Within a single blanket, on a single bed, in a single room
I lied sleeping, cradled by the sultry yet chilly winter evening.
Winters in Mumbai are strange, with no stark characteristic of its own, unlike the city.
I have been busy, trying to make myself ordinary, like the Mumbai winters. But your single room was my escape into extraordinary.
The music, the paintings, the greasy induction, the yellowed paperbacks, the occasional smell of urea and the monotonous mechanical humming of the refrigerator made me feel alive again.
I have lied naked on the cold floor of your single room,
dampening the solid marble with my sweat, giggling in the darkness While the glow of the night bulb stirred the air murky with its purple hue.
I have watched the ashes of my cigarette land gently on my thigh
As my thoughts wandered off to a distant place, while my body lied clusped in your tight embrace.
"Happiness" was a concept that existed in the tight four walls of your single room. Where stories, laughter and our cry flooded the small place
Where alcohol was plenty and feelings understood.
Where a packet of candles were lit to fill the heart with a warm glow, and a couple of glass was bought to sip blood red wine.
In that room I was extraordinary,
wanted, needed and fixed.
The owners will change, the walls will be repainted and the windows will be fixed. Will the room remember me then?
Do walls have memories?
Tonight, I lie within a double blanket, on a double-sized bed, in a room with balcony. But in my room I feel ordinary again.
Asmita is an aspiring neuroscientist and is currently pursuing her PhD in neuroscience in Berlin, Germany. Apart from her daytime job as a scientist, she likes decluttering her messy mind by writing poems, blogs or just cooking. Writing has always provided her with ventilation from complex emotional situations, heartaches and even occasional bouts of depression. Check out her blog here and follow her on Instagram here.
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