Daytimes are pleasant, with light sunlight filtering through the pine trees and entering my house through the windows, trying to keep this place warm enough. But the nights—oh, the nights—are harsh, with temperatures dropping and the cries of wolves making this place painful to endure. Yet, even this isn’t enough to drive me away. I was living on these hills, watching the houses trying to cling together as closely as possible-nature and its cruelty. Aesthetically, it resembles a nebula captured by Hubble, or more specifically separating lovers! Again because of nature.
Anyway, I’m still here, distant from the external chaos. After all, how can anyone bear both external and internal chaos? The loneliness here isn’t severe enough to die from, but it isn’t mild sufficient to let me sleep, either. I’m waiting, waiting for the warmth of her presence to be my remedy. The days here are short, but the nights are long enough to force me to swallow pills. No, not sleeping pills, but pills of her voice recordings. I don’t need these woolen shawls; I need a hug from her.
The least distant pitch road is 7 meters below from here. I usually sit by the bonfire and stare at those buses and trucks as they pass by. I want to send a letter to her, but would it even make sense? Or What if she’s moved on or shifted to a new place like this? Maybe she’s tried to do the same, sent me some letters as I wanted, maybe once, twice, or more. Who knows?
Anyway, soon the hour clock strikes ten, and most lights turn off, transforming the houses into faint hues. Let’s get back to my sleeping pills, my very own!
-Shubham Kumar
SARJANA 