.

And we dipped the tip of our fingers in nostalgia. For, you settle in as easily as you let go.

Textbook

The one I love is not you.
If, in a fit of pique, you ask me
'Then who am I?'
I shall say: you are that one
who, in the first flush of youth
Remained obscure; unvalued;
You are that one, who, time and again
Has taught me how to love.*


I was thinking of a time when I wanted things to stop. The thought of turning 'stale and moldy' was acceptable, even welcome. The time when routine mails were akin to poetry. And emails were sent despite the time together.

Yes, I went back to that tiny room on the first floor. Where time was just a beautiful verse.



* translation of an unknown Bangla poem.

Moira - Offred - June

And I thought loneliness was overrated. I wonder if this is how years will pass and nostalgia will grow roots, and like a well-grown peepal tree harbour ghosts from the past and the future.

I want to read C.Ayyappan. I wonder if there's any good translation available.

P.S.
The title is just there to fill the blank. I just finished reading The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood, and I am shaken - which is good because even that involves a break from the routine.

'We yearned for the future. How did we learn it, that talent for insatiability?'