By Neelima Chakraborty
This time when I come over,
Don't forget to prepare mango chutney!
I had gushed over the phone
A few days back.
The ripples of the small laugh
On the other end,
Livened up the tired lines
On my face.
Go on, said the familiar voice.
It's difficult.
When there's nothing much happening around you,
It's excruciatingly difficult
To go on.
People are still working
Ceaselessly, mechanically,
24X7 as we speak.
She says she misses me.
Whenever I give her a call,
I seem to be the recipient
Of a melange of small talk-
An assembly of mismatched moments,
From the day before yesterday
To the present to years back,
A poor patchwork
Of the discombobulating times.
A lost arrow in pursuit of its target.
So utterly lost.
Confounded.
The conversation moves in circles.
It's always the same thing.
The same matter.
The same concerns.
The same people.
Problems.
In my silence,
She empties her mind
In a hurried pace.
At times, I wonder
If she realizes
That adrift on the wings
Of that gentle lyric,
Born in the same vague memory,
My feet sweeps me
Away from the mundane.
Insane are the incantations
Of a lazy soul.
The frenzied state of my mind,
A stark contrast to my placid self.
Hmm..., is all I say,
And she goes on chirping
For another ten minutes.
The call drops.
Silence ensues.
Life resumes
Ceaselessly, mechanically.
But
There's nobody to talk to anymore.