Piya

In my quest for you, there have been many a hiccups. Scared to death, sometimes delighted by the wrong moves I made, I wondered whether I will ever find you. But at the end of it all, all I realize is that, I had you with me, all through. You and I together looked for you in this journey. You held my hand every moment. I found you at every turn, yet failed to realize that it was you. This time, that has been consumed, my patience that has been tested till its verge of extinction, is the cost of my failure in recognizing you.

On an entirely different note, something rather queer happened to me lately. As a child I read Khushwant Singh. Yeah, as a child you read Enid Blyton, I read Khushwant Singh.And I read him, the same books, every once in a while. So I was going through a story that I had read a couple of years ago. I felt like that story had happened to me. A certain portion of my life, did justice to the story, moment by moment. The one character was me, the other was a certain person. The similarity was so striking, it held me in awe. We had undergone the same feelings, we had uttered the same words, in the same tone. The reason behind the story was the same as mine. I was so flabbergasted that I shut the book, and gaped at the roof for sometime. How could this happen, I asked myself.

In life, I am not looking for these characters out of books and their stories. I am looking for something in flesh and blood, something as real as could be. Something like the thing that has nurtured between us. Someone like you. You.