Lying near you, your bristles of toupee on my forehead tickling me away, every time I think of it – I am still lost and hypnotised. I speak about you less although the strong thoughts lead me to you. Wavering and inevitable I still smile about you. The diaphanous and tender touch of yours – rings a bell on my intellect; that it’s you and nobody else. This is how I know you. Trying to get back on my feet with broken and bruised elbows I brush myself up in agony of losing something – not love, for now I know I haven’t lost love, it’s just the dilemma of life testing me in different situations.
I know you are ubiquitous but in reality you are not. You are as real as the breeze around me which tickles me away with your name on it behind my back. I look around to find you but in vain to find none. I look at my feet in desolation but with a smile of hope and new dreams which I have been dreaming of myself. But somethings aren’t supposed to go hand in hand – are they? Some memories are fascinating and deceiving – but you enjoy the hallucination or the illusion because you have a part of the experience which is still in that time zone and never wants to come out of it. The long incessant walks just to get something out of our mind, the pestering moments just to hear your bellow which was supposedly for me, the wayward winks during a serious conversation – “reminiscence” is what I can call it.
The small surprises and the TTMM fundas when the RBI wasn’t working at its best, the brawling conversations with the world against me and the cheerful support that you have provided when I needed the most – I still recollect in my mind. “Columbus travelled from one corner of the world to the other to prove he wasn’t wrong, how far could you go for someone?” I asked. The long taxing journeys to shorten the distance on special occasion and sending a signal of “tears” to the Waterworks department of our human body which is still persistent. Still remember the piquant and palatable food which was a combination of the Mumbai – Chennai express and the unavoidable burps which I had after savouring them. The daunting yet adventurous bike rides where I always end up being a bad driver and my ears still hear the same conversations.
It’s hard to be pretentious when I see you, but sometimes I can’t help it. My fingers stop typing or I keep gawking at my screen – lose words or don’t want to expose the penned emotions. I wake up abruptly with the dream of losing myself but get back to sleep with the memories which will be inextirpable. It’s not the same between the two now but still there’s a strong feeling of compassion that this real world won’t accept anymore.
The theatre screen came down and the audience looked each other in silence and dejection, providing solace, some couple held hands together and blubbered. So did I looking at my phone and trying to type – the attempt went futile. I picked myself up with a heavy-heart and dragged my soul from the theatre with much pathos.