Michael Jackson sings of his lovely days that are gone.
the office is beginning to get frantic, in a bid to meet deadlines. I sit in a corner, gaze at my computer, drink some coffee, ponder over ‘money for nothing’ and fidget in my chair, in various ways – tap the inside of the table, swivel my chair between a degree here n there. bob the head coz whatsisname is singin ‘unwell’, and i feel the sniffles coming on, as the virus takes over on auto pilot mode.
images chase each other in the head, scurrying around the (few) grey cells, playing at being Sponge-Bob Square-Pants. visions, sounds, aromas, ideas, solitudes, feelings, aspirations, blankness – past, present, future (that would be bleakness). many frolicking toddlers, down ‘Chhatra Marg’, with the trees and the sun, on the cycle-rickshaws, with the coffees, and the melodies, past companies (now gone sour). many shadows, many more replete-with-satisfaction moments, music, intoxications, histories, journals, stage performances, good intentions. blissful boredom, tea stalls, chocolate muffins, conversations, predominant strains of humour – good and bad. three years of sheer love, sheer beauty, sheer indulgence.
What a journey it has been!
Bless thy heart, o days of yonder. for giving me this chance to indulge in a bit of what’s been and done, the beauty of immortal castles constructed, that will stay forever with me, and where a part of me shall stay forever.