I think of dust, sitting here at midnight. Memories of dust settling everywhere. On freshly washed utensils kept to dry, on the coffee table, on the floor; dst when you wipe off your face at the end of the day.
I wonder if that is still the case. I am sure. Just because you run away doesn't mean, it all goes away. I wonder if there is a way to trace all of that on a tracing paper of memories; petromax weddings in Dehradun, barefoot chldren, Sunday night movies on DD where the sound rose and fell like waves from hundreds of open windows. But all I hear is the circular descriptions of Bollywood weddings and the stories of secret romances by scions of powerful families.
Perhaps I miss all this because it is time for another transition. Another chance at running away. Another city. This land has been a temptress. I miss her charms.
