Have you ever wondered?

If footsteps in sand and footsteps in snow

Have different stories to tell?

(I have looked and felt differently-
Like they had different sadnesses,
retained different memories..)

Winter can't be monsoon

Just like

Snow and rain are different souls

They have different things to say

You argued 

that snow could melt

and snow is rain and rain is snow

In different temperatures

*

Have you ever wondered?

If footsteps in sand and footsteps in snow

Have separate stories to tell?

Churned

When I am thus claustrophobic

In your world

(Which you call our world),

I turn to you

And you churn me a bit more

But then you kiss me later, 

And play with my curls

Whispering words of love

Until you are amused enough

And till I quietly forget

The feeling of your frothing spit

On my face and 

in my soul.

Outside the bell-jar

I've heard there's oxygen

Only sluts have a right on.

I am a new love affair

Between a zebra and a mare

I bubbled from a stare

In the middle of a fair

Yes, I was born from a wink

Which drove this mare pink

And her mare-heart to sink

(So that's what I think)

I was first a flying kiss

Then a nervous tryst

Then an eight-legged jig

Then perfect bliss

But now all my life

Looks: tails and stripes

And too many whines

And no sunshine

I am pretty despaired

How it's never ever clear 

The theories of care

Have expiry dates.

Oh, I was a new love affair

Between a zebra and a mare

I had bubbled from a stare

In the middle of a fair

Yes, I was born from a wink

Which drove my mare pink

And her mare-heart to sink

(Forver's what I thought)

How am I maintaining

my relationship status?

Endless Parisienne

Two-thirds compromise

Wisps of mystery

But mostly, silence.

Hyderabad Blues

Everyday these days I literally ache with longing, to return to those days spent in Hyderabad.

It isn't that I donot enjoy Europe or Vienna, I must clarify. I have made strong bonds here, when I move  to the States I will miss every single thing, even the freezing Austrian indifference. I can imagine how often I will look back with misty eyes to my wild adventures here, struggling to remember small details about each person I met, each place I visited, each new emotion I felt. I have this yearning-for-daysgoneby blues time to time.

So, as I was saying, I'm literally aching. I miss my room-mate and my ex-room-mate, that class full of colourful people, that school of Life Sciences. I remember those long corridors of the LH where I studied the days before the exams at a stretch sometimes for 20 hours, swearing always to start-early-and-never-do-this-again. I especially miss snoozing the alarm till 5 minutes before the 9 AM classes, I even miss missing my morning sambar-idli breakfast and those scorns from my room-mates. I remember those crazy bike rides in deflated tyres, those sleepy afternoon classes, dropping-by at Gops, Student's canteen, that evening chai near F-hostel, Anna's veg biriyani. I long for that typical musty HCU-y smell, its spirit, its people, its forests, its mushroom rocks and peacock lakes. Those 2,600 acres of home. I miss that whole Bengali crowd, and that North-Indian crowd, and that South-Indian too and this GUSH right now is literally UNBEARABLE.

I just can't believe I am not there, really. I can vividly recollect every single detail. Those long wires meeting in the horizon down the road to South Campus, I remember looking up to them as I biked. I remember that quiet happiness every time I entered campus after holidays.

How much I long for that sugarcane-juice, even the Hyderabad-sun, the swings in the Children's Park, the road to ILS, the beers in VC's rock, the CAUTION: DONOT PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINTs.

I miss those escapes to EFLU and the last minute hurried glance over the MMTS schedule book.

That unbearably sweaty train ride, that unbearably crowded station and finally the reunion with rum and weed and those random stoners! Fuko and terrible, terrible anticlimaxes. 

Those long nights full of conversations in empty buildings and elevators, swearing, talking and laughing to hide tears. That cigarette shop, that dew-drenched lawn, that stalker from Penna-Reddy law college.

I must add that I really miss the Lingampally Siddiqi, the Indranagar Dominos, even the food from the horrible Shanghai Chef. None of the snazzy restaurants and fashionable food here feel like home.

Which brings me to that second home in Gopanpally, cooking dal and chapathis, that liquor shop, that grocery store we bought eggs from.

Those few amazingly intense short-lived friendships.

And of course, that ONE unforgettable person.

I have left. THIS is the truth. And life has gone on.

Well, no wait, I have also left behind and moved on. The ultimate tragedy of life is when you have to leave the home you found and made all by yourself.