The tress changed colour and sooner than I know, winter woke me up with her chilled finger tips, abruptly, and I sat up in bed and wondered whether to go back to sleep or to make some use of the extra time at 5 in the morning. Most of us are still trying to fight the feeling that the year is ending. We don’t want to say our goodbyes.
So lest my memory fades away, I have decided to write down the year, one month at a time.
January, 2015
Home meant bon fires with my folks, my Grandma’s stories of the days gone by. That was the first week and I soon packed my bags and had to come back to this young city, back to my college.
College had become this celebration with food, laughter and friends. Oh yeah, and books. Love comes in all shapes and sizes, and we as a species stand testimony to the importance of variety, our bodies tell us stories of how we can fall in love with anybody. We’re tall, we’re short, we’re fair, we’re sun-kissed, we’re rosy-cheeked, we’re young, old, average, and intelligent and God knows what else. We still love each other.
The winter sun continued playing hide and seek through the trees of Digholi pukhuri and everyday in college some hearts broke and some new friends made. The fragrance of youth drifted all around the college and the rattling roar of their energy sunk into the ground and made the trees grow faster. We bunked classes, hung out in the canteen, fell in love with all of us.
I managed to go out, managed to fight the lonely monster for almost the entire month, managed to wake up and mechanically found myself in class, laughing at someone’s joke every other day. One of my friends started drifting apart and they knew I knew it. I was too smart to not notice.
Anyway, I filled the void up with books, music and writing like I always do. They were always leaving, what did it matter anyway, I thought. That hurt, of course, but I found friendship can be the most unexpected thing that two of the most unexpected people can foster. And so when it disappeared I wasn’t too surprised. Understanding, you might call it.
And then we all dolled up with all the fucking enthusiasm our bones could hold and our blood could carry and showed ourselves off at Saraswati puja. The dark red hues of our lipsticks and the pale yellow of khichri got so mixed up with our yearnings of being noticed that we ate muck and never realised it.
Oh yeah, and I over spent. And regretted.
So lest my memory fades away, I have decided to write down the year, one month at a time.
January, 2015
Home meant bon fires with my folks, my Grandma’s stories of the days gone by. That was the first week and I soon packed my bags and had to come back to this young city, back to my college.
College had become this celebration with food, laughter and friends. Oh yeah, and books. Love comes in all shapes and sizes, and we as a species stand testimony to the importance of variety, our bodies tell us stories of how we can fall in love with anybody. We’re tall, we’re short, we’re fair, we’re sun-kissed, we’re rosy-cheeked, we’re young, old, average, and intelligent and God knows what else. We still love each other.
The winter sun continued playing hide and seek through the trees of Digholi pukhuri and everyday in college some hearts broke and some new friends made. The fragrance of youth drifted all around the college and the rattling roar of their energy sunk into the ground and made the trees grow faster. We bunked classes, hung out in the canteen, fell in love with all of us.
I managed to go out, managed to fight the lonely monster for almost the entire month, managed to wake up and mechanically found myself in class, laughing at someone’s joke every other day. One of my friends started drifting apart and they knew I knew it. I was too smart to not notice.
Anyway, I filled the void up with books, music and writing like I always do. They were always leaving, what did it matter anyway, I thought. That hurt, of course, but I found friendship can be the most unexpected thing that two of the most unexpected people can foster. And so when it disappeared I wasn’t too surprised. Understanding, you might call it.
And then we all dolled up with all the fucking enthusiasm our bones could hold and our blood could carry and showed ourselves off at Saraswati puja. The dark red hues of our lipsticks and the pale yellow of khichri got so mixed up with our yearnings of being noticed that we ate muck and never realised it.
Oh yeah, and I over spent. And regretted.
I wish I too had the talent to write like you. Keep it up, my fav girl.
ReplyDelete