That time of the year again

I'm not inclined towards prose today.

Nor poetry.

What I'm really in the mood for today, rather tonight, is sulking.

Which I've done for a full twelve and half hours now.

Sulked because she snapped.

Sulked because he didn't call.

Sulked because badminton didn't happen.

And finally, sulked because I had to accompany Maa to the hospital to see an absolute random relation.

And now I can't sulk anymore.

And I'm letting go.

Which pretty much sums up 19.

00:00

There is a certain way winter descends over Calcutta. It's not sudden, it isn't gradual. It doesn't creep over the city, neither does it smoothly take over. You just have to live here long enough to notice the patterns. There are a few brakes..a few jerks. But winter still comes to this city beautifully. And for someone like me, who enjoys the feeling of the world around me being just about cold enough for me to want to be warm, well, it's just perfect.

Cause when you're entwined in his arms after a long hard day of stage fright, and you pass a wall graffiti, when the next moment's lights are reflected in the large pool of his eyes - it is this city you feel for most.

There are five minutes to go. And you wanna go on top of a really top building and scream to the same city. Out of joy, overwhelmingly joyously.

After all..it was winter, Calcutta winter. Which brought intermingled frosts of breaths. And tears, displaced kisses. Him, not much later.

फैज़

गुलों में रंग भरे

बाद-ए-नो बहार चले

चले भी आओ कि

गुलशन का कारोबार चले

Another city post

From the zebra crossing.

My phone lit intermittently. Off ringer. Off vibration.

He said he wasn't in a mood to talk. So I plugged in my earphones.

They say no language can be adequately translated.

Aamake aamar moton thakte dao

Aami nije ke nije moton guchiye niyechi.

Driving through Calcutta near about dusk. Always breathtaking.

The bill boards are just lit up, brake lights and signals are all fresh. Dewy almost.

Light shines in fragmented rays from beyond the lake. The lake with lavender wild-flowers. They're a song on their own.

It's always harmony..you, with the universe. One pulse. Pulsating.

He's singing of life in the background.

Ei toh jibon.

Yes.

Life has a certain romance to it. And everything, a shine to it. In hindsight.

Remember telling her about how I love my mistakes. Fiercely. How else are you young, irrational and extreme?

I'm going to be 17, for a while.

voices. void. absence.

It's just the flow

of it

that confounds me.

I flow with it

one day

another day

yet another.

From one into another.

A shiny blue pebble.

Rounded by the flow.

Rounded enough

to flow with the flow.

Just flow.

It's the worst phone calls

nightmares of nights

that confirm my belief

strengthen my conviction -

this is not a flow which

will end in the ocean

form deltas.

Or break.

They say

there are mind frames

you shouldn't get into.

There are some emotions

you shouldn't get tangled in.

There are addictions and cravings

you should resist.

Obviously

there is a reason why I warn others.

Or am I?

For a lifetime

Waking up with a shiver.

On the season's first cold, windy day. A cloudy morning. Slips into a cloudy afternoon.

And it's still windy.

I look outside.

And I declare it's romantic.

And he asks me.

I cross the threshold. And my feet feel the cold under them.

I step back.

And it's warm again.

I flit from the warm to the cold, and back.

Guess it's true. It's always warm indoors. And cold outside.