Dearest Kush,
With a humidity of over 89%, and an over-priced mineral water bottle inside an Uber, I am stuck in an unending jam. For some reason, I decided not to devote my attention to the new game I downloaded the other day. Instead, I looked outside the window. The sights weren't new -- endless cars with endless scratches being subjected to endless begging. I laughed at the person right beside my cab, at his wheel, constantly consulting his watch. Thank god for Amma to have taught me the importance of not looking at time when one runs late.
Do you think these perfectly strong mothers begging with a child knit around them, are actually the mothers? Do you think the dates are actually from Dubai? Do you think the smell of the yellow roses will last till the ride? Do you think those happy balloons would be happier left in the sky? Remember, when we used to court each other, we bought balloons and left them from the cab? It is a different story now -- we have our own cars and absolutely no time for frivolous thoughts as were cuddling and looking forward to a future.
Finally, we are here, in our desired future, but hey, where are we, Kush? Is this the present? Where I look out and try to feel happy about newer courtships in other cabs? Eventually, it is overcome by a sorrow. Of a customary regularity of work-hours and non-work duties. Yes, that is what our life is divided into now -- of PPTs and deadlines from 9 to 5, and of chores and insurances in the hours outside sleep. Even our breakfast is curated by the stories of others.
Yet, I dare to hope. I have not played a game, but written a mail to you -- even though I doubt if you would read it -- for all the thens when we thought of our nows.
Even though you are right here, beside me, love, typing into your laptop and rescheduling meetings, I don't even have the space to inform you that sending the cars for servicing at the same time was my idea, thinking we could return to the comfort of the back-seat of cabs.
Alas, love, along with us, our love too has taken the back-seat.
Parchhi.
With a humidity of over 89%, and an over-priced mineral water bottle inside an Uber, I am stuck in an unending jam. For some reason, I decided not to devote my attention to the new game I downloaded the other day. Instead, I looked outside the window. The sights weren't new -- endless cars with endless scratches being subjected to endless begging. I laughed at the person right beside my cab, at his wheel, constantly consulting his watch. Thank god for Amma to have taught me the importance of not looking at time when one runs late.
Do you think these perfectly strong mothers begging with a child knit around them, are actually the mothers? Do you think the dates are actually from Dubai? Do you think the smell of the yellow roses will last till the ride? Do you think those happy balloons would be happier left in the sky? Remember, when we used to court each other, we bought balloons and left them from the cab? It is a different story now -- we have our own cars and absolutely no time for frivolous thoughts as were cuddling and looking forward to a future.
Finally, we are here, in our desired future, but hey, where are we, Kush? Is this the present? Where I look out and try to feel happy about newer courtships in other cabs? Eventually, it is overcome by a sorrow. Of a customary regularity of work-hours and non-work duties. Yes, that is what our life is divided into now -- of PPTs and deadlines from 9 to 5, and of chores and insurances in the hours outside sleep. Even our breakfast is curated by the stories of others.
Yet, I dare to hope. I have not played a game, but written a mail to you -- even though I doubt if you would read it -- for all the thens when we thought of our nows.
Even though you are right here, beside me, love, typing into your laptop and rescheduling meetings, I don't even have the space to inform you that sending the cars for servicing at the same time was my idea, thinking we could return to the comfort of the back-seat of cabs.
Alas, love, along with us, our love too has taken the back-seat.
Parchhi.
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