Manav,
I have been spending hours at a stretch on the silly screen of the smart phone, till angles, plains, shapes, patterns started speaking in circles with me. As I maximize efficiency in chores, my observation highlights the inherent nature of your science underlying everywhere, and the fuel of my artistry which sets it in motion.
In the delicious blend of a cocktail, or the alignment in the clothesline, the brunoise and batonnet for a given recipe, or the placement of curtains so that sun-rays are blocked but sunshine isn't, I think of billions of reasons why I don't take your calls anymore. This crisis has certainly made us independent. While social messages speak of familial ties, and spending time with loved ones, I am relieved that I have been blessed with my own space, with none of your 7498261 asks of the day, and night to bother me with a face and a smile to put up.
As the first round of the lockdown neared, I feverishly prayed wishing for it to extend. The mirror stands garlanded in fairy lights, as I solemnize my being without you, as I learn from my mistakes of youth, and as I prepare for a resolute next-term. It is surprising when we survive social expectations only to be outwitted by our own feelings, our deepest demons. Do you remember Malti, our morning maid? We share same lives, partners abusing us relentlessly, shamelessly and continuously. What have we done to deserve it? If it is love, it isn't enough, and it isn't love.
Hence, this stays written to you, to celebrate a life with love for oneself, and enough letters to convey that your share is erased. Do not return to break the symphony of my geometric life.
No more yours,
Pallavi.
I have been spending hours at a stretch on the silly screen of the smart phone, till angles, plains, shapes, patterns started speaking in circles with me. As I maximize efficiency in chores, my observation highlights the inherent nature of your science underlying everywhere, and the fuel of my artistry which sets it in motion.
In the delicious blend of a cocktail, or the alignment in the clothesline, the brunoise and batonnet for a given recipe, or the placement of curtains so that sun-rays are blocked but sunshine isn't, I think of billions of reasons why I don't take your calls anymore. This crisis has certainly made us independent. While social messages speak of familial ties, and spending time with loved ones, I am relieved that I have been blessed with my own space, with none of your 7498261 asks of the day, and night to bother me with a face and a smile to put up.
As the first round of the lockdown neared, I feverishly prayed wishing for it to extend. The mirror stands garlanded in fairy lights, as I solemnize my being without you, as I learn from my mistakes of youth, and as I prepare for a resolute next-term. It is surprising when we survive social expectations only to be outwitted by our own feelings, our deepest demons. Do you remember Malti, our morning maid? We share same lives, partners abusing us relentlessly, shamelessly and continuously. What have we done to deserve it? If it is love, it isn't enough, and it isn't love.
Hence, this stays written to you, to celebrate a life with love for oneself, and enough letters to convey that your share is erased. Do not return to break the symphony of my geometric life.
No more yours,
Pallavi.
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