Saturday, March 31, 2012
#Open my eyes for a different view, and nothing else matters.
Friday, March 30, 2012
And now your name's gone too. It used to be on my homescreen you know. If you texted, it'd flash a different colour, and I'd know. You kept your promise. Just this one. I'm not someone worth knowing. You deleted me with ease. So now you're unreachable. In the true sense of the word. Gone. Long gone.
I'll admit, I like to live life in a grey area. But what I feel about you is crystal clear. My only solace for life will be that you were the one who left. You were just like everyone else. I made you out to be something larger than life. It's not like I can't live without you, I just didn't want to. But that's not an option you left me with.
You broke me. Again. Even in your goodbye, you didn't have to be so ruthlessly cold and hard. You could've stayed, around. In the corner of my eye. I'd promised myself, I'd stay strong this time but you took away the strength. Again. You slapped me, and this one really hurt. But my wasted heart will still love you forever.
#I can't pick up the quill anymore, I've set it down on us.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
"We'll not stay friends?"
"We never really were friends you know."
I guess I lost you the day I said those words aloud. I've replayed it all in my head so much it's unreal. I should've listened to my head even then. We would've stayed friends for really long that way, maybe even forever. Not been two ends of a cord that can be broken by mundane things such as distance and space. Would I write this story any different now? Maybe. Do you see a tinge of regret in my eyes? Ah no, it's not that. Just the fear of loss is too immense for a tiny person like me. Today I realize there will come a day when I won't know you anymore. We won't grow old together. I wouldn't be around to mock your twenty-year-old wife, and you wouldn't be around to help me be a runaway bride.
"Won't you read my mind?"
"You're over-thinking again."
See this is why I asked you to join me and lie here with me in the dark. My head is not good for me these days. It tells me things I would so much rather not hear. It makes me want to set fire to this room, and burn down with it. Because I told you, a world in which I don't know you is not one I want to exist in. But you said then, we're not done yet. You made me dream up this whole room, in your house and I lived on in it. So tell me, are we done now?
"I can't help falling."
"Please tell me you know, I've got to let you go."
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I don't know what I liked most - the brilliant storyline which is intricately told; the fine editing which keeps alive, the pace of the movie and doesn't really give you much time to form theories of your own; the strong performance by Vidya (all those people who applauded her for The Dirty Picture, kindly open your eyes wide and see THIS is what performance is. Not the rehearsed blurting of vulgar, double meaning sentences that can make the cut only in B-grade and adult-rated movies which play after hours in shady theaters), the absence of a hunky dory let's-dance-around-the-trees bollywood romance sequence and/or better yet a let's-shed-all-clothes-and-do-some-pelvic-thrusts-in-the-name-of-an-item-song, the few and far-spaced out yet powerful dialogues (Reference to Point : 'Koi fark nahi hai. Hum kanoon ke liye karte hain, woh kanoon ke khilaaf), the subtle humour that doesn't change the tense atmosphere but makes you smile, the presence of a real plot for the first time this year instead of the same mundane and oft-told tales of boy-meets-girl (Recent Reference: Ek Main aur Ek Tu) or the climax, which is not the build-up you'd bought that bucket of popcorn for but supersedes it altogether.
Kahaani is the simply told tale of a pregnant woman, Vidya Bagchi who flies down from London in search of her missing husband, who works as a software programmer by the day and doesn't mind hacking for fun at night. She is helped in her endeavour to track down her husband by an earnest cop, Rana played by Parambrata Chattopadhyay. His acting is wonderfully fresh and deserves credit. He doesn't overdo the love that he gradually begins to feel for this tireless woman and does his best to help and protect her. It's an out and out Vidya Balan movie with the rest of the cast just standing in as fillers, but another good performance is by Bob - a slightly overweight, down and out insurance agent.
The film is set in Calcutta (sorry folks, calling it Kolkata still somehow hurts my tongue or in this case, keypad) and it takes you through the town, not as a tourist but as a resident. From Victoria Memorial to Howrah Bridge to the trams and Park Street, it's a ride through the very heart of the city - at the edge - for as a character rightly says, Calcutta from the director Sujoy Ghosh's view, is not safe. The dingy lanes, the undercover cops, the police informers - everybody seems to have a second layer to them. As Rana very rightly tells us early on in the movie, in Calcutta everyone has two names, and in a way, two identities.
Yes, there are a few loop-holes but you can't blame the direction. It's a very good effort to tell a tale and it leaves every viewer feeling something different. Personally, the movie touched me in a way that made me belief that with grief, comes an immeasurable amount of pain but there also comes an unparalleled strength, we just have to find a way to channel it. Belief and justice are two intertwined concepts that Ghosh does strike with panache even with a slightly dark and weak screenplay.
As mentioned already, the direction is good and so is the script writing, editing, and acting. The lack of a soundtrack doesn't bother you much for it would've been an unnecessary addition. However, "Ekla Cholo Re" - which literally translates to "Walk alone", sung in Amitabh Bachchan's penetratingly deep and enamouring voice is an icing to the cake and this review would be incomplete with the feeble yet needed translation of the poem written by Rabindranath Tagore that the song is based on:
So I am a sucky sort of a blogger who never really appreciates you or thanks you for your time and kind words. I am also a very demanding person. Hence I am informing you of my new baby blog that me and my friend started together, Lens-i-fied and *demanding* that you give it a look :P
The whole concept is that she clicks a picture and sends me, then I write about whatever that picture brings to my mind. If she feels it did her picture justice, she hits publish post. The she here is a very important person to me - Payal Bhansali - the reason and inspiration behind a lot of posts.
So, you can check out our blog at, http://thiswillbeoursong.blogspot.com/
It'd be nice if you could follow us there.
Hope to see you.
Your ever demanding pessimist,
Sunday, March 25, 2012
She was envious, of everything and everyone that got to see me, touch me, be with me. She was jealous of those who were an inch away when she was half a world apart. It didn't matter that I'd cross those oceans for her because they existed, between us. They separated us. She got angrier as the months passed, until she became someone I no longer recognized. I didn't understand her moods anymore or her whims, but she said she loved me. Everyday. Even days when I didn't want to hear it. I guess she needed to say it aloud.. Needed to hear me say it. And so I did. Even when I didn't mean it.
I liked pacing but I'd place myself in a room full of smoke for hours now, instead. She was digits away but pressing them was never a thought. She was clicks away but the clicks weren't what changed me, the away was. She was never there. I got how she couldn't be, but that didn't help the fact that I wanted her around. She should've been around when my back was killing me and I needed to feel her fingers on it. She should've been around when I mistook those lips for hers on our night. She should've been around when her face started becoming a blur in my head and those memories - an echo from a distant lifetime.
The red haze of our love exists still, somewhere deep down. It's just difficult to reach and painted in different shades now.
Hers is green. Mine is black.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Life spiraled more and more. Her head was heavy and her face was made of porcelain. The doll for the world, the one to be played with and left eventually. But if you look closely, even this plastic doll has a tear or two hidden behind that eyelash. More than just a tear hidden away. But she's made of fake fragments, sewn together after the million times of being torn apart.
The doll stares at the world around her. She doesn't get a say or a grip on the people that surround her. It. But she can't think of herself as 'it'. She likes to believe there's a heart around there somewhere. She just looks on, trying to see but her vision is clouded and blurry. She gives up a little more each day, on humanity and gives in to the demons that are just waiting to engulf her.
Kid: Why is this happening?
Dad: It'll all get better.
Kid: It never gets better. It just gets worse.
She knows she's powerless. She knows she has to let go of the people who have cradled and hugged her. She has to accept the enormity of this planet and realize that she's not the axis it spins on. She always knew it was going to be hard. But when it got so difficult, she doesn't know. But then, that's why she's made of porcelain.
Kid: I'm scared.
Dad: Chill kid. It'll all work out.
Kid: Don't call me a kid.
The feelings that her face emotes have been plastered on her. Nothing feels like it's hers anymore. She belongs nowhere. And the longer she thinks, the more out of focus her thoughts spin and crash and burn. She tries to speak but nobody's really listening. She's the minuscule of tiny, about a nano-meter tall, in this playground of giants, made to feel even tinier when she's addressed or called out. So she's prepared to be tossed around and thrown out altogether, soon, very soon.
Kid: I don't want to lose any more people than I already have. Not to death, not to anything. Not again.
Dad: We all are dead and just pretend to be alive.
Kid: You're right. I guess I was always dead inside.
"What killed me baby?" ; "Maybe I did. You'll never know."
"You?" ; "Yeah, me. I always said I could."
"Is this so you can breathe me back to life? ; "No, this is so you can disappear forever."
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Maybe someday your insensitivity will make no difference.
Maybe someday my heart won't beat a million beats faster when you crush it.
Maybe someday I wouldn't shake when you leave me out in the cold.
Maybe someday I'll not wait when you leave.
Maybe someday my eyes won't get instantly blurred.
Maybe someday I won't feel like a bullet was put through me.
Maybe someday this feeling of having acid poured over my heart will go away.
Till then, I'll live with my new bestfriend. # Acidburns.
They both stood semi-still.. She, playing with her hair; he, gazing deeply in her grey-blue eyes – neither wanting to break the eye-contact though both longing for touch.
As the breeze started blowing with a deeper chill than before, she seemed to shiver slightly. It seemed this cold breeze was giving her goosebumps—though she doubted it had more to do with his presence. It was this shiver that brought him to his senses, splintering the trance he was in and he broke into a run towards her.
And as he stopped, just two steps short of her, it was so as to take in her entire beauty, even more charming under the moonlight which seemed to seep upon them in a way that kept alive the sense of dark and yet, was enough to light up their faces. They were so close that she could have counted the freckles on his face but she only noticed his deep, intense eyes seemingly burning the darkness as they gazed so passionately into her very soul ..
The chill was setting in and the breeze swayed the branches of the trees gently .. the clouds slid over the moon and the night seemed to momentarily engulf them both into darkness.
In this one fluid moment he pulled her by the arm to him and held her close enough to never let go. She was cold, her skin freezing as if begging him to make her warm. The world around them ceased to exist as they both looked into each other .. craving for more closeness if possible ..
She opened her mouth, trying to put into words as to how she felt, how he made her feel .. but his two fingers touched her lips .. silencing her .. the moment was just too perfect for words.
She was shorter than him by an inch or two so she stepped on his feet as he held her by the waist, slowly yet certainly, drawing her closer and closer .. pulling himself into her .. leaving no room for even air to pass between them ..
He slid his hand up her back into her silk soft hair .. and as she tried to pull away, he held her even harder with a sense of possessiveness that a kid has while holding a precious toy that he’s afraid to lose in the dark. She stopped resisting as he finally broke the silence with his husky-deep voice ..
“I Love You”
The clouds seemed to leisurely drift away .. making way for two stars that shimmered ever so brightly upon them .. and even the chill in the breeze was lost and forgotten .. as their lips met. It was their first .. and the miniscule distance between their bodies seemed insignificant and non-existent .. their soul was one ..
And as they sat down on a forlorn bench to gaze at the brilliant sky, the secret midnight walk seemed worth the effort .. and as she kept her head on his shoulder taking her small, cold hand into his, it was her favourite song that he whispered in her tender ear ..
That was then.. This is now. And no amount of dreams can make them real. This harsh reality is hers alone. Sure, she spends it wishing he comes and pulls her out if it - this misery, but it's her fight. She has to fight this one alone. She has to wake up in this jail that she has built for herself, secretly praying everyday for a loop-hole, an easier way.
"Oh my god. I know this is not what it used to be. It used to be easy. Waking up to your name was one of the many constants in my life. Now my wrinkles are yellow, and my face is pale. The stength seems to have left my limbs and it's an effort to get myself out of bed everyday without that name."
"Oh my god. My warts are moonlight and they can't be scrubbed off or shook. They plague me a little more each day and happiness is a task when you're ill, maybe even dead from within."
"Oh my god. My fatigue is the sea. My sea. It has tired me and left me on clueless and homeles at the shore. I'm alone and the more I run toward it, the further back it recedes."
"Oh my god. I know I'm not the girl you fell in love with. But please don't abandon me. Don't abandon me."
Friday, March 16, 2012
"They say there's always someone in a relationship who loves more. Oh god I wish it wasn't me."
Art. What is so special about it? Music, words, pictures - all art. What about it makes it what it is? That connection. And not to that painting or to that book or to that musical note - it is the connection in that moment with the one person that it takes you to. For art is never an individual thing. It may be created by one, but it can never be in seclusion. It will always lead you to something.. or someone. And today, for the infinith time, it led me to you.
Everytime I hear a new song, you're the first person that pops into my head. I want to run to you and make you listen to it. I know you wouldn't even like it for I've just fallen for the crappy lyrics and you'll look for some brilliance which it doesn't possess. But the very fact that it made me think of you made it exemplary enough in my head. I see a picture and I absolutely have to send it to you. It could be of a pretty girl or a funny dog or a non-existent alien. I'll still want you to look at it and smile or laugh hopefully, and I like to be the reason behind that nanosecond of your happiness, that hint of your smile. And every single time I make a new memory, I embed you in it. I read words which someone said before me and I quote them to you for maybe they'll come close to explaining what it is.. what I'm trying.. what I want you to know. I write to you, for you, every single word, all this incoherence, searching always for better ones to outdo those three words, to replace those eight letters with something much more magnificent. Something worthy of you, of us.
But then it's love. That's four. Our number.
And there's you. That's three. Your number.
You add an I and it becomes eight. My number.
"How can you love someone so much and not know how, how to love them?"
I don't know how to love you. I just know that I do. I don't know how to show it or make you believe it because I don't think I can. All you should know is that you're in my dreams, you're in my heartbeat, you're in my very soul.
So I'll write that song. The one about us. And you'll sing. In that wonderful voice. I'll pull you close and we'll dance to it. Under the moonlit sky.
And until then, every piece of art, will draw me to just one person, always. That for me is love. Wanting you, long after having gotten you. Wanting more of you, everyday. Wanting you so much, it hurts almost. Thankyou. If not for you, I would've never known love.
And maybe that would have been an easier life option, but I'd rather brave out the storms and hurricanes. For when they wear out, I'll still be here, waiting for those stars to light up my moonlit sky. Because you owe me a song baby. And I will forever owe you a dance.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Why? Why would you feel the need to lie to me? See, this is what bugs me. I can take anything in this world except lies but somehow boys are synonymous with the very word. It's their way of life.
All the bull you've been feeding me all this while, all my affection and guilt has been based on this. But you wouldn't even agree to that. Half truths then? They're lies too my friend.
Which part of the phrase, don't-ever-lie-to-me do you not understand? Should I repeat myself slowly since your comprehension power is nil and you're actually that slow?
You know the best bit. I'm not even going to ask you anything anymore. Because I'm not in a mood to cite my sources. If you are to own up, you will. And if not, then well too bad. I've been honest since the first day till the last and if I'm not worth the truth then I'm done here. Once and for all.
All these things we were supposed to do, all these things you have to tell me - I don't want to do or listen to anymore. I've heard enough. Fallen for all of it too actually because beneath all the bullshit, I always thought you're a decent person who cares. Because I happen to care! Yes, the silly me who believes the best in everyone. But guess what? I don't need this right now. Your fake attempt at redemption or whatever the hell it is, spare me please. I've seen enough.
I was there through all the shit we've been through. I faced it - all of it - alone. And it's alright that you turned your back on me, but it is not okay to make a mockery of my name or my love. That I will just not tolerate.
I am so glad now to have not sent you all those letters that sit here on my desk marked unsent. You are truly not worth my words anymore. You reek of insincerity now on and I'm not sure which is worse, having known the better you or not knowing if that was true or a farce altogether.
But I guess now I don't have to bother finding out. Let's stop the pretence. At normalcy. Wow that feels nice.. Saying it aloud. It feels even better knowing that for once, I'm not going to be answerable for the void that's soon to follow. And I mean it. I'm even done trying to be friends. Until you're ready to come clean.. This is me saying : Let's end it all. My parting words?
Thanks for all the fish.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
But what I wrote earlier, reeked of immaturity. It was made of similar sounding phrases and over-thought of rhyming words. I was a kid then. I like to believe I'm all grown up now and my words have more of an impact now, more depth, more meaning. But maybe she's right. She, the only girl I share my mother with. She, the one whose been a mother to me in more ways than one. And she, the one who tries so hard to understand this new me.
For she knew the kid me, probably even liked her. I was clear then, like fresh dew drops on grass. But as the day progresses, the dew gets a little paler by the moment before dissolving altogether. I dissolved. Into the bars of the rhymes that I hunted. Into the darkness of the night which was always so comforting. Into the beats of the music that get me through each day.
And still, she perseveres. Through every post and prose. Looking for that poem which will be full of sunshine and rainbows. Scenting in every corner, the chance of a rhyme. Waiting through it all for the hint of a smile. Someday, someday I will make her smile. Someday I will make it worth her time. Someday she will approve.
Till then, I'll shuffle among my murky thoughts on my own, seeking I know not, which sort of clarity. For though the writer in me shall live forever, the poet has died a million deaths.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Because that's all that we are now - isn't it? A memory. That's what it all becomes in the end. And soon, that fades too.
I'm hunting today, for my favourite memory of you.. There used to be so many, it was impossible to pick. And now I can't find a single one that means enough. Those words that I treasured have blown away with the wind and as I try to recreate them, I know I fall short.
But this is still needed. My ode to us. There's an odd comfort about us. I don't know what exactly.. I could never place it because besides your shoulder, our bodies were a mess together. I'm crooked you see - I never fit. Nevertheless, I could use those arms right now for I know them. I could use that walk to a random park, and the nonsensical fight over a packet of waiwai. I could use that look. The look of reassurance saying, it will all get okay. That I will make it, because I always do.
You. You had undying faith in me know always? As a person, as a friend - you really did. You were so sure you'd fuck up and I'd pull you out of it. You'd get drunk on one beer and know that I'd get us back safe. You'd hide and smoke and fuck up your DNS because you knew I'd find out, get mad and eventually make you okay. You'd screw up your english and physical education papers (how!) and then I'd volunteer to tutor you till you didn't improve.
Weird thing. As I think of us, I remember just the friendship today. Like there was never anything more. I strain to recall more but can't. And yet I know it was there. Once. There was an us. The silliness. The useless drama. The innumerable fights. And the love. Yes, that was there too. In plenty.
I was never the one Garv. I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I really am - now. I'm not that for anyone. I'm not built to make someone's world light up. And I feel like I destroyed you, trying. Because you still believe I'm it. I'm perfect. There is no girl like me. That is far from true. Open your heart again. The rest might surprise you. Let me go. There's nothing to hold on to here. I wouldn't even feel bad because that's the way of life. It hits me now that we're all replaceable in the end. Right down to the memories we create.. Someone will come and just write all over them. So, I'll smile for I want you to be happy. And that tiny place in your world which is mine, shall stay mine, and I'll visit it, the same day, every year.. Year after year.
Happy Ninth Dhar..
To what we were, what we could've been and what we never will be.
PS: They say you never forget your first but I hope you forget me. For as much as I want you to be a part of my life, I don't think I should be a part of yours. All I bring is pain and darkness. It's time you found some light.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
We all talk about having our lives different, about getting one more shot to play it all out so that this time we get it right. Most of us however wouldn't get it right the second time either, or the third, as this movie today told me. There are so many alternatives and possibilities that somewhere along the road, we'd screw up all over again and wish for another chance.
However if I had the butterfly which would help me re-write my destiny, I know the exact memory I would change. That precise day which would change my life forever. I wouldn't need another shot after that, just that one.
I have that memory written somewhere in elaborate detail too but reading it doesn't transport me back to that time. That one day in my playschool. I've read it countless times in the past hour but that doesn't let me change how my life played out. But if, if only we could get that opportunity, to be everything we ever wanted, you think we'd be able to grab it? Or would we let it slip.. Pass us by?
But this is life and not a scientific fiction, and as much as I'd want it to be the latter where I get another shot, this is all I've got - this is all we've got. So you live with the choices you make forever and these choices determine how it all shapes up. You can only alter the future, not the past, never the past but if you could, what is that one memory you would change? That one moment which would help you have it all back?
Do you ever wonder about it? Do you know yours? Because, I know mine. I guess I should be grateful for that level of clarity. But that doesn't really make this any easier. That makes the desperation a notch higher, to set it right - to atleast try to set it right and wake up in that alternate reality that I imagine.
And I'll chase it, that parallel world of my existence, that butterfly, that effect, that power. No matter how perilous the search or alien the power, I will hunt it down. But since I run short of breath fast and can't see too well in the dark.. Anyone up for an insane run beside me? Anyone up for a light?
Sunday, March 4, 2012
But her colour she says, is blue now. I'm taken aback for her colour in my head is yellow, for sunshine or white maybe, for peace though I prefer the former. Life however makes you experience colours in varied degrees and forms and so as she steps out in this heat, she's not her vibrant self, she's hiding behind those shades. "It's too hot", she complains. "When will this summer end?"
I know what she's asking but I have not the heart to give her a true answer for it's not going to give her any solace whatsoever. But I try anyway for I want her to brace herself for the heat strokes still to hit, all of us, in our face. When we talk of her new colour, she doesn't seem to have picked it for reasons I would have, but for it signifies numbness. She's too blue. Even a shot of red doesn't seem to bring back her sensations which have been numbed by an ocean of cold. Then why is she complaining of this weather? It'll warm her right up. It's hers afterall. "Nothing's mine anymore", she silences me. And I accept it, the resolve, her and even her version of blue
But blue is a serene colour you know. For the vast and never-ending sky which symbolizes opportunities; for the calm that precedes a storm, when everything is but perfect and unaware of what is to follow; but mostly for water, my favourite element in the world which can drown out everything and everyone. For true blue for me is my love, my sea, the one with the absolute and exclusive power to submerge even the red, and too blue - well let's not go there shall we? Everytime I close my eyes underwater, those tiny lights shining in the dark help me see the red, which is me, in all that haze of blue, which is you. You never wash over my fire even with that immense capacity to. You let me shine in the dark. And when I'm not looking, you draw from my light too for your love for red matches mine, almost.
But when will it end she worried. When you let my blue wash over yours. This summer will end with my rain. And as you look to the sky, which shows not the hint of a cloud, don't lose hope for I'm on my way. I will rain over you. I will wash it all away. Believe in what you question me? The rain my friend, the all-encompassing rain. It's on it's way. It's coming. Just you wait.
Friday, March 2, 2012
I always followed my desires, not giving a hoot to what it would do to the people I drove away from or left behind. And so we reached the big ass playground which I had left just an hour back. It was too crowded and Mom hadn't been feeling too well. You suspected a stampede at the least, judging the crowd's agitation level and numbers. You've always had an eye for the things to come Papa, but I so wanted to see evil burn to the ground with my own eyes.
As we reached, the man offered to buy me candy floss but all I wanted was to get in, ahead of everyone else. He held my hand and tried to guide me through the massive crowd. But he didn't know, I lead my own path. I don't hold on to hands for support too often and his fingers were strange and unknown. I left them somewhere along my journey and found myself in the middle of people too tall for me to look at and too strong for me to push.
The man started to panic and fret. My face was nowhere to be found and he had lost not just a kid, but somebody else's kid. While he roamed around screaming my name, I made way between people's legs to reach the very front of a much coveted line. I maintained my balance as I was pushed around. I didn't notice the mob getting out of control or when exactly all hell broke lose. The last thing I remember watching was the blinding blaze from the fire that was ablaze at last; the fire that I'd yearned for and managed to see.
In between the havoc and chaos at the playground, you were losing your cool back home, unaware of where I'd disappeared. Mom tried to calm you but she was worried too. Her creases eased somewhat and yours just deepened as you saw a scooter driving towards our house. He got off the scooter, perspiring and trying hard to form the words, "I.. I just took her to the playground.. She.. She left my hand.. The crowd.. There was a stampede.."
You didn't wait for him to complete the sentence, collared him and dragged him closer slapping his face, hard - this man who was your friend.
"How dare you take her out of my sight?", you said, as you hit him again. People tried to pull him away and he tried in vain to apologize. Nobody could hold you back and you struck again. You'd never let your little girl out by herself for this world was a big, bad place. You were livid at this man who'd managed to ruin all your efforts to keep her safe and protected by this one careless stunt of his.
"WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?", you bellowed into the silence of the night. Nobody has the answer. I'd left home, not to return.
But that's not how the night ended Papa. I'd listened to all those stories you read out to me and even though I didn't leave breadcrumbs to lead me back, I did count the turns and I did memorize the landmarks that would take me home always, a long time back, when you weren't looking. I came back, counting my steps and taking help from all the memories you and mom had helped me build around that neighbourhood. For when you weren't looking, I memorized the red light where you always switched off the ignition for it lasted too long, I learnt the roundabout where mom always forgot which turn was which, I remembered the lamppost under which I'd dropped my cap once, I knew the road on which mom taught me to ride my cycle and I certainly knew the lane which marked our house. Because you never taught me weakness. Losing sight, or calm, or faith was never an option. Fighting always was. So even though I left to discover the world, I came back Papa. All you had to do was wait.
And even though I've left home again, for a much longer duration this time and a much bigger discovery, I will come back. For that's where I belong. All you have to do is wait. Just wait for me.