Day 676

One of Saagar’s close friends, a young lady reminisces:

You laugh till you cry, squinting your tiger eyes
But tell us to hush when your parents call.
In your Dulwich voice you say, ”Be quite guys!”
And in your Indian voice you pick up, making us fall about with laughter, like when you do your godly pose or carry Seb around your waist, provoking hustle and bustle to get a good shot of you as you put on a show wearing a quite tight t-shirt to show off your muscles.

As the parties continue, drinks are going both ways (Who owes who drinks? I’ve lost track of the debt) whilst you start charming the ladies with your le francais and protect them from drunks proceeding to get with them. Then when all is nigh you third-wheel on a couch, never in bed, you can be found asleep on the floor, snoring like a silver spoon is clanking in your mouth, a noise that not even sleeping logs could ignore!

And when we wake and board the train I stare at your long toe-nails, forever on my mind. I beg you to cut them as you offer to share your pungent fish curry, which I have to decline. I am just glad you didn’t wear flip-flops that time we ate dinner at mine with my religious uncle and aunt(who you mistook for my grandma) and they both said that you wanted to marry me, me thinking “you can’t be serious” as it would have been like incest.

Plus our music tastes conflict (metal’s not my thing) but back on track now to mention that you give the best hugs and your previous girl-friends continue to sing your praises, more or less along the same lines…

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