Randomly picking up threads from Reena's diary

"Lonely, Mr. Lonely"... the song got stuck in her mind. It was a pleasant walk in the evening and she kept humming to herself. Walking alone, isn't bad afterall, she thought. Why are we so put off by being with our own selves. Why do we need someone at all? Can't we be our own best friends? A train of such thoughts ran through her mind. 

She had come to think of Kolkata, as her own city now. But how limited view she took of her own city. It was true that she could mentally map few locations and knew how to plan her route considering the city changed its traffic after one in the afternoon. But living in Kolkata, without Yatharth was a little like a monologue. For her all the days of the week were same. Even the change in the calendar's page was not noticeable. It did not matter really, perhaps. Life was like one song put on a repeat loop. It kept playing and playing and she wouldn't realize.

Like a scar perhaps. He had stayed on her mind. A scar of a wound that has healed a long back. That doesn't bring back the pain, but exists as a gentle reminder that it's afterall a part of you. She wondered if he thought of her at all. And if he did, what was it? She could never be in his shoes. No one can be in someone else's shoes... It is futile to attempt it.

After a long time, Reena was thinking about herself. She had lost her wajood somewhere. Or simply forgot where she had last seen it. Wajood, an Urdu word, can loosely be translated as existence. She still loved the way Urdu rolled on her tongue. What else did she still love? Walks ... The weather of Kolkata gave her a splendid opportunity to take a beginning  February walks. But where is the space to walk. The pavements if at all there are, are either dug up or taken up by makeshift homes or chai wallas. 

She would reach home after the next turn. Home? A place, where there is no loneliness. She probably found it silly to admit even to herself, but she missed Yatharth badly...

Cya soon Yath :)