A place I called home is now making me feel homeless, a sense of not belonging to this place hadn’t been a case before, a place which taught to love, to celebrate and even to mourn seems to have lost it’s charm. Sitting at the cafeteria, where we would often sit and indulge in conversations on books, life and write ups, there’s this undercurrent that’s running. I gotta hold it up, not make it visible on my face. It’s terrifying to be in the midst of known faces and still miss that one person you are longing for, who made this place exude good and positive vibes, the one who would make the ambience feel calm with her presence.
I have always been conscious of my surroundings, so much so that I would get restless, thoughts running berserk in my mind and a reckless overdrive would get the better off me, she would then hold my hands; look me in the eye and calm me down. With her now missing, I am feeling the struggle to hold up as the cool breeze brushes past me, as if announcing She’s here, no She’s not, I got to hold up, have to jot down my thoughts. Never had I imagined that I would one day sit here, all by myself and sip a black coffee, write about her and be lost in her.
Cigarette after cigarette, and as the smoke escapes I can smell the fragrance of her Zara perfume, as if She were here. And, as the cafe lights up, the brightest source that bathed it’s vicinity with her spark is missing, I ask the barista for the cheque and there’s no one today asking me not to pay, no one to argue with and no one to ask me if we can head into the bar for a beer. A sudden chill takes over as my voice chokes, I light another cigarette, no one to share it with either.
I am at loss, loss of words, thoughtless to an extent but then you can’t love without the risk of loss, I didn’t either. I cross the road, the walk to the other side where I would often stand to wave her a bye hadn’t ever felt this long, I got to drag my guts to take me along, I stand, wait and look up as if praying to the heavens to rain her down upon me and it does, tears in my eyes as if manifesting her presence within me, I can’t afford to let these tears drop, I can’t wash her memories over with salt water, I have to hold on, hold on to whatever remains, the memories, the places and the moments which made life worth living. I am existing now, surviving because I know I have to hold her up within me, the cage that so far held my soul has parted with it, all that remains of this walking and living corpse is now lost in gathering the bits and pieces of her, tracing her within me.
The walk back to my place has been a long one, even longer has been the time that I spent at the cafeteria, alone by myself, sipping three cups of coffee, and the taste hadn’t been this bitter.
P.S: The black forest pastry didn’t taste sweet either.
abhishek purkayastha 