I wish you find me at the library, sitting, skimming through pages of a novel that I will never know the end of, or maybe at a slam poetry open mic night when my brimming inferiority complex spills and splashes out of my body language and sentence formation a little too obviously. We could take the train back home and talk until the sound of “agla station Dwarka sector-21 hai” fights its way through our potentially infinite conversation and screams how I have a home that is not in the eyes of the stranger sitting next to me in public transport. Maybe I will take you there so you can continue your story in my balcony, only to pause at sunrise so you can fall in love with the way I love the sun.
I could love you on your sad days. We could drive out of the city to spend the night somewhere you can actually see the stars, so if you have to cry at least the sky will be full of bokeh in your blurry vision. I might as well play your favourite music and then stop at the petrol pump store to buy those new chips and condoms we have been planning on trying out for so long and come out with dreams of cooking that fancy meal together, and two bags full of ingredients that will never see the kitchen counter, or for that matter, the light of the day. I would do all of this only to watch you finally smile at the sunrise in our balcony so I could fall in love with how you love the sun.
I hope you would recognize the aspiration in my eyes every time we pass that Fabindia store and I hope you take me to that nukkad chai stall for a 7 rupees tea date to remind me that happiness doesn’t always exist in the overpriced linen that elite magazines feature. We could walk on poorly maintained footpaths and laugh until the dust and the noise of our busy city gets forgotten amidst stories of work gossip and tales of all types of Uber drivers. We could eye a stranger’s dog together and plan to get one when we’re both retired and only have our garden, art, and blood pressure to look after. My fingers could find yours in overcrowded streets, art exhibitions, ticket counters for sports matches, at the bottom of empty popcorn tubs, and during sunsets when we fall in love with the sun and each other all over again.
I’m glad I haven’t found you yet, because until then you can be whoever I want you to be, but don’t worry, I am a writer – I do not mind the would haves or could haves existing only in folded pages in a library book I forgot to return.