enthusiastic as we’d been the night before. I sat out of the dancing with the excuse that I was documenting the day with my camera.

For a moment, Deepa stopped running and dancing. For some reason, the packed street was clear for a moment as I took this photo (not an amazing one, I know.) making her seem alone and kind of melancholy, while in reality she had just been tackled and soaked by a bucket of purple dye, then a friend had mock-slapped her on the cheek with red and green fingers.

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Gap Year

 

 

 

 

Everything reminds me

of you

tanned skin, black hair

When I see a bus boarding

I want to fly to you

Run behind you

til I catch up.

 

I miss warm chai

dark streets

bright lights

shouts, yells

chants, incense

 

we were perfect, weren’t we?

With so many problems

tangling my heart into your earth

 

Till my lips met your feet

and my eyes blazed with the understanding

of my wings

my freedom

my love

INDIA

 

My eyes flicker now, dead without you

and people who know nothing

speak of you with sandpaper lips

 

I will fight for what you taught me

and one day

see you again