Desi Back to Desh

Between airports, airplanes and transit lounges

Old friends…

For Ken, an old friend, who cut across age, cultures, schedules, biases and time to reach me time and again… Who taught me how to give, eat Nihari (beef stew) with a fork, Sushi in NYC and sunshine at Columbia. And put James Stewart to shame in Harvey… You were and are and will always remain a blessing…

 

 

Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sun
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends.

Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears

Time it was and what a time it was,
A time of innocence,
A time of confidences,
Long ago it must be,
I have a photograph,
Preserve your memories,
There all that’s left you…

(Paul Simon, Old Friends)