ये फासलें…

I reminisced of her one day last month. The last picture I saw of her ; her hair had grown so many inches than the last time I saw her. When? I don’t remember. 6 years ago, I think.

फासले नहीं मिटा सकती अब मैं ।

और तुम ?

तुम्हें अहसास ही कब था फासलों का ?


//I texted her yesterday. We never did small talk. Emotions had to flow, and they did. Yesterday was the same. Nostalgia creepin’ up on me like liquor to a lover. We talked about the people I’ve lost and the ones she’s holding on to. Don’t, my dear. People leave.

Like I did.


दरार नहीं , फासलें हैं ।

याराना कह दो,

ऐतबार हैं ।


//She texted me last week. She says she misses me. I don’t believe her. (I don’t remember if  I told her I missed her too. I don’t think I did). I never did believe people when they said they missed someone. Nor when they spoke of true love. I always thought people spit out words barely thinking twice. I realize my inability to feel love is what is actually at fault here.

Her painting skills have stooped. I have chiseled mine. I always envied her for being the art teacher’s favorite. She envies the way I aesthetically spill paint on canvas now.


फासलों ने दूर किया या गुरूर ने ?

तुम कहो…

तुम्हें तो आदत नहीं ।


//She asked me where I’d been before I moved here. I told her this is my fourth school and I move every few years. She asked me what it feels like and I tell her now that I think of it, I do miss my friends (a lot). After all, it’s easiest lying to a teacher.

She reveals she had a similar childhood. And so did her children. People like us- we learn to mould with circumstances, we learn to let go of things we are so comfortable​ with. But tell me lady, why in the whole wide world would I want to let go of the things I had built a life within? 

//Sanjukta Bhowal//

© SANJUKTA BHOWAL, 2017. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

P.s: Picture is not mine.

P.p.s: Every paragraph talks about a different friend I had left behind.

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