To Suprita....

A scour, a rummage
I scavenge through the inexhaustible lexicon
Through wide, brightly lit lanes
Of memories, experiences, camaraderie
Of our friendship.

Instances of unadulterated fun,
Days of sheer lunacy,
Moments of tender care
Tears, laughter and frightening screams
Nights spent sharing life- past, present and future.

A panorama of images flashes by
Fleetingly, fondly, amusingly, lovingly
Those first attempts at acquaintance
Seated on rickety benches….
The first hello or the first offer to take me home
Those borrowed matchboxes never returned
Those long conversations by the loo
(why did we never go to one of our rooms?)
Nights spent in the library, pretending to study
Followed by coffee and lots more.

Freshness gave way to familiarity.
Winter walks and misty nights
Splendid meteor showers witnessed in harmony.
Rock shows and naps at discotheques,
Oblivious to the din around.
Trips to farmhouse outside
(secrets uncloaked over fights for blankets)
Trips to farmhouses closer home,
Peeking in through open windows.
Flowers picked carefully,
Songs sung, cigarettes smoked and vodka shared
Gossip and people dissected.

Memories of collective insanity…
Altaf Raja and Majja aa gaya…
Skipping on the streets and yelling at strangers
Amorous Sveety and annoying Leelu
Airport madness
Excitement over stickers that glow in the dark
Baby talk and aunty affectations
Cursing and mimicking under our breaths.
35 has a story of its own
Dedicated, cherished labour
Making it our home.
Sneaking in boys
Blaring music, Pearl Jam at dawn and Ijaazat at night
Comparing anatomies, threatening to expose
Slipping shirts that bared all.
Stolen apricots, shared secrets


The walls have heard so much.
Our inconsistencies, our lack of discretion.
As, Bs, Cs and Ds, wondering who’ll hit Z first.
Screams of martyrdom, apologies muttered.
Laughing over a broken relationship,
Crying over a broken hairbrush.

What do I say to someone
Who makes me laugh when I want to cry
Who makes me scream when I wish to be calm
Who makes me furious because I care
Who makes me love when I want to hate.

Claustrophobia and space
Independence and addiction
Boyfriends and boyfriends
Delhi and Chennai….
I miss you!