Momos and Goose feathers

Can't even bring myself to eat momos there anymore. Brings back memories of when Anila and me were gulping down the hot stuff after getting drenched one rainy evening.

I used to be happy being alone here. I like myself (most times) and enjoy my company (most times). Walking alone in the dark through the streets of Koramangala with huge trees lining my path - which were giving out the white transparent cellophane like stuff I initially mistook for goose feathers - used to give me such a rush. Of course being slapped on the butt by kind strangers on bikes did make me feel violated.

The place is still beautiful. But it brings me little pleasure now. All I can think about is ALincy and me walking down after dinner casting jealous eyes on all the big, pretty houses dreaming aloud about the pretty house we'd one day build from scratch and then - as reality sets in - opting to buy a house once the residents of Koramangala start filing for bankruptcy and the real estate market crashes.

My friends have left their large, muddy footprints all over my solitude and now every inch of the city exhales noisily with memories. Memories that rush upto me and force me to look at them. And remember.

It'll take me some time to go back to the way I was.

To enjoy washing clothes with a single CFL bulb, looking up every now and then to see the moon in all its ungarish beauty (unlike the stars which try to impress with all its twisting and twinkling). To enjoy overhearing my neighbour talking to his dog. To enjoy my neighbour's sapottas which she says grew in her farm in Andhra. To look at a turn in the road as just that and not try to think about how my friend used to live just a few feet away down that turn.

To not sigh over sappy quotes like 'No matter where you go in the world and what you see, you need someone to share it with to make it special'.

Give me some time. I'll be alright.