history

is made on rainy days as clocks tower and trees bend cicadas sing
samosas fry. love bites and art hoicks us into oblivious oblivion
the slopes are gentler with you as wilson is parked in a steely home
trust is slamming like an open window. this is so much like gazebo
like a movie in the bombay rains where we are wet and AC kisses our skins
on red carpets and salty popcorns. isn't that what you like? buttered
and it rains in Eros and yet warm and christopher reeve is flying
jehangir art gallery has akbar's china and guns and cannons from wars
it's raining and the black parsee buildings owned by the british hide
veg burgers. a potato cutlet and here in auckland the heater is Indian AC
and the cold is Indian heat and when it merges it intersperses and matches
what i felt as i crossed hornimon circle with water in venice sloshing
through hot wada paus. four days of rains and university of bombay has a huge
line for MA part I ...may be I come back another day and stare at gateway of
india...cold but warm. mom allows us through the back door and gives me my pink
towel i'm feminine. we have bought shoes from the streets and had pau bhaji
its raining and the art gallery has zeroed in our hearts as an intensely sweet
experience and it's raining. this is how history is made as i see the distant
white castle flickering under the Hilton and fountains and upper street. have a
pie. it's raining.