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We disconnected each other
from every social network possible,
FB, Insta, YQ, Twitter—
except for the innocuous one,
Spotify.

Nowadays,
Spotify shows me
the song you're listening to
and I sometimes
abandon the one playing on mine
to tune into yours.

All of a sudden,
we are in the same room again,
silent, listening to your music.

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I keep half a window open,
and half of it closed
to let your fragrance in
and turn the rest of you
away like a ghost.

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THE PHASES OF MISSING

When you left, I missed you in places
we had been together in Bengaluru—
Blossoms bookstore, House of Commons,
arrival and departure terminals of its airport.
When I visited Delhi, I missed you in
Blues of Connaught Place,
in the Yellow Line of the Delhi metro,
in the dusty roads of Gurgaon and Rohini.

Over time, I started missing you
in books you left behind,
in the coffee mug with a peacock you gifted,
in old photographs of us clicked during travel.
It took me years to move on
from objects and places bearing your imprints.
Now I miss you in every person I meet,
I miss your kindness in them.
I can strip away all your memories,
let go of all your things, but I can't let go
of how kind you have been to me.
I like to keep it close.
It's the closest feeling to love I experienced.

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I'm in a space
where the writer in me
has taken over the lover in me.

I want to see your story
unfold from a distance —
not too far to not see anything,
not too near to see everything.

Distant like a friend,
that sweet spot
from where I read half of you
and imagine the other half.

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A STRANGE KIND OF SADNESS

Today, a fellow founder got a huge round of funding
and while I congratulated him,
saying, it's the best news of the day,
I sensed this strange kind of sadness.
His success story contained a snippet:
"Over 70 investors rejected my company."
The sadness at having been rejected by
at least thrice that number over the past four years.

Every investor in India has rejected YQ,
saying the market size isn't large enough.
There aren't enough number of writers
to make it a billion dollar business.
I remember October 2019,
the month when YQ was supposed to
run out of money & shut shop. We'd reached out
to our users & they upgraded to Premium,
making YQ survive for the past two years.
There's a lesson in love somewhere here:
when you love something with all your heart,
people don't fear loving it too.

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WHEN YOU BECOME ME

Today, I expressed a fear.
A fear that I'd end up alone.
You reply,
in your stern corporate voice:
even if you are with someone,
you can still feel alone.
There's no guarantee in life.

I complain that I want sympathy,
you to say something like:
you're such a good human,
anyone will be lucky to be with you.
I don't want a life gyaan.
I don't want that because that's so me.
When you become me,
I don't like you anymore.

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GREATEST FEAR

When I was younger
and my hair was yet to grey,
my greatest fear was losing
the one I loved,
and them not wanting to stay.

Now that I have turned
into a buzurg,
most of me grey,
I'm afraid when the one I love
is eager to stay.

When things haven't worked out
for you in the past,
you fear
things working out
more than things falling apart.

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If you add
the one that left
to the one that is left,
you get everything right.

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MODERN ROLL CALLS

I get restless
when my crush hasn't watched
my Instagram story hours after I posted.
Is she okay? Is she there?
Generally, she watches within two minutes.
I visit her profile, check the following list,
sigh at finding myself there.
I look at my last chat, run through each line
with the severity of an examiner:
did I say something weird
that she muted me?

It feels exactly like school,
the anxiety of not seeing my crush
at the morning assembly,
nor finding her bag in the classroom,
not until the roll calls for attendance
and her name is announced,
only to hear silence. A sad silence.
The teacher records her absent
while I record her absence.

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