Stuck

I miss my room in that red building. I miss it in winter. I miss all those autumns and winters on weekends where the whole place would be empty and I would run down to catch that last plate of breakfast before I would come back up and have a hot, hot shower before 9 am. I miss walking down that beautiful boulevard with that glorious winter sun in my face with that last hint of fog before it completely disappears at 11 am. I miss meeting her on that crowded bench and just talking. I miss watching and imitating those giggly, mindless women that walk past us. I miss watching movies with her. Walking around aimlessly in Sector 18. Those chicken rolls just outside the gate. Dancing to the horrid bollywood music playing in the background as we would walk down that slope of sector 18. I miss socially embarassing her. I miss those getaways to that pastry shop next door as that lady would waltz in and ask the guy behind the counter for her favourite chocolate MOUSE. I miss laughing our heads off as we try not to choke on our truffle cake.
I miss her. I miss those winters from that red building.

And I also miss you and how we were when I was a part of that red buliding. That one glorious winter and spring. I miss your messages on my phone on those cold mornings under my quilt. I miss that 1st coffe with you down the road past the two red lights. I miss holding you as we thundered through traffic on your machine everyday. I miss how you smelled for the 1st time when I sat behind you and tried to keep from freezing. I miss the endless cups of tea we had at that little run down tea stall. I miss being the 1st and probably last girl to ever dine at Shambu's dhaba. I miss how Shambu always knew that you would ask for an extra "makkhan ki tikiya". I miss feeling extra cold with you everyday when we would cross that particular stretch on Ridge Road. I miss you wearing your windcheater the other way round so I could shove my hands in and feel warm as we rode on your bike.

I miss me in that red building in winters. I miss waking up and washing buckets full of clothes for hours. I miss watching One Tree Hill on my 14" telly. I miss walking down to Gole Market to buy toiletries. I miss walking down there for a haircut. I miss Sunday Mornings where I would run up and down the stairs for breakfast and then hope to get hold of that last bit of hot water for a shower. I miss doing all of that in a tearing rush to make it to church just seconds before 9 am. Oh I miss those services of DBF. I miss their worship. I miss the discipline and order there. I miss haggling with the autowalas over 5 bucks. I miss buying chappals from Janpath. I miss just being alone, with myself as I meander through countless bookshops with a cup of hot chocolate in my hand.

And then I miss that other world. I miss waking up and seeing the entire valley from my corridor. I miss the cackle of those geese. I miss listening to the Lohit River gushing past the bedroom window. I miss all those faces. I miss saying "Tagra Raho" and meaning it. I miss that little tin church. I miss their beautiful soulful Mizo voices as we would sing our hearts out. I miss those services that had no order. I miss that I was one of them. I miss that feeling that overwhelmed me when I finally knew where I was from and that this was home. I miss my people. I miss the convoy we travelled in. I miss the incessant rain. I miss that they loved me and I loved them back so effortlessly.

I miss that both these worlds, of the red building and my roots by that river in the opposite side of the country co-existed. I miss it so much. All the time. Everytime I lie awake in bed.

I have been everywhere and nowhere until these two worlds happened to me. I have had wonderful, glorious times everywhere but they all seem unreal after these two worlds came and swept me away.
I never knew that fond memories could be so painful until now. As my heart quietly moans to be in those two worlds again, it has to learn to accept that it can never be.



And then she, from that bench, said, "Hard to understand how a part of us can just live and carry on,actually thrive on the fact that somewhere,somehow we are stuck!! stuck on to things that make the present just fade away sumtimes...stuck on to things which just come alive when everything else seems so dead...stuck on to things which give us wings when others just pass us by...stuck on.....Painful as it is....i live by the sound of that laughter.....laughter that just echoes in my ears...i live by the memories so alive in my head...sometimes i fear they may spill out into real characters....i live because i know that someday we'll be sitting here again..just to start off from where we had left..not once feeling the absence of time gone by..so i choose to be stuck to this world in my head..i choose to bring it to life...i choose for now to let the tears fall.i choose to live and relive what we share.....i choose to be stuck.....as i sit on that bench..................now alone..

I wonder what you , with your turned around wind cheater and they, from the river, will say.