And, it felt good, walking down the same old streets, revisiting the same old nooks of the city, passing by the old corners where I had once left a mark, now the marks of the same are etched on the deepest core of my memory.
The places, the pubs, the bistros, the walkways: all the same, all unmoved, perhaps people move on; places don’t.
The urge to return had been so great that I was overwhelmed to the point of tears when I landed, the very sight of the city from up above made me immensely nostalgic, it moved me; shook me and took me back in time, which now remains the only bliss I was endowed with. There comes a point in your life when the will to hold on and to let go coincides at a point; the calling was here, but then the mind willingly surrenders and starts cherishing whatever it had been blessed with, a chest full of sweet memories, in my case. The city had played it’s part in making me whatever I am, blessed me with the greatest gift I ever received: a friend, a confidant, a soulmate and my ‘Divine Muse’. She had played her role in making me the man I am today, whatever now remains of me is her magic too, the spell remains and it continues to daze me to day.
I had for long: longed to return, longed to walk through the old pavements and bask in the sunlight and wash my soul with the beams of the setting sun, stand underneath the silken shade and soak in the comfort of the place: where I had once made home, my mind had; and my heart had lost itself: to the city, to a person and now as I look back, I realise there’s something deeply romantic about stuff which remain unrequited.
My affair was short-lived, the relationship though isn’t dead, it has surely manifested into this living and self sustaining pool of thought which refills each time I close my eyes and think of the city, and that one person who made it all up. She still makes it up, the thoughts, the words and all that remains of her and the city, it’s all her, like her and for her. To her, all of it is.
And, as I board the flight and look up at the skies above, there’s this tinge of numbness that I feel within, hold within and I break into a smile. This shall forever stay: the pain of parting, the joy of having been together and in unison: with the city and the Muse it had blessed me with. Sour grapes and the sweetness of the memories which now seem more real than ever, this is life perhaps.
This day, last year: it were different, it is Uruka, the local day of feasting and as I set to fly out, I know I’ll be depriving myself of the sweetmeats but then, I know to myself that all the sweetness that lingers within now is the doing of the city too, I will be carrying it within me. The container tightly sealed and secured, I will happily serve myself a portion each time life would tend to get bitter. I will happily return for a refill, soon maybe.
P.S: People move on, places don’t. The cafeteria hasn’t, the tables haven’t either. The smell still lingers in the air, it numbs me still. I parted with a gift again: She, perhaps.
All I wanted for Bihu, certainly the gift of myself and a bit of you.
abhishek purkayastha 