Relapse

One more time the maddening gush through veins, the air hot heavy and humid then, its crisp and icy now, legs thick with the blood of steps hurriedly taken to meet someone urgently in the ether of ones memories, now steps walking, not so much with the aim of reaching so much as passing by, or leaning away from, the rivulets of memories that run on the windowpane of life on a typical Cuttack rainy night.

I am here, in the north territory of India, with an identity I never thought I could take on, with the crassiest hindi that I speak right now even before I learnt to speak hindi properly...I remember those days of madness, of colours red and black, of anger, passion, of limits.

God I have aged now. My fingers have rusted over the tapping of the plastic keys, my computer, my faithful old servant creaks when I arch his back and silently goes on bearing the brunt of my tepid moods these days....dragging along the gigabytes of rubbish (read books) I have shoved into his pits...he still lives me by...through mindless hindi movies I choose to now find amusement in, and force myself to drown my time in them, looking for an excuse to the insufficiency of time.

And worst the pounds of baggage I now carry within myself, within and without...as I set to work. Day after day.....lack of time is a blessing in disguise. I would probably dead of an excess of it by now.

I have aged. But I am back. And this time I wont burn it again. Same name, same address...a new me?

Rather its Me Newly...(over croaking keyboard, swollen ankles, eyes minus the special effects, grin minus the mischief, response minus the inner circuit analysis)

Its still me, no doubt.

Three years lapse in life...time, space, conviction, beliefs, principles, rejection, realisation, fight, anger, hunger, craze, love, disappointment, struggle....parameters have undergone their individual paradigm shifts.

Still intact. In one piece.

Three years thus.

Ever Yours,

Sucharita Ray.
Physician
Rohtak, Haryana.