A few years ago, we ate out, dinner in icy cold Shillong nights. Chicken kebabs, in restaurants that are now closed. And walked back in multiple jackets, scarfs, mufflers and whatnot. We were, so hopelessly romantic, looking for the one paramour.
A few years ago, we kissed the sun and wandered around Bombay beaches in sweltering summer afternoons. Slurping mango lassi at ten bucks a glass. Salty winds gushing through our tufts of hair, untamed. We could be everything, if we ever wanted.
A few years ago, we hung out laundry to dry on crisp and breezy Bangalore Saturdays. We shopped for trinkets aimlessly in the evenings and drank in smokey bars and remembered other years.
A few years ago, in spring, in the home town, town of towns as strange flowers flowered and filled the air with addictive smells, we held mugs of creamy coffee in our hands, languorosly chatted and looked for the right words.
We don't know how we lived this long. But suddenly we're in 2020 and the world's ending. We've hardly ever been happy. But now that the literal apocalypse has been squeezed into a few months, here's to harbouring a silent hope, that we get to see 2021.
1 comment:
I closed my eyes, replayed the words in my head and with the difference of the foods and beverages, it almost felt like life in a parallel Athens.
I hope you are safe and sound.
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