The bags are still not packed and I get place-lag once again. Is it a tube in Berlin, a tiny shack of a teashop in North India or a village near Salem with a picture perfect stream? Well, still let me gather the wits and say a decent good bye.
In a few days, bags will be marked, tickets will be punched and I will be piling up my shoes, belt and any thing which rings metal on a plastic case to make sure that I am no threat to the idea of home which the 14 hour journey is supposed to promise
Shush shush..Let there be at least an effort for a decent goodbye.
No, this isn't gonna be about London. It is going to be of big mad loud mouthed streets, paan stained walls and the neat array of street lights on the highway which watches the evening melt away with dignity.
I guess you still swear so loud, laugh so wild..
And dress up in tacky glitter on winter nights..
You must be waking up with a huge hangover on dewy mornings
making you cross all day
I know your trick of making happiness a bit more happy and
grief a bit more sad. But, think before drenching every moment in deep colours.
The vivid greens are fine, but the charcoal scratches never go away even after endless washing.
Keep the odd bit of stars by the side of rented windows near the rickety pipe line.
But get rid of the ghastly masks which make pigeons fly in and commit suicide on the ceiling fan
Yes, pull out a table, place plastic cups of tea with a few pods of cardamom floating over...
And, I could look at the soot covered tree with missing branches and tell you
that I have never met a city just like you. You could give a slanted smile at first and then
pretend to be uninterested.