A year ago, we were married again…

Our flash mob wedding in St. Louis

Our flash mob wedding in St. Louis

One year ago, surrounded by family and friends, we had a flash mob wedding on a beautiful St. Louis Saturday afternoon. This social ceremony stateside the nth wedding function we had starting with Ishani’s first wedding to a tree behind her house.

A sincere thanks to everyone who was there with us in St. Louis to celebrate. Those who wanted to but couldn’t make it were of course missed. We raise a glass to you all.

This post is back dated. Not because I forgot, but we because we’ve been without Internet a majority of the last few days. Hooray for monsoon weather!

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The scent of spring on a late night breeze conjures Neruda

Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos

The famous D.C. cherry blossoms on one of my middle-of-the-night rides last week. Warm breeze, the scent of the blossoms and I reminisce of Neruda and the love of my life. The cherry blossoms always do that. The last two stanzas of Sonnet XIV:

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.

I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Maybe I’m cliche and schmaltzy. I’m OK with that. Of course one Neruda poem immediately has me reading another.

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Jadoo tree

Behatar sath sath hei, na?

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Nature, giving me the what-for

Not something man can create

I love peaches. They are, to my taste, so perfect that they demonstrate the limits of our great abilities to create and alter and remake according to our whims.

No matter how hard we try, we can’t create such perfection. I think tomorrow I shall go in search of peach pie.

मेरी आडू | मुझे चाहिये |

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Cozy in Lodi

Resemble anyone?

More Lodi lovers. On the green lawns outside the octagonal tomb of Mohammed Shah.

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I’m cheering for ya, Mohan

Scribbled love

To the young, macho Indian man, there must be something irresistible about scrawling your romantic intentions on an old monument. This, from a nook at the palace of Jodhabai in Fatepur Sikri. I hope it worked out.

Of course, as much as a dark corner is perfect for inscribing the desires of the heart, it’s also a fine place to dump your litter.

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Ahhhhh, young love

Hot snuggle in the park

Lodi Gardens is Delhi’s green lung and respite from the hustle and dust of the city. But it’s also a haven for young lovers who, in a society that is mostly repressive of sexual urges, can come here and snuggle and canoodle to their heart’s content.

It’s actually more public necking than would likely be deemed appropriate in the U.S., though they do generally keep their clothes completely on. And sometimes it’s literally necking, as mouth-kissing is still far more taboo than kissing necks (and foreheads and hands and ears and arms and…).

I try to be discreet when photographing their trysts:

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Graff love

Ahh young stupid lovers...

Humayun’s Tomb, a 16th-century edifice built with a wife’s grand love for her emperor husband, becomes a canvas for the fleeting passions of innocent hearts.

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