Everything that has a beginning...

Newly folded clothes and three new sets of clothes hanging neatly in the wardrobe with tags still attached just in case the climate changes back too soon or I decide to go on a binging spree. A clean carpet, antique chairs, immensely comfortable beds , a bathroom stand neatly boasting toiletries of many varieties. Is it okay to embrace a new perspective on life at the end of the year? Seemed more like a usher-in-your-new-year-resolution kind of occupation.

Books will line shelves like untidy troopers who have only just learning to march. Eventually some will lie on top of one another, with the odd one that has long been forgotten to be returned to. Some in language that was too tedious to demand turning the page. Nearly-free books about the world at war that Delhi just loves to sell to the most unassuming of customers on the street walks, because the publishers went out of business and the author wanted the privilege of burning them for himself, books with superfluous tales to be forgotten and some verdant with divine comedy that will never disappear.

In a few months this would all be packed again into the same suitcases and moved hours away. Pack up the memories and the books worth keeping, the articles and the old gifts that aid remembering the memories. All packed into the same suitcases and moved somewhere else, or maybe someday just left behind – who needs memories when you can make more? Running away or procuring freedom, the answer to that will only be found when I come out of it struggling for breath.

A fast paced lonely lifestyle I can’t help but imagine. As I travel there, suitcases under each arm, I’ll wave to all the cities that have a memories and people attached to them. Chennai, Calcutta, Bombay, Bangalore, Hyderabad, Noida – I miss you all. Maybe I’ll stay for a while, mull over the memories with the people in them remembering the times we spent together, and then I’ll continue on my own journey where no one else is invited. This I have to do for myself and you can’t be involved.

When I decide to unpack my bags, nobody will know my name. It’s a big new city that does not care for names, everyone can remain unnamed there. In the suburbs everything looks the same but in the midst of the metropolis everything stands out. An anomaly I can’t wait to be a part of.