Of Long Ago.

Hey,

Someday we will not wear shabby clothes. Someday we will have a washing machine to wash them. Someday we both will have money in our wallets and strengths in our hearts. That day could be a product of difficult lives; a product of sleepless nights and endless tussles.

That day, you may be married and I may be married.

But I will remember you that day, as someone who had also fought. Remember me, too, that day.

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Pony,

You remind me of pink ponies on rosy days trotting on red roads. You make me wanna 
follow you down lush green meadows, run after you with the wind against my face.

It's summer and you already remind me of clouds, winds and rain. And I will miss your smell when you are away.And you will be away in 7 days; and you'll be away for two months.

Pony, I will miss our coffee and sugarcane juice and I will miss our red bicycle.

-Love and sadness,

The Little One

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I miss the gap between your fingers.

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I remember feeling warm in your jacket. I remember bleary eyed trysts and black-and-white evenings and sleepless nights and walks, tears, giggles and silence.

And the food tasting like home when you were along.

Days, you must know, I will never forget.

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What is it that pulls me to you like the river to the moon? But I don't wish to come to you like a lover comes to a lover. I want to be five when you are twenty two. I wish to be cuddled, to snuggle tenderly against the warmth of your body.

You hold me like glass. And just when I'm like gasoline catching fire, you tenderly pour water; aren't you bovine?

I don't understand  my feelings for you. It is so poorly out of rhyme, so absurd, so fuzzy, so beautiful.

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Hey I miss that famous smile and the famous dimple on your left cheek. Your laughter 
creates ripples on my heart.

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My day seems incomplete without writing here. It is a strange place, this. It makes me not feel at home, but at a strange place; away but comfortable, warm, contained and cozy.

I don't write here to attract your stupid attention by the way, I write here more for myself than for you.

I miss you. A week back I spent 30 precious seconds of my life smelling my dad's towel because it smelt of you. And today I smiled randomly like a jackass on the streets of Calcutta remembering old days.They seem so old, so faraway, almost from a previous life.

I miss you. I miss you like a friend misses a best friend. Or a sibling misses a sibling. Or a very old woman misses a very old man. It is strange and bizzare. It is weirder to me than it is to you.

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I patted imaginary powder over his forehead and cheeks. 
He spoke softly; his words fell silently like little droplets of rain on morning grass. 

He said, his bare arms across my bare shoulders, his hand around my bare waist: 'You will make a nice, tender mother someday... Just do not tell them how you lived your life...'. 

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'That's stupid of you to ask for and it's stupid of me to do it still but anyways our life is such a stupid mess that it doesn't matter'

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Well,

Here we have a new year. I donot know what will follow this year, what future has in store for you and me.

But I wish to talk to you at least for one day, all night till the break of dawn, on that elevated platform near Department of English, University of Hyderabad, Hyderabad.


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'Are you going to take care of me if and when I get pregnant?'

'If you get pregnant by me, then yes. But  kindly don't expect that if it is any Tom, Dick or Ha-'

'Say, if I don't know who the father is...'

- 'Then there either will be a murder, or a suicide.'

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I broke away and left you in the middle of Gops. Just got carried away. I forgot you. And when I remembered you an hour and a half later, I got so perturbed and I could not fathom why I do what I do.

Why do I do what I do? It is evening and the air still smells of metal. I was trying to sleep but as I laid on the floor, face up, I was distracted by the fan spinning on the ceiling.
There is a fan that spins like a retarded crazy kid on the ceiling of a house that reeks of Old Monk Rum all the time in my mind. I had spent a single night with you there and my memories have already jaded. But the fan is as green in my mind as it could be. I remember I couldn't read the name of the company, for my vision was blurred and my senses were numbing. 
There was nothing warm about that house; it flashes in my mind and disappears. When it comes to me, it comes to me with the suffocation of smoke and heat and the pungence of sweat and liquor. And then it clings on to my mind like a parasite with its dirty mattresses, dusty bookshelves, messy rooms, windowless kitchen, and tiny basin plus the razor and the Pepsodent.I donot know how many times I had melted on your body, the memory gets me feverish.In our campus, the season has changed and the leaves are changing colours, if you have noticed. The tree near the reading room is in full bloom and in the evening, the fallen yellow flowers glisten like golden beads of grapes in the setting sun.It looks so beautiful and sad that it breaks my heart.I want to leave this place. One day at sunset. I will leave for Meghalaya where I can live with clouds. For at heart, I am only a cloud, wafting from one piece of sky to another; waiting for my silver lining. There on way, I want to sit at the edge of a mountain road, run in the rain, lie down on grass, face up, count stars.If you know, when I write these, my eyes get misty. I am a cloud and will always be.

There is just too much pathos in my life.


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