Last night hailed thunderstorm from all over the places and directions, it was windy and later it got rainy. This morning, it was one of those mornings when the ceiling fan is not needed yet you still want it to rotate with the whirling of the winds that comes fresh after touching the mountains around. Kinda like the natural drinking water that flows in streams in Shogi, which is also one of the primary drinking water resource for many.
This morning was a sudden relief from summer heat that had started clutching the town for about two days. I had my blanket wrapped from head to toe, savouring the cold winds that came in through a window that was left open in anticipation of nothing special. This morning, when I thought I could just lay around here forever, I dreamt about you.
We were back in college, we were dressed up. I, was dressed up, that was really unusual of me. I don’t remember what I was wearing, but I guess you were wearing a yellow dress, yellow probably closing #ffdb00. And we were dancing. I don’t remember if there was any music playing, there probably was. But I just remember we staring in each other’s eyes and dancing slowly fluidly. Others were dancing as well. It was like Mumbai, nobody bothered about what other person was engaged in or doing, which is never really possible in our alma mater, but well this was a dream, misty mixtures of past and or present and or future, not in control.
It felt like a respite from time, it was amazing. We weren’t thinking anything in particular, like the yester days, when we’d keep asking each other what the other was thinking, when the other was thinking nothing in particular. Time stopped, because there were no thoughts, no botheration to aid the rate of change of thoughts hence time. You were a pretty good dancer, though I don’t know that in reality of course. I’ve just heard about your epic laughter and your epic screams, probably even heard one when I was passing by Isha Goyal’s room.
I don’t want to thank you, thanking needs separation. But since I can’t be in your presence to explode and offer silence side by side, I’ll have to use words to grotesquely say the experience that might have been. I offer you my gratitude, not because I have it to give it to you, but because it oozes out like pee when the bladder is bursting. For checking on me, sticking by me, inspiring me, cutting my crap and getting me straight to what can be done and what is needed.
I miss you, I wish we could go on a long drive someday, listening to my Indie, Folk, Alternate and Country collection of songs, and also the old Hindi songs.
Probably I’ll make it happen. As I stand in front of the mountains, which once stood as my audience for the first declamation contest I prepared for, and let my unkempt long hair dabble on the wings of this air, I remember you, intensely. Goodnight.