A song from a mixed CD made for me by a boy — oh, about three years ago. (He was a nice boy, but the last time we spoke was about three years ago as well. I keep in touch with fewer than five people at any given point to time, so the people on the periphery often fade away. When a name pops into mind all of a sudden once in a while, I’m left wondering, whoa, so what happened to this person! Like I’m wondering now.)
Another song without a video, I’m afraid. Instead there are lyrics, if that is any comfort. Although the lyrics of this song aren’t really difficult to comprehend.
I left the CD lying around for months, didn’t have time to listen until one day I uploaded all its contents into my iPod and left for a long two-months-in-two-cities a trip, because when one travels one must always have new music. It was a stuffy peninsular summer. I had just wrapped up with one city (and all it entailed), and was on a night-long bus journey through the hills and highways of the Western Ghats. I was alone and tired and burning with fever and fighting with guilt and disappointed with myself and so, so relieved. Everyone in the bus was asleep, even the constantly whimpering babies. The lights were turned out so I couldn’t see their faces, and I could permit myself the luxury of imagining that this busful of strangers weren’t there — only me. Outside my window the night was vast and dark and filled with countless stars. Never before (and never again) had I felt so small and devastated and free.
Mimi Mondal 