If I listen well, I can still hear the New Year countdown that brought in 2015. But if I look around, I see empty pizza boxes that have now, quite literally, gone to the dogs, and the carcasses of resolutions that are rotting in the faint winter sun. The calendar tells me we are already a month into this not-so-new year, and February, the herald of spring, is here with all its romantic charms.
This is the month of my wedding, that great Indian festival which all families, especially ones with daughters, anticipate with mixed emotions. While this is the moment that R and I have been talking about and planning for several years now, I will admit it is unnerving (and packed with frantic activity) that the day is close enough now to run a count on my fingers.
When I look around into the Delhi evening, the red sunset is simultaneously reminiscent of the carefree years of my childhood, and packed with the promise of new beginnings. It is a glorious sunset and I stand admiring it for many long moments, accompanied only by the breeze as carefree as my childhood.
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