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A New Old Lens

Does it rain in May usually? I can't seem to remember how seasons work. Much required respite from the heat though. The air around here was hot, it was like living in an angry bubble. Or is that just me?

I barely use the gallery at my place. It's too out there, and being on the first floor means you're exposed to people walking by. My embargo on humanity hits pause only when it's pouring. Maybe it's recent events, or perhaps I woke up different today, but this place can sure be beautiful. The skyline is bedecked with gulmohars on one side and palm trees on the other. The concrete right opposite is as intrusive as it is shielding, so I've made my peace with it. I saw two little girls playing in the rain, splish-splashing away. Somebody soak them in kohl, may they always laugh like that. Reminded me of easier times. That could still be me, right? At least every Bollywood movie ever says so.

With everything going on, I never stopped to think about what's coming next. Rather, what definitely won't be. Fuck, I'm going to miss this place. A home that I could mould as I pleased, that's privilege not many people can afford. Living on my timeline without compunction, staying up all night to split a coffee and conversation, being reckless and responsible all at once. It's seen it all - my successes, failures, many, many mistakes, my love and hatred and angst and heartbreak. I wish I could share joy with the walls in the degree they deserve, but add it to the long list of transgressions I've committed.

Independence, kids, is hard-fought, one way or another. Choose wisely when you decide to split the kind of power that can determine how your days go by.

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