All the people who love me, without too many preconditions, came online in the last one hour, between the time I wrote "Wait of passing days" and now. They gave me love and they gave me courage. I am now off to sieze the day and work my ass off. Thank you god for such unexpected blessings. My heart is full of greatfulness.

And for some reason this Gulzar's song(it's in Hindi, am yet to translate it into English) comes to my mind.

thodeesee jameen, thodaa aasamaan tinakon kaa bas yek aashiyaan.

A little of earth and a little of sky for such small things, my only wish.

maangaa hain jo tum se wo jyaadaa to naheen hai dene ko to jaan de de, waadaa to naheen hai koee tere waadon pe jeetaa hain kahaa

What I had asked of you, it wasn't much and to give I could give you, my life but such a promise I never made. Besides who can live on promises alone?

mere ghar ke aangan me, chhotaa saa jhulaa ho saundhee saundhee mittee hogee, lepaa huaa choolhaa ho thodee thodee aag hogee, thodaa saa dhuwaan

In the courtyard of my house, a small swing, , a hearth plastered with moist earth, few smouldering coals, a small fire and some breeze, Only such small things I wish for.

raat kat jaayegee to kaise din bitaayenge baajare ke kheton mein kauae udayenge baajare ke sitton jaise, bete ho jawaan

And when the nights are past, how will I live my days? From the fields of barley, I will drive away the crows and watch my sons come of age, as grain slowly ripens in it's stalks.

Only such small things do I wish for, A little earth and a little sky.

wow! Gulzar saab this is sheer poetry!! 13:30

Translated the song. Enjoy! 17:00

I should be working now and should have been since seven this morning, but the day was too bright for eyes getting accustomed to darkness and despair and the legs too tired (from walking, caravans of footsteps all night on hollow streets) to stand before the mirror and look at my face that's molting like over ripe fruit.

When time passes and sweetness dries up, bitterness drips down from cold blue welts, drop by drop, like rain or tears, infintely slowly than the ticking of clocks.

I was there once, I was there by your side, it was the time of gloaming and we were walking through grass up an embankment. I pointed to the early moon through the wintering trees, you nodded and smiled in resonant understanding.

Now like Li Bai who on seeing the moon and remebered home, memories of you pass through me jerking me erratically in my version of electric shock therapy. I grope through them blinded and shout your name, "Hello Hello, can you hear me?"

Imagine a small fish, blind ofcourse, swimming through an irridiscent reef. I am like that fish and I wonder where did the circling sharks go ingnoring this willing banquet?

And yesterday( was it yesterday? I am losing my sense of time and direction.) when I was studying in a bookstore, Fields of Gold came over the radio. At the lines: "Her body rose when I kissed her mouth", I broke down.

I have lost all sense of shame and cry at all the inappropriate places. Thank heavens! few but walk here so my streaming tears manage to go by unnoticed and kindness is not extended, something if I take I think I will burn like a zepplin.

Except this morning I woke the house up, screaming in my sleep, "Don't go away." It was a passing dream that didn't wait and these are the passing days that wait even though I don't want them to.

Some things are like that.

2002:08:07 11:30 Atlanta Please call me.

Littered around my room are books. Books lounging, gathering dust small ones below bigger ones,a tottering column when I nudge them a little;

Supplying an apt metaphor for those days we had tread on shared laughter and yellow light thrown by the lamp on your window sill. Those were the small things, the minor details, happiness too perhaps, that lived before the assault of Big Ambitions, borrowed and adopted. It lead to the closing of the doors and snapping of the wires. I know now I was placing smaller books first, perhaps I didn't see the larger ones.

Also this I know,one needn't be a board certified physican to heal, it's love that heals and yours healed me. Thanks.

Now only the remananents are left behind: a poster of a monastery at dawn, another dawn just a few days ago when I woke up feeling suddenly cold, you had already woken up and were bustling around, now it's a premature winter in the middle of a humid summer.

The night is lonely and I ache to hear your voice. The airlines have sent me a good fare deal, just another way that things take me to you, I looked at it twice to make sure that it was not a trick because it came a week too late.

I travel tonight in my thoughts and since you won't wait at the end of gate A, in your red cardigan anymore I know there is no arriving for me now.

I trace lines on my skin, inscribed in a braille like script is your name, followed by "I was here". I saw such names all above me in a camp bunkhouse on the rafters once, "Joey was here, 1995". "Peace people, Amanda 15".

And when I complete the tracing, I remeber those moles on your skin arrayed like constellations and me counting them one by one, as if somewhere I knew such a day would come when I will forfiet all the rights to count or measure anything that is yours.

The books have finally tipped and are all over the floor, words have dried up in my throat and this is all over too.

2002:08:07 01:00 Atlanta