This is the stuff dreams should be made of.
He sees her from an
old rickety bus window. This is in front of some monument’s garden most likely
in Delhi! She looks every bit of an activist, she always wanted to be.
He is shell shocked. This
thought passes through his mind, “She had left me without a trace. Like a rogue
CIA agent, who defected or vanished into thin air in those Hollywood spy
movies!”
He gets down from the
slow-moving bus in slow motion.
She sees him too and
her face radiates a joy he’s never seen on a woman’s face. Never read in a
book. Never seen in any movie. That made his day.
His eyes well up and
he cries. She runs to him, holds his hand, and they hail a taxi.
She still speaks in
that Rekha Bharadwajesque voice of hers. Her Bengali devi face still adorns a
big bindi.
Everywhere they go,
for some reason, a Kishore Kumar song is being played. Like akashvani, like background music in the movies… They
try to figure out the source of that music but in vain!
With her mouthful of a
golgappa, she asks him, “What do you
want?”
He replies, “Still the
same. Spend my life with you. And this time, don’t you dare leave me and go.” He
adds hurriedly, “Hey, how’s Jahnavi? I bet she won’t recognize me… I still remember
her saying over the phone, ‘Abhi, come fast to the temple! Okay?’”
She answers excitedly,
“She’s almost seventeen!”
He’s stunned, “Wow, so
much time has passed!?”
She laughs. He laughs
too. But, now, there’s an echo…
My room is dark. There’s a bit of twilight seeping in. The Fitbit
shows time to be 6:15 am. I think I know the source of this dream; I watched The Words on &Prive HD yesternight. And, am glad I did.
I wake up and write this.
