Back to work, some semblance of normal life hopefully I’ll learn to write for myself again, bigger pages mean bigger ideas I should buy a notebook the size of my room, sleep in the fold of a page, write words with my body language burn thoughts into the page that can be seen from space. Back to life here. Back to tight-fisted purse-clenching watching my foot on the gas to save the gas to save the money, pulling with all my might to make the ends meet. I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I like it.
People jabber and talk jive non-stop over here so I plug up my ears like I’m building a house with my own two hands. They jitter and titter on about nothing. And me-
“it’s so quiet here”. “boy, it’s sure weird to be home.” “India was good-yeah, it was amazing. So many incredible experiences”. “I definitely wanna go back”.
You forget the meaning of an experience when you continue to go on about it in a meaningless way. I would say.
But these streets are sure bare.
I says to K, I says, I don’t know why people say Vancouver has no character… it definitely has a character, I just don’t know if I like it. Rainy day coffee shops and hybrid crosses between yuppies and hippies in fleeces and lulus skiers and sailors in late-model cars so laaii-id back, so polite, Canada bland and character lite. There’s not a lotta colour here the pallet is blue and gray. Not much I should say when I’m as dry as the rest of these crackers. Broken or fixed. Broken or fixed.
It’s good to be home.
But it’s hard to concentrate. All this jabbering.
* * *
I can’t wait to go back to Bombay someday. It already feels like a clamorous muffle behind me, around the corner.
Echoes for a while, I’m sure.
These echoes are mine but it’s like trying to clutch time by the love-handles. Slippery past. Fish-skin memories.
These experiences sew themselves inside you though, a tailored onion-skin; We grow inwards. Inward-growing onions, skin by skin. Peel by peel.
I hope this’ll be a layer I can taste until my last breath.
India.
It’s not an ending if I’m starting again.
Another circle around the centre, the peel forming.
It’s not an ending if I’m starting again.
That's starting to make some sense now.
