It would be nice to come home to...

·         endless panels of plain white, silky drapes – nothing embossed, nothing self-printed…just moonlight on a weave.

·         rooms filled with pretty, fresh, new stationery. lots of handmade notebooks and thick spiraled diaries and leather-bound jot-pads and post-its in pop-colors and beautiful parchments in jewel-tones of raw silk. they must be everywhere; piled up on study-tables and by the magazine holder and post-its stuck aplenty on the fridge and whiteboards and sheaves of spotless-white bond paper wedged right inside, to the back of drawers.

·         chilled bowls of cherry-flavored jelly, fruits and thick, creamy, sweet custard.

·         music. soft, lilting, music. maybe flute or piano.

·         lots of plants in full bloom – some with wild, purple leaves.

·         candles, especially candles that are the colour of butter so that when wicks are lit, the yellow and orange conjugate into some kind of molten dance.

·         satin bedsheets.

·         cool tiled floors where one can spread large papers and snip and cut little pictures from magazines and newspapers and do scrapbooking. scrapbooks are fun things.

·         soft, thin blankets with chintz print in minty blue and lavender.

·         books

·         large, yet light, cane and wicker and glass closet for books

·         walk-in closets. a separate one for lounge-wear. mostly consisting of harem pants or slouchy pants made of thin, soft cotton, tiny silk slip-ons, printed skirts, cotton dresses, kaftans.

·         warm, hot food ready to be eaten.

·         colorful garbage bags, maybe in fuchsia

·         soft waffles

·         kitchen shelves lined with the finest, purest honey.

·         large jugs made of cut-glass and filled with chilled, iced lemonade.

·         cookie cans filled with sea-shells.

·         bushes with rose-buds. pink, red, yellow, and white.

·         little poetic verses stuck inside the wardrobe – Shelley near the stack of scarves, Byron with the flowing skirts, Neruda by the trousers, Tagore by the peasant tops.

·         a handwritten letter from a friend from long ago or from far away, every day, slipped under the door.

·         postcards from bombay printed onto pillow covers and cushion covers and cocktail napkins.

·         sky-high heels in kajal-black and blood-red.

·         Perfumes in tiny vials shaped like gypsies and flamenco dancers