13/01

January morning, Foggy winter lanes, three of us Walking in the Garden, Hide and seek of sun, kicking sand over each other's shoes. Planning to eat another unhealthy meal, maybe 2-3 more coffees. Clicking pictures of stranded old buildings, watching peacocks trying to impress their partners, me complaining about why men don't put this much effort, obviously to offend my two friends.

That was the day of Lohri, none of us at home. It was the shared feeling of loneliness that brought us together. But none of us wanted to accept it. We decided to hang around the city, on bikes. I lay my head over my friend's back, as it was too cold to open my eyes and I was so high on caffeine after crying for 13 hours, the previous night. Lying on the floor, lonely nights, the language close to your heart but you have no one to speak to, you have to embrace another language like you've been speaking it your whole life, your phone rings a lot, probably every other second, there's someone who wants to talk, but who's going to ask whether you're doing okay? A word for bamboo comes out of your mouth, but you must push it aside because even your loved one won't understand. Loneliness is a dangerous thing. It makes people do things that they would have never done if it wasn't for loneliness. You either look for love everywhere or build walls too high that no one can cross to touch your heart.

We reached the periphery of the city, by the river, just the three of us, whom I was about to leave in a few months. Unaware, they were laughing, fighting, touching each other faces with ice-cold hands. If it wasn't for these two I wouldn't be smiling, laughing heartily. I didn't know if these people were right or wrong but I knew one thing for sure, you can't do it here alone. And I wasn't going to waste my day thinking. I ran toward them, smiling, with the thought of kicking one of them in water.