Letter to Bhutan II

This is weird. A letter to you in a span of twenty four short hours. But it is also inevitable. Lot of things happen when I drive alone, when ideally I should be focused only on the visibility of the ahead. But what does one do when this is exactly what is veiled? Bhutan, Bhutan, dearest Bhutan. This morning in that stretch from Chingrighata to Science City, I felt as if the conspiracies of the universe wished to gift me a reply. From you. I have never had this experience of driving in fog as thick as this morning's, but I felt the nearest to it when we were driving uphill, unprotected by man-made railings, on a moonlit night, which hardly felt so because of the dense white which blindfolded us. Our driver insisted he didn't face the same problem that I, seated next to him, faced. I found it difficult to believe him, so turned to you instead. You and all that you offered. White night. Dark night. White linen spread against a black velvet.

I return to this morning. After the initial attempts at cleaning the glass, I was taken aback by the sudden assault of fog. And then the assault of your memory. As I fiddled to find out how to drive safe and became a chessplayer maneuvering my moves armed with the power gear of my tiny super-car, I realized I was misted by your absence. Your presence.

I rolled down the car window, and let in some of the chill of the clouds. I could smell the waft of happiness arising from supreme missing. The cars in front blinked their tail lights like tiny wedding beams of delight. We swam slowly in the sea of white, synchronized in our joint surprise. I could feel you, charmed with my thank you. It felt like tripping with the clouds, complete with the smell. That stretch is now going to remain a favourite, forever.

The reply was read,
K.