I don’t even remember when and why we stopped talking. We never cared to give another chance to our chances of togetherness. I hope though, you still remember those days with all its tenderness. Because I do, I remember the days in all their bloom. I remember the foggy winter evenings and the soft autumn breeze, when we walked hand in hand...and how we could never imagine separation. You cried when once I brought it up. You probably wouldn’t remember it now, you are not supposed to.
And then inevitably, I also remember the days when we hardly talked. Our relationship was like a priceless jewel tucked somewhere in the corner of our room. We never realised that gradually the spark was gone, the longing had died down. We had our worries to worry about, our own dreams to chase after. I still remember the dreams I had where you were walking by my side and then suddenly you would go on a different path. I would see you drift further and further away. For some reason I couldn’t scream out your name. Rather I would watch helplessly as you fade away into a dust storm, in all its inevitability. I would slowly turn back and walk alone. Except in life there is no path back. Even today when I think of you, I see visions of you as someone who faded away into a dust storm and never returned.
Looking back I remember that we never said good bye, we just drifted apart. One day neither of us turned up for our usual Sunday evening rendezvous. It was implied by then that neither of us would be expecting the other. There wasn’t any sudden fallout, rather a cold end to a slow and languid free fall. The last time we met, I slyly glanced at your eyes. They were trying to hide the burnout we were facing as a couple. They reflected the mess we had led ourselves into. Our love was no longer a phone call away, instead it seemed a lifetime away. Still, when you left that day, you said that you will give me a call. I didn’t hope so, nor did I wait on it. Instead I tried to drink the evening away although the last ounce of optimism in me led me to believe that it wasn’t our last meeting. But the fatalistic sequence of events meant that we were like two withered leaves on an ageing tree...waiting to get rustled away by the wind. The love we shared sank into the sands of time, bit by bit, piece by piece.
Now and then I often think if you still fondly remember those days like I do. I would wonder why you never called up ever again, to ask me if I was free some Sunday. Probably you were too much of a pessimistic. You might have thought that nothing good could come out of it. Or maybe you just hoped that I would call someday. And when I didn’t, you must have grumbled upon my ego and promised never to call me first. Or maybe, there was not much of a longing after all. But when months turned to years and seasons came and went, I would often recall and rue the demise of that special relationship. I would often have thoughts of you although you are gone for several years now. Each winter I would walk past those familiar streets, the old green walls would crumble as they seemed to laugh at my solitude. I never tried to know what became of you. The ignorance was a deliberate choice; it suited my fragility. Sometimes I imagine something outlandish, like you calling me one fine morning and talk with me at length about everything that went on in your life all these years. Your voice would come through crackling over the phone with the familiar enthusiasm that it possessed. I on the other hand never tried to get your phone number once you left this town. Sometime I even feel contended that we didn’t drag ourselves together for too long. We didn’t let our relationship turn into a monster which neither one of us could dare to slay. That way we can now relish the golden years, instead of carrying it on like a bag of bricks.
When our love was turning to rust, I would often spend sleepless nights wondering what was going on. I would weep myself to sleep, only to face the same worries the next night. Maybe I was guilty of not talking about the apparent decay in our relation, maybe we both were. We pretended as if everything was normal, although there was an inner turmoil that needed immediate attention. We probably thought that it couldn’t happen to us. After all the craze and romance, love and longing, our relation couldn’t possibly be facing crisis. Like all lovers, we were foolish, we took things for granted, and we expected things to last forever...last forever on its own. We didn’t realise back then that even after all these years, remembrances and regrets would forever border around oblivion.
(The feelings are loosely based on the Dr. Bhupen Hazarika song, “Tumar Henu Naam Potrolekha”.)
And then inevitably, I also remember the days when we hardly talked. Our relationship was like a priceless jewel tucked somewhere in the corner of our room. We never realised that gradually the spark was gone, the longing had died down. We had our worries to worry about, our own dreams to chase after. I still remember the dreams I had where you were walking by my side and then suddenly you would go on a different path. I would see you drift further and further away. For some reason I couldn’t scream out your name. Rather I would watch helplessly as you fade away into a dust storm, in all its inevitability. I would slowly turn back and walk alone. Except in life there is no path back. Even today when I think of you, I see visions of you as someone who faded away into a dust storm and never returned.
Looking back I remember that we never said good bye, we just drifted apart. One day neither of us turned up for our usual Sunday evening rendezvous. It was implied by then that neither of us would be expecting the other. There wasn’t any sudden fallout, rather a cold end to a slow and languid free fall. The last time we met, I slyly glanced at your eyes. They were trying to hide the burnout we were facing as a couple. They reflected the mess we had led ourselves into. Our love was no longer a phone call away, instead it seemed a lifetime away. Still, when you left that day, you said that you will give me a call. I didn’t hope so, nor did I wait on it. Instead I tried to drink the evening away although the last ounce of optimism in me led me to believe that it wasn’t our last meeting. But the fatalistic sequence of events meant that we were like two withered leaves on an ageing tree...waiting to get rustled away by the wind. The love we shared sank into the sands of time, bit by bit, piece by piece.
Now and then I often think if you still fondly remember those days like I do. I would wonder why you never called up ever again, to ask me if I was free some Sunday. Probably you were too much of a pessimistic. You might have thought that nothing good could come out of it. Or maybe you just hoped that I would call someday. And when I didn’t, you must have grumbled upon my ego and promised never to call me first. Or maybe, there was not much of a longing after all. But when months turned to years and seasons came and went, I would often recall and rue the demise of that special relationship. I would often have thoughts of you although you are gone for several years now. Each winter I would walk past those familiar streets, the old green walls would crumble as they seemed to laugh at my solitude. I never tried to know what became of you. The ignorance was a deliberate choice; it suited my fragility. Sometimes I imagine something outlandish, like you calling me one fine morning and talk with me at length about everything that went on in your life all these years. Your voice would come through crackling over the phone with the familiar enthusiasm that it possessed. I on the other hand never tried to get your phone number once you left this town. Sometime I even feel contended that we didn’t drag ourselves together for too long. We didn’t let our relationship turn into a monster which neither one of us could dare to slay. That way we can now relish the golden years, instead of carrying it on like a bag of bricks.
When our love was turning to rust, I would often spend sleepless nights wondering what was going on. I would weep myself to sleep, only to face the same worries the next night. Maybe I was guilty of not talking about the apparent decay in our relation, maybe we both were. We pretended as if everything was normal, although there was an inner turmoil that needed immediate attention. We probably thought that it couldn’t happen to us. After all the craze and romance, love and longing, our relation couldn’t possibly be facing crisis. Like all lovers, we were foolish, we took things for granted, and we expected things to last forever...last forever on its own. We didn’t realise back then that even after all these years, remembrances and regrets would forever border around oblivion.
(The feelings are loosely based on the Dr. Bhupen Hazarika song, “Tumar Henu Naam Potrolekha”.)
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