This time of the year is pleasant-weather time in Delhi. The days dawn a wee bit chilly; the nights require a snug bed sheet. And the mosquitoes and flies seem to have sucked enough blood for the season. In a fortnight, the chill will grow into a snow monster, albeit without the snow. Strolling together by F.C. Road, ice golas in hand, is a picture Delhi can never present in December. As much as I may pine for it.
I used to be the moderator then. The gola is way too cold, the movie shows way too late. And you would have to be content in spending together whatever little time we could.
“Weekend plans?” you would ask. “The King’s Speech. It’s getting all the awards there are.” A Sunday would thus begin and rush by in movie watching. Leaving us with evenings that threatened to collapse before we could blink. When you would drop me home on weekends, I would wish I could make the sun rise again on a no-work day. I would mentally promise to spend that blessed day talking to you about all the subjects that came into my head. But the next morning would inevitably be one when we would have to be glued to our computer screens and code the hours away.
When I am asleep, sometimes, I dream of the sound of waves and see steamer boats in the distant horizon. Do you remember the time we were at the beach? The sun had long set but night hadn’t come along. There was that guitar guy – long-haired, from another country. And we could not sit to listen to his music. He kept strumming though, to audiences far and beyond, and is probably there this very moment that I write. I hope he strums for us the next time we come across him. We will sit listening on the white sand, with coconut water and the oranges of dusk for company.
“Why can’t they allow me to wait in the lounge?” you were in a rage, holding on to my hand at the airport. In your other hand, you had a makeshift bouquet, got together with all the flowers you could find at six in the morning. “Are they too prim and proper to adopt a railway trend?”
Despite myself, I giggled. You looked so absorbed in the scenario, debating mentally how airport norms could be made more passenger-friendly.
“I will call you as soon as I am checked-in.”
The air-plane on its part, wasted no time at all in reaching Delhi. The posts on my blog, the resolutions you had made me take, the pictures I had tucked in…they could not help me budge an inch closer to you after I landed. The two hours of flight duration had brought me miles and miles away from you.
I am often angry with myself when I think about those days. How late could another day with you have made me? Why did we not steal more moments of togetherness, another lunch eating together, and another evening of delicious panipuri at Deccan?
“It’s just a phase, darling.” you are at your convincing best. This is the mood that comes on every time I am sniffing more than I should.
Yes, it is just a phase. This is the belief that keeps me going and makes the wait, to an extent, bearable. But when we are finally together, I am going to make sure there isn’t one moment I will later regret wasting. If a genie were to pop up, or a detergent in this case, and bless me with two additional hours each day, they are going to be completely about you. I will teach you the purpose of palak in food, the presence of a target market for Salman Khan’s films and the err, bit of a fitness regimen that you can think about following. Ah!