It’s 7:30 in the evening. The sun has gone down and there is an after taste of the light. Enough light to see people move. Enough to watch trees sway to the mild breeze. Not enough to call a place my own and succumb in there for the night. It has been a rainy day. My favourite kind,yeah. And I spent my time till the afternoon out there in the city because I had been longing to do that and because the dryness inside was mind numbing. I spent the morning treading on the Lodhi Road and finding Jamuns from trees. The rain continued. The umbrella was only a means to act sane. I then grabbed a lunch in Satya Niketan with a friend.
As I now watch the evening turn dark,I want to remember how I felt yesterday. Or the day before. This is probably the most excruciatingly painful(to say the least) bunch of months I have seen. You know how you have a certain belief that this is just a little phase but then it stays. You feel that it is abnormal and unfit and it would go. But it stays. It stays to become the normal and all your optimism gets convicted.
Relationships are a muddle. An oreo mud cake. Some parts crunchy,some gooey,some sweet,some sweeter,some having the tad bit bitterness of the dark chocolate. But there in your soul,they are satisfying. You are always so full and yet there is room for more. I had known relationships in no other way. But in past few months I have seen them turn one flavour of bitter. No matter how much love they are fed they have turned resistant. Worsened. That’s not even the worst part. To see the happiest hearts come and utter words of despair on my shoulder,is probably the most disappointing feeling ever.
The nights as they progress bring dreams or not. The relationships as they lopside sure do break them. To see ruthlessness,insensitivity,egoistic battles all around you all the time,makes you all but thirsty for love. That denied,wraps it all up.
Could I call the night my own? Have you ever? Hasn’t it always been there for you? Days bring so many emotions and people to us but on most nights we are solitary dreamers. Nights serve as a travel bag where we pack everything that we owned,or were gifted or took as a memoir. But that bag,is solely ours. I do wish to call the night sky mine for I can whisper away everything to it.
The dilemma however is,would it be the same sky tomorrow morning? Would the whispers linger around or come back to me?
I so wish none of you have ever felt this.
Love and hope