Goodbye..
My eyes are swelled; tears are only an expression of fear, love, longing. Every moment seems to stand still – making its permanent space in time, allowing me to go back to that frozen frame. Yet, it all seems fluid, a thing of the past, while I wrestle in vain to be there in that continuum. What remains is only the intensity of the creation of that moment; the clutched hand, the tight hug, the long stare, the red eyes, the silent fear, the strong touch. The last goodbye. The final wave. The lingering smile. The singular image I carry with me, in my emptied pocket, the continuing image. I keep, preciously, this split second, in my secret treasure, to last me until another goodbye.
As the plane slowly lags through the runway, every moment seems to be racing forward, while I stand still. I cannot, and do not attempt to catch up with time. The five months flash before me, and with every minute I feel a little older. With every month, more grown up. I stop. I shut my eyes. The waving hand, the lingering smile, the deep stare. I float, drown in colour, now in black, now red, an illusionary maze of several thousand blocks, black and white; I swim, in a dream.
As I sit here in London on my desk, I look up at photographs on my little bulletin board. Every single moment carries with it so many memories: the sneakiness of chilling in the 7th floor loo during Hindi with Aangs and Nutt, the anxiousness of graduation, the ridiculousness with Sai and Kapoor, continuous blabber with Mahi and Priyen, flying time of laughter with Meenal and Arjun, long conversations with Bhaiya. Of family, it aches to speak, for the pain of separation never leaves.
The bhel at Marine Drive, biryani and beer at Leo’s, ice tea at Vile Parle, paapad at spices, paani puri at Breach Candy, sitting at Marine Drive, at Sea Face after batata wada, Moshe’s at Crossword, Gokul, Bade Miyan, the walk from Jehangir to Navy Nagar, staring out into the sky at Nariman Point, getting wet in the rain, Ajmer, the last night, Dilli chai, Old Mussoorie, the morning bath at Haridwar, Vasant Kunj, Prithvi, … home..
These come to in flashbacks – suddenly in class, at random in the middle of a paper, when I wake up, before I sleep, while walking, at the dinner table, even at pubs. I know its ridiculous – maybe I’m just not someone who can live away. Yet, there is a restlessness when I’m not. I hate to admit it, but maybe I’m one of those, whom I’ve always despised. Neither here, nor there. I suppose it’s all good though, considering I’m coming back in 2 months now.
This one’s for you guys,
“May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.”
