Dear Mr Mitra,
And all the other things I called you...Something compels me to write to you...We have always had deeper, more abstract conversations in the written exchange. You compelled me into silly habits -- buying an SMS pack to share Wimbledon scores, and knowing just when to distance...abruptly at that moment when you would be most needed...the greatest lesson you gave me, unknowingly...
Ten years down the line, it is an uneventful mid-day, and I toddled back to that moment of our conversation. I could have reacted in a hundred different ways. Well, at least in more than three ways. Blatant as ever, all I could was accuse, "Where were you?" And reassuringly, you replied, "You were vulnerable, and would start depending on me." That's what you had said. Convenient, I had thought. But after that initial blow from you, similar unexplained blows from others began to hurt less. I learnt to lap up the distance and crawl back with maturity. Some people go, some stay. Some remain.
It was two-two June yesterday. Like we used to refer to your birthday for the last ten years over a mandatory, however late, phone call. Just that slight styling -- two-two in place of twenty second -- you used to say I had something special. Nobody says that anymore. You are no more since last year, and there are no Wimbledon exchange nor any sudden big mail. No coffees at serene cafes, neither plans which do not happen. Which will never be lived.
Vulnerability is accompanied by your teachings. You left. And left behind a stronger me :) Some remain.
Stay stylish Mr Mitra, as you must be suavely deliberating amidst the clouds!
Thanks for when you were and now that you are not,
Kalpana.
And all the other things I called you...Something compels me to write to you...We have always had deeper, more abstract conversations in the written exchange. You compelled me into silly habits -- buying an SMS pack to share Wimbledon scores, and knowing just when to distance...abruptly at that moment when you would be most needed...the greatest lesson you gave me, unknowingly...
Ten years down the line, it is an uneventful mid-day, and I toddled back to that moment of our conversation. I could have reacted in a hundred different ways. Well, at least in more than three ways. Blatant as ever, all I could was accuse, "Where were you?" And reassuringly, you replied, "You were vulnerable, and would start depending on me." That's what you had said. Convenient, I had thought. But after that initial blow from you, similar unexplained blows from others began to hurt less. I learnt to lap up the distance and crawl back with maturity. Some people go, some stay. Some remain.
It was two-two June yesterday. Like we used to refer to your birthday for the last ten years over a mandatory, however late, phone call. Just that slight styling -- two-two in place of twenty second -- you used to say I had something special. Nobody says that anymore. You are no more since last year, and there are no Wimbledon exchange nor any sudden big mail. No coffees at serene cafes, neither plans which do not happen. Which will never be lived.
Vulnerability is accompanied by your teachings. You left. And left behind a stronger me :) Some remain.
Stay stylish Mr Mitra, as you must be suavely deliberating amidst the clouds!
Thanks for when you were and now that you are not,
Kalpana.
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