bonding with sepia

i will give you my little diary. i will let you write there, too.write nice things, august afternoons and cold december nights.write stuff about how you spent your days in mussoori and days of the british raj.and tell me about the room on the roof and the cherry tree and how rakesh planted it and watered it and felt like God.we planted it ourselves.that's why it is special.

i shall also listen to silent nights near the clock tower.i shall trace your footprints and walk down the mall road and stop near hampton court school. and please do bring rusty along.oh please? we shall waltz with our bohemian nostalgia.weren't you surprised to find me a little like sita?

i still crave for sepia.i do.and did you know that you, almost always,help me find my way through shamli.time stops there, you said.i will tell you my secret.shall i,now?time also hugs me.tight and close.she smells a lot like ponds,dhoop, rannaghor,boimela and bhaiphnota.

so now,ruskin, i am giving you my diary.encapsulate more sepia.and feed them to me.delhi is not far.we shall meet again...we shall meet again.....down the way from the mall road, when the sky shall be a brilliant azure, when the zephyr stirs sinking memory, i shall walk past postman chacha, i shall cross the dew drenched ivy cottage, and just where the cherry tree lived, we shall meet again...we shall meet again.

but i can't even flee, you see?schoolboys are almost always caught.they run away.and they are caught.they get as far as the railway station in dehra.there is a beam of sunshine hope for me though.

ain't i like sita?i shall sail through.