Composition I

Times when I was school-going, 'downhill' delighted me. You see, I used to cycle. And after that breathless uphill pedal, downhill was a happy relief of getting back lost breath and taking in daily sights with renewed outlook. Those were lovely downhill early mornings, twice, three times a week. As I take the EM Byepass each morning now, relatively early in the day (as opposed to my Barasat track-timings), the skyline grows familiar. The highrises are constantly growing and so is the serpentine race to be on time. The sky is known to me, as much as a Monet painting. Each brushstroke seems deeper and different with a new look at it, yet the landscape remains the same. The road is widening, and I am downhill. Everyday. And this time without a cycle.

 

I think I will return to writing letters from tomorrow. They make me happier than what I am now. They give me the feeling of being with the addressee. Or, compose a dream-holiday, with dream-children, and pack pretty picnics in it, and have it over strewn crayons and flying papers in autumn afternoons.

Bread, cheese, sliced boiled eggs, ham slices, orange juice and shared smiles and stories.