15 years ago. A black and white house. A little boy sits on a chair. The father sits nearby smoking. Chess on the table. Book read in silence.
15 years ago. A boy and a girl meet. The boy in a kurta and jeans. Carrying a shoulder bag. Says hello. Asks the girl out for coffee. Coffee, conversations, cabs. Nariman Point. The girl says she works here. Near the sea. A romantic breeze blows. The girl wants to kiss him. Her eyes close. The bright buildings dissolve into the black sea. She feels his lips on hers. She hears his heart beat. His breath. The taste of his mouth. She opens her eyes. The trains clamour.
15 years ago. So much lesser pain. So much more joy.
15 years ago. 2 children. One boy. Alpha. Like his father. One girl. Alpha. Like her mother. Math, science and art. Harsh and soft. Hot and cold. Grey, black and color.
15 years ago. Him, a computer mechanic. Her, a teacher. A 1bhk house. A bed. Life lived in moments. A collection of moments. Only him and her.
3 months ago. What might have been. What could have been.
A pile of broken glass. Broken dreams, now ashes, flung into the air. In the mist. There they are....our children...now in little bits of burnt black....flashing through the wind, encircling us. They fly into the distance and are drowned into the noise of the world around us. We keep walking...not a moment to even say our goodbyes.
The colourful detailing of our dreams fade...blur...then blend into the everyday humdrum of what must be.
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