This is what I really want to say

(taken from today's emails and chats)

Everyday a lot of post and emails go out from me into the world. Postcards, brown envelopes and wishes. Thoughts are not pushed out of my system to vent. They are shared, just as thoughts, as things that happen, things that are done. I don't posses them so they aren't personal.
Its a lovely day. Nights are getting cold but today is bright and sunny with cold breeze blowing.Bangalore is a lovely place sometimes where people come together over alcohol and weed. They don't know each other but they seem like they've known each other all along. They don't feel that silence is strange or expectant and gel so lazily with each other like bobbles in a lava lamp slowly gliding from conversation to conversation.When they leave they say goodbyes to everyone present. I've never seen so many people under one roof, happy and alive.

I'm listening to Clap your hands and say YEAH!

Man i was missing bombay so much when i woke up that i psyched myself out of bed. i had visions of the sea and feelings of the sea breeze blowing at haji ali. but i want to go to college with books for a day and I want to see Mahima and Pallavi there and I want to attend a class of Hermeneutics or Poetry with Canteenwala.I want to go to the coffee guy who sells coconut water.I want to go to Experimenta all alone with long walks around Oval Maidan. I want Juhu Beach and writing in the sand. I want to meet J in his room. Nowhere else is he J. I want to stand outside Ranjana Apartments and think of the many times I've walked into that place without knowing it. Of the times I've walked out unwillingly. And how far away I am from that place in Khar. I want to take an 83 bus home from Peddar Road. I want to go to Andoras misty moon day. I want to dance with my ghungroos in the corridors of St. Andrews college. I've stopped thinking about what people think when I flood them with mail. I've never been this alone. I'm happy.The weather of a city inspires so much life within it. I want to be in Bombay in February when it just begins to get hot again. I love that month. Butterflies seem to fill up the place like kids on summer holiday playing cricket in every empty spot in the city. I want to play Badminton with Jyoti, which ends when we can't stop laughing and rolling on the floor. I want to dance like I used to. Without people looking at me. Without a mirror reflecting. I want to go to a Bandra wedding in a black dress and heels with Nikhil. I'm not going to miss midnight mass this year. I want to eat Bombay south indian food. I want to take a 222 bus to Yari Road. I want to listen to the Bjork's album Medulla someday. I said I would hear it with my ex boyfriend. I want to meet Riddhi and Jacob like I met them. I want to buy cheap clothes from Hill Road and take more flute lessons from the Nepali watchman. I want to walk down 15th road and Zig Zag road. They are my favourite. I want to stand right under my Eucalyptus tree and soak in its fragrance. My Yew tree. I want to go to my Raddiwala. I want to run with the dogs at Carter Road. And Parry. I want to spend Sunday at home with my parents playing cards or carrom. I want to go to my yoga class. I want to hear the aazan with the church bells at 6. Room 14, National College fifth bench from the back. I want someone to ask me if they can sit next to me. What time is it? And I'll point my watch and say here, see for yourself. I want to be stupid like that. I want to make love wholly without following the step by step manual of base 1, base 2 and such crap. I want to give in without holding back. I want to take. I want to hold someone's hand without thinking about what it means. I want to be able to hug people again without awkwardly adjusting around their body. I want to be out in the night without worrying my parents about it. I want to live in a room with people, just listening to music. I want a vacation in Bombay. I want this trip to be about the city and not just my home. I want to visit my city. Hear the sound of visit. Its like a zip. Quick sounding. vi-sit. We sit. I want to run through the grass maze at Guru Nanak park and be lost while I know where I am. I want to take a class of poetry with Sister Ananda again. I want to walk through those pink corridors of my college a bit and have the feeling I had when I knew this place would change a lot of my life. Not because I was in awe of it, but because I knew he wouldn't be around. I want to live that moment I found out about him and her. Its not self pity. I want to live those moments again to see if I would learn something else now. I want to see all this again with someone, holding their hand, showing them my sight, seeing theirs. I want to see how I didn't see things. I want to be there that New year party, and see what really happened. Did you? Did I?
The smell of the wood at the Prithvi backstage, that last seat on the left top corner.That ugly red sofa.The stars. I'll die zones. The day we missed class and ran in the water at the beach. That faded poloroid instant picture with my shoes in my hand. My short hair. Your growing hair. Just things that happened. Just memoires, just like posters of plays, or advertisements for English Speaking Classes. Talks of your country and my country. Our bodies. Fish. The cats. I've let go of your life. I've let go of love lost, but not of these post its in my head. I like my life. I like the fact that its been a psychedelic elevator from a dream. Yellow and Orange.

unedited.