It's very windy out today. It is a warm wind, bringing rain, a lot like the wind back home. The smell of dhoop in the evening, the wind coming in through the open windows, walking under the windy streetlamps towards the flat in Cal, standing on the balcony being almost carried away by the wind
Memories of home inhabit the mind with an untranslatable occasional ache.
Similarly with memories of Sachin. in 1992, playing badminton in the backyard with my ma, hearing of his exploits in australia, blowing everyone away in sight
the balcony in delhi was pretty windy too.walking down to the market in the evening to buy a pack of cigarettes, or walking in the rain in JU, with the rain diluting the tea we'd just got from Milonda's canteen
... words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
3 comments:
And soon memories of wherever you are now will make some other new place unbearable, if just for that moment.
unlikely. the locus is in the longing, not the consummation. the purity of memory would be cluttered with a zillion other things if it were the present. 'unbearable' is such a strong word. it makes me claustrophobic. open skies, wide steppes, thousands of books, there, where there is music in the dwelling.
'the ister'
http://jacketmagazine.com/27/hold-trans-2.html
i agree with you. such longing, such desperate longing.
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