Journal Entry 537.

“When you're on your own, you look for signs. Sometimes you make them up, sometimes they're actually there, but most of the time you can't tell the difference from the two.” 

― Cecelia Ahern

January 4, 2015

I sat up whole night musing over time and how days are simply passing by. I am worried. I do not want to be the one standing alone looking at time pass.

I went over the details of my day, grimacing over the ones that were highly unpleasant, and smiling at the ones I've spent thinking about us.

I've had a terrible day, you know?

I did not just miss my deadlines, I missed my morning bus too. What if this turns into a compulsive habit? Also, did I tell you how incorrigible my new editor is? I blame you for this. If not for you, I would have just remained as a closet writer.

I have lost the track of the world around me.

And you, your thoughts never seem to go away from me.

The tears too have dried out but I haven't lose the count of the days ever since you left.

537 days. I am still counting.

Of course, there is no looking back. You told me that. But have I ever paid heed to your advice? I should have, you know? When you were still around!

Our pet has grown older, and ferocious. I can tell you, he misses you. He looks for you in every stranger. Your mother longs to treat you with the chocolate cake you loved as a child. Your father hopes you would magically appear at our doorstep every morning. No one can fill your void at his chess table.

And I? I wish I could tell you I am brave enough to wait forever but I miss my morning sunshine, waking up to your lazy smile and sleepy voice asking for a cup of coffee, and your warm breath at the nape of my neck.

I wish you were still here.

To experience more of my words and its enigma, flowers and their enticing fragrance, dandelion seeds and their sly quirks, sky and its endless hope. I want you to just remember that I have started loving the beauty of the world only after I fell in love with you.

Even the sapling we first planted together has grown into a giant tree bearing sweet smelling fruit.

I wish you stayed. I wish you weren't gone already.

Grow Old With Me!

I walked out of the railway station with the heart on my sleeve; my eyes wandered for you in the crowd. I tucked my stray curls perfectly behind my ears, when I felt your arms around my shoulder and your lips at the nape of my neck.

I missed you. I stuttered and failed to put it in words.

I let out a deep sigh. You looked so debonair even in those black pants and white shirt. 

Long distance was not easy. In fact, it was excruciating. However, looking at you, at that very moment, I have realized it was worth it.

You did not let me go out of your sight. Your car and its familiarity took me on a long trip of nostalgia.

You said I have changed a lot. I said you have changed a great deal too.

But your quirks still remained unaltered. The way you slightly hum a song while driving to your smile that calms my nerves—you haven’t changed! You were still that beautiful man who made my world pleasant.

You still gave me flutters. You still gave me the butterflies.

You were still your charming self.

I looked at the rose you slyly put on my lap when I tried to explain you the details of my journey. You paid attention even when the radio was playing your favourite song.

As the car passed through the post box that was beaten out of shape, I remembered your first letter to me, “I want to grow old with you.”

At 50, we are still growing older. Together!

We crossed a tiny coffee shop later. We called it our secret place, remember? We used to meet here often, in pursuit of exchanging letters, books, and gifts. I still remember all those poems you've written for me. And the letters, the letters are still treasured in a suitcase under our bed.

As we parked the car in our community parking lot, and walked towards our home, we passed the park. I remember how we met here for the first time. You were with your golden retriever, and I was with my book.

We met every Sunday after that.

As we reached home, I remembered the lovely moment when I stepped into this place 25 years ago. The note you left that day, “Make my house into our home with your words, our love, and the sunshine.”

The note is still nailed to our mirror.

Over the past few years, many things have changed. Our tiny bed has been replaced by a king size one; our Videocon television has been replaced with a swanky flat screen; our Yashica’s roll camera has been replaced with a Nikon digital camera; my typewriter has been replaced with a desktop.

Everything has turned obsolete except our love for each other.

I walked into the kitchen to see our coffee filter damaged beyond repair. You have done it again. Is this our 15^th filter or the 16^th? I have even lost the count.

I walked into the bedroom to find you unpack my bags. You looked a little exhausted. 

You looked frail.

We were growing old together. You wanted it, didn't you? 

You were with me when I published my first story, and I was with you when you made your first fortune. You stood by my side when my parents left the world, and I never let you go when your pet died. You mocked my failed attempts at tying a saree while I suppressed my giggle watching you wear a dhoti. You were there when I panicked on turning 30, and I was there when you spotted your first grey hair.

We were there for each other. Even when one of us fell apart. 

As you noticed me standing behind you, you looked at me with your eyes full of warmth and affection. You smiled at me. Just the way you used to when you were 25.

I missed you. And I still cannot fathom why I cannot put it into words.

Can We Stop The PDA, Already? :O

Hello people! I am traumatized. Like, really really. I turned up at work after a long period and everything feels so NEW. For instance, I see this couple doing rounds all over the office painting it in red. Do not get me wrong there. I love couples, people in love, and all that jazz. I love couples who claim their love for each other to each other, you know? Not to the entire work-place. I mean, gosh!

I completely understand. We all have quite endearing nick-names for our loved ones and it evokes a certain amount of pleasure to call them. Yes, I agree. But calling people as "Shona" and "Babushka" at work-place or in public in a voice that is higher than 10000 decibels? Not a cool thing.

I know, it is amazing that you have a partner with whom you could share every freaking thing but hello? You don't have to let the entire universe know that. And oh, since few of us here don't have anyone out there to share everything and look forward to, we feel like shit. Too much of love, baba! Of course, I do have my blog with whom (and where) I share everything. Oh yessssssss! My blog is the best thing that has happened to me, so may be, I should write a meaningful love letter for my adorable blog? Okay, I'll shut up. 

Let's face it. Couples who go head over heels for each other in public aren't the epic examples of love. I mean have you ever come across William Shakespeare's protagonists calling each other "muffin" in the public? Okay, I know they are fictional characters. While gushing over each other and whispering sweet nothings is a nice thing and all that, doing so in the public just attracts brick bats.

And on an unrelated note, ladies, please stop acting dumb with a guy. If a guy does not like you for what you are, then there is no point in changing yourself for him. Acting dumb is a big no-no. You listening?

So what do you think happens if you go all mushy-mushy in front of a zillion spectators? Of course, not the "Brangelina" sort of mushy-mushy which we, the weak-hearted people, could tolerate. Well, this is what happens:

1) You are a laughing stock of those zillion spectators. And they just go around talking about you to their friends. Do you want to be that?
2) You are the only topic of discussion during sleep-overs and girls night-outs. How creepy is that?
3) Occasional blog-posts from cold hearted people like me. (Sniff! I know we don't understand your eternal love.)

Okay. I am done. Bye.