I know we are miles apart: you and I. Yet I’ve been thinking about us. Distance does nothing to lessen what I feel for you and that is what I am concerned about.

What if, when twenty or thirty years later, we do not even know where the other one is and I am still stuck in time, thinking about you?

This is a trying time when we exist after having said our goodbyes because we have so little a chance of meeting again, though that is as good a chance as me wearing my favorite shirt tomorrow. And yet, if years later, when we’ve forgotten all about what brewed between us and you have forgotten I exist, 

If years later, I am still trying to extricate your name out of my memories, wouldn’t that be sad?

Because it will remind me how lonely I have been all these years.


The smell of Ink


A few days back, I got the most beautiful gift from a friend. This apple of my eyes, a fountain pen 🙂
What a long time it seems to have passed since I held another betwixt my fingers.Identifying this smell, that has a hint of rustic vagueness, takes me back to school. We were supposed to use ink pens. The daily ordeal of filling them up with ink! And in retrospect, it almost feels magical to have done so, religiously.
And I lost that habit to time, and convenience.
But today, when I filled it up and the smell reached me, it was an avalanche of memories that came tumbling down the little hillock that had been my childhood.
The smell of a classroom painted grey,
The whiff of air that invaded it on a humid August morning,
The everyday drill,
Neat lines,
Blue skirts.
Vigilant seniors,
Hands at the back.
And the halls echo,
With prayers and hymns;
Raised on high we lift the Carmel banner,
The corridors it fills.
And the day, passes by in a haze,
The rest of it,
Is burnt up in a devious blaze plaguing my memory.
But what I remember,
Is not the chatter,
But the rusty breeze,
That has followed me here,
Seven years later,
Oh the smell of ink!