There’s so much to tell you,
I don’t know where to start.
Just start wherever.
We’ll ramble our way through.
New stories. Old stories.
Finding new stories from the old ones,
and old ones from the new.
The shared past of their lives,
seeping into the present- blurring time.
Two wandering souls,
drawing conclusions from seven years ago.
Ah those times!
But didn’t they cry more than ever?
Cried because of…
Only to take up every drop and evaporate it as love.
Smiles and tears.
Good and bad.
The ‘good’ that is in the bad and
the ‘bad’ that is in the good.
Happy smiles. Sad smiles.
Happy tears. Sad tears.
Happy smiles turning into nostalgic tears,
All those contained tears,
now flowing with feeble smiles.
Everything has an end?
Everything has an end.
We fool ourselves,
Looking back and forth,
Forgetting about the ‘now’.
It’s getting late.
Should they go back to their ‘lives’?
Assignments and exams waiting for them at the doorstep.
Metros rushing past- one..two..three..
until they lost count.
“We’ll take the next one.
The next, for sure!”
And yet, no one moves.
Because they are thirsty. For more.
To add to the mountain of memories.
“Hop in or we’re going to stay here forever!”
“Your stop! Get lost now. Bye.”
Will she turn around and smile? or wave?
Duh! Bollywood ruins entered much later.
Ours is no fairy tale.
I’ll text her, after I go back.
We must stay connected.
But how do we trust these gadgets that kicked in much later.
We’re friends since the time we called ourselves ‘BFFLS’ and took pride in it.
When the only pictures we had were the ones clicked at school with awkward faces.
Posing? Pouting? Whaa?
When a phone meant: A Phone. For four people.
When seeing, replying and updating each other happened face to face.
When being there for each other meant crossing the street,
and actually being there.
When calling each other was standing outside the door and shouting names.
And then, we grew up.
Sadly, not to us.
Facebook, Gmail, WhatsApp, text messages-
none seem to be doing justice to keep us ‘connected’.
It’s okay. Maybe this is how we are.
Uncertain about when we’ll meet or talk.
Certain that we’ll only grow closer each time.
And so we diverge.
Into different paths.
The floor of the metro station,
waiting for us to come back,
eat a sanitized apple,
trains pass by- one…two…three…
Until we lose count.
Life threatens us to move on.
And yet, we choose stillness,
racing against time and speed.