Signs

I.

You will look at them. People you have known for years. That friend you grew up with. Lived through all those stories you tell people you just met. Had sleepovers. Borrowed books from. Stole shirts.  Survived heartbreaks. Shared countless inside jokes and innuendos. You will look at them one day and  would never want see them again. You’d wonder why you are friends with them in the first place. You will suddenly discover this tangible lost connection you haven’t noticed before.  Walk away. For you. For them. Start new. Reflect. Come back later perhaps. Or not.

II.

Its been fourteen years. You now listen to Floyd and paint your nails black. Grab a sandwich with extra mayonnaise and a dash of mint on your way to work. Small talk with the people in the adjacent cabins at your office. Except one. You saw her for the first time last week. Humming along a familiar tune. It reminds you of the streets of Kolkata. It’s probably from that Bengali movie you saw when you were nine. You can almost trace the smell of  Chingri Malai Curry  that wafted through the house every Friday afternoon in the summers. The few vivid memories of home. Of Amma.

You should probably talk to her, you think. Everyday.

III.

There has been a delay. You look at the watch and count on your fingers. Sixteen hours till your appraisal meeting. You will probably be late. Sigh. It wasn’t a good idea after all. Happens every time you visit home. A five day leave always ends up with Ma pleading for two days more. How much difference does it make, she says, we don’t see you for months, anyway. She’s right about that. You count on your fingers. Again. Four months till you come back. Stop. Look around. They have been here a long a time. The father and the son occupying the bench next to yours. Sipping cheap bland coffee from Styrofoam cups. Engaged in a  discussion you cant really hear. The father with his right hand rubbing his knee every once in a while. Watch. A warm hug that follows. The son mumbling words of concern. The father, his eyes, proud and shining patting his back. 

Think. Of the vague goodbye you have mumbled to yours all this time. The hollow promise of staying longer next time.  Count on your fingers. Yet again. The years that have gone by since you ended your conversations with an embrace.

 Of acceptance if nothing else.

IV.

Close those books. You have been reading the same sentence since an hour. Hold your head in your hands. It doesn’t seem to go away, does it? Make your eighth cup of coffee. Go online. Read about how nine cups of coffee a day can act as toxic to your body. Smile. You are one cup short.  Browse through stray word documents in your computer. There are far too many.   Remember. You were hurt when you wrote this. Happy when that. This, was just random. That, was an after effect of over analyzing.  Think of writing a book. A secret blog would be good too. Pictures and words. Your pictures and your words. Say it out loud. Savour the warm feeling in your chest. Laugh on the prospect of that. So naïve.  

Its been long. Sigh. Go back to those books.

Or.

V.

This is it.

This is the sign you have been looking for.

Good luck.