"You remember how the few times that we did meet, we would walk for miles. We would get ourselves some food, you always being hearty with your choices. Me being a picky and an even bad eater. I would partly be happy to give you my food. Food did make you happy, I saw.
When we had gone to that dilapidated old printing press, we were exhausted yet somehow at peace. Like all other times, we barely talked. May be that is because we found an escape in each other. I did. I had gotten you a sandwich and soda. I had gone out on the pretext of giving company to a junior.
You gave me that questioning look. The look that I could never fathom. I had convinced myself it's your way of showing gratitude or so.
Now I realize all it meant was "Why?".
Why, really?"-
"I met a boy, a lot like you. He has the charm of the Pied Piper and the whiff of mountains. I haven't been to them but somehow, they seem far too familiar to me. I can smell them on people. It's some sort of sorcery, I believe.
He met me at a very strange time in life. When on the outside I was all sorted and managed, while on the inside, I was a crumbling block of chipping ice. His warmth, made me stick by. Oh, the frailties that we humans have.
One thing which I learnt in the past few weeks is the importance of conversations. That if we don't talk people would never know. Like you never did.
Did you?"-
"Last night the winds made a whizzing audacious noise, a lot like a roaring lion. Ma told me that when on an altitude things sound this loud and uncalled for. She told me that the winds have always been this preposterous at night. Perhaps they are shooing the spirits of the night away, for dawn is about to arrive. She told me to shut the window, put on the drapes and sleep, the next time the winds are being their usual saucy self.
They say a knife under the pillow protects one from evil dreams and spirits. I sleep with the drapes apart and a fluffy pillow.
I have you in my heart."-
"A thin line of sugar can gather so many ants together, working, striving to pick up pieces of food, from what is trash to us. We often become so crude and self centered in our own innocuous ways, it's disheartening to see how less of a thought we give to the small lives around us.
A bird has made its nest on the roof in the backyard of my home. It's fluffy and soft. But devoid of any hatchlings yet. The heat must have taken a toll on its creator.
I was tempted to get rid of it, for it came in way of the money-plant creeper that is growing beautifully to complement the fairy lights at night. Eventually, I refrained.
The bird visits at night. We have seeds and water for her. Sugar sweet water. In a few weeks, when the sun is at its peak, the creeper will give it shade.
I hope the bird stays till then. Few things surpass the pain of a perfect setting not meeting it's deserved end."-
"A very thin thread holds things together. It collects the beads and pearls, aligns them as one to give it the beauty of a necklace. It binds together the other threads, into a pattern in gaudy colors to give it the grace of a phulkari. It wraps around a sacred stone, to preserve it from sight and sigh and protects it from a preposterous gaze. A very thin thread, does all of it.
In life as in relationships, most things are dangling by this very thin thread. One slip and the thread dangles out, never to return, lest the complex matrix of criss-cross pattern gets disturbed.
The thread which snaps out though, gnaws at each for the rest of our time."-
"My favorite blogger says that mistakes are beautiful. That if we don't commit mistakes, we might never learn. That it is okay to make mistakes and we must embrace them. She has the kind of unabashed confidence that I lack. Perhaps, I will be able to muster it next fall. Fall makes me feel fuzzy and warm, from the inside.
I, for one think mistakes should be done away with, as soon as possible. Reveling in them for too long leads to you becoming them.
Then why am I still writing to you. Then why am I still tracing the same path that once did and got lost in. To you."-
"He should not have brought drinks for me. He didn't know what he was upto then. Perhaps, he couldn't realise that he was the cool to the thawing ice in me and the eventual eye of the storm, brewing like hot water in a kettle. Only to be released, bit by bit by bit. In phases, gaps and a lot of whizzing.
He should not have confided in me. He gave me his little jokes and I placed them in a satin pouch and locked them away as secrets in the valves of my heart. He didn't realise he was filling the hollow of my heart and eventually, occupying more space after all.
He should not have held my hand, though."-
"He is not going to be here tonight. Even though we just met, I miss him already. There was a certain reassurance, in him staying close by. Just fourteen flight of steps away. In another universe, I could be his next door neighbor.
The summer sun, that he detests so much, keeps inviting itself to my brightly lit room, for a siesta. He shuts his eyes towards the window and then looks at my jhumka, with all the fascination that a lover's eye could muster.
He wants to go home, for his heart lies there. I, for one, am not sure what home is."-
"It rained in my city yesterday. There were dew drops on leaves, the size of golden blobs of melted twilight. I saw stories of it in people's feeds and had a sharp nudge and pang of longing. You see, the new city is too hot and uptight, for its own good. The city, my city, the one which could be ours, is warm and soft like misty dew in the air.
If we ever get to see each other again, I will fill you in with the aesthetics of the new city. It's fancy, bold and beautiful. It's nothing like our city, though."-
"He came in like a summer storm, except he brought with himself all the cool and shade that one needs to protect themselves from the inevitable heat. It was such a breathe of fresh air, to have someone measure your breathe and gauge how well you feel. It was such a royal relief.
Looking back I feel it was but the delicacy of the hour. Summer storms don't last that long. It has already started to rain and pour, after all."-