Time

Time. Remembered as seasons. Season of rains in Mumbai. Of puddles everywhere. Of squishy shoes and dripping clothes. Of buses splashing water as they go past you. As the benches joined together in the classroom. As the soggy notebooks being taken out of the rainy walk to school. 

Of summers. Of pickled tender mangoes. Of the drying karuvadams on the terrace. Of the sweet smelling night jasmine that we would pluck early in the morning. Of the wafting fragrance of the nandiarvattai. And the mangoes, oh the mangoes, dripping through the fingers and sticky afterwards. 

Of the smell of the soil after the first drizzle. Of the feeling that summer is approaching and vacations are around the corner. Or the approaching winter with that nip in the air. 

Time. Remembered as days. Days you cannot forget. Days of happiness. Days of joy. Days of sadness. Days of despair. Festival days. Celebration days. Winning days. Exuberant days. Comfortable days. 

Time. Remembered as moments. Moments of walking hand in hand. Moments of staring into each others eyes. Moments in each others arms. Moments when a relationship changed - when you walked past that irreversible door. Moments of love. Moments of tenderness. Moments that made you smile. Moments of connection. 

Time. Remembered by the clock. 8'o clock for father to leave for work. 7'o clock to be back. Waiting for the 11.42 train to get a glimpse of the crush. 3.30 pm waiting for the kids to be back from school. 1 pm lunch with the office gang. The 6.20 bus early in the morning. 

Time. The meaning of time. Ever changing. Never static. That is you...

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