Reunited.

A great friend and I just hung out after a long while, and it came right on time. It's sometimes hard to believe that someone can know the thoughts that flow through your brain. It's like seeing past the doctored photograph, beyond the Clinique foundation that still does not quite match your Indian skin tone (though please keep trying, Clinique Lab people, as I do not want to continue to look orange or yellow, depending on the lighting), through the Givenchy mascara, and into the windows of your being.

I love the fact that we connect through our senses. Like when I creepily stare at NYC dogs that I wish were mine- the way my mother often obsesses over little Indian kids who play the role of grandson in her mind- the way we make contact is through the looking at each others' eyeballs. And not just looking at them the way you'd look at the surface of a marble, but looking through them, even into them. It's almost frightening because we don't have a way to measure the link between our minds, but I believe it is there.

Or when I used to fall asleep on my dad's chest as a little one, somehow the sound of his voice softly vibrating through my heavy head as he finished his tales from Indian Chandamamma Magazine (about stubborn kings with 13 wives who couldn't produce a son, but I digress) made me feel like I was in the safest place that I could ever be.

It convinces me that whatever the answer is to the meaning of life, or even the afterlife, it must have something to do with our connections to each other.