If only somehow you could have been mine
what would not have been possible in the world?
Of course, sending the roadmap wasn't the only good thing that they did. But I shall forever remember them for just that, perhaps. They sent me a picture of where I might be on that particular Saturday afternoon; near you but not quite. By the time the golden streaks of the sun enter your room, undisturbed by your cigarette smoke, your stash of marijuana and the Kerouac, you've just finished, I will already be ready - most probably dwindling with my breakfast.
At half-past nine, when you are hurrying up the stairs not too sure if you've always smelled like alcohol and cigarettes - you think it reeks of your new-found badassery, I shall be near you, sitting in a waiting room with bated breath; waiting to escape, perhaps.
Near you but always afar.
While you are on the verge of executing an impromptu plan to Sarojini Nagar (not Khan; Khan is too expensive but we can always go to Saket, you say), I am clicking my heels thrice. I want to disappear. As if by magic. Dorothy needs Courage. You, Mr. Tinman, need a heart.
Lunch will be copious amounts of alcohol again, with an Afghani chicken at NFC. So you didn't go to Sarojini, after all. Here, I explain the 2014 transition. Outdside, it rains. Not too heavily. This city is not too sure of its rains.You like that perhaps. You like things, people, books to be subtle. Probably even your rains. You like unpredictability. You like that in your women. A lot.
When you return, you wipe your glasses on your shirt, and pull your diary out of the rubble on your bed and ignoring your tousled hair, you begin writing about nothing in particular. They finish their questions for me, at that very moment. I close my blacknotebook, and prepare to leave the building. I disentangle my hair with my fingers, and dab my lips softly with a tissue. I remember to take my pen.
I cross the road, anticipating some celebratory/misery alcohol. In two minutes, we won't be in adjacent buildings.
The noise outside is too much for you - you close the window.