Wednesday, March 23, 2016

2305 : Perspective

Many moons ago, I remember this day clearly.
It was raining, the way it can only rain in Bombay. Roads were flooded, trains were shut down. Folks were locked in their houses - a large part of the city had no electricity.

I had taken the bike out to cross the flooded roads and reach you. I had reached half way and had been stuck. Water flooded into the silencer, and the bike had sputtered shut.

I had been at least 10kms away from where I needed to be. At 5pm in the evening, folks told me its very dangerous to proceed. I had still tried for another 500m, before even I had had to give up.

I remember walking back with the bike pushing it silently on an empty but flooded road.

I had reached home at around 7pm that evening. Soaking wet, shivering with a fever and completely tired and spent.

And yet, the over-arching feeling in my head then was of an immense loss. An gargantuan sense of loss, almost, as if you had died. As if I had never managed to wave you the one last goodbye.

I had this feeling of a reverse endorphin spiking through me. I felt I had really lost.

Years later, I still remember that day vividly, as it happened yesterday, with unbridled nostalgia that only a poet could harbor in this ocean of a world.

And the bloody white as ice looks like, I was afterall, right, I indeed missed telling you a good-bye. Now its possibly so very late.

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