Ordinary Letters

“To the mornings that never rush enough"

Often,

for several or sometimes no reason at all,

I leave for class at 9:30.

Even when the class starts at 9:30.

And though it’s barely a kilometer away,

it takes me fifteen minutes to reach.

Phir kya,

as my footsteps find rhythm

and the wind brushes past,

the green around me begins to hum,

and my mind drifts,

writing its own stories,

a playful smile tugging at my face.

As I would reach, I would peek inside the door.

“Ma’aaaam, mai aa jaau?”

She would looks up to say. 

“Kaha se aa rahe ho?”

“Ghar se,” I grin.

“Aur kis se aaye?”

Her eyes narrow slightly.

“Gyaarah number gaadi.”

“Kya?”

“Chal ke, ma’am.”

The smile doesn’t leave my lips.

“Phir itna late kyu?”

“Pata nahi, ma’am.

Kaisa dimag hai mera,

do mahine ho gaye,

phir bhi samajhta nahi

ghar se kab nikalna hai.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Accha, aisa hai?”

“Haan ji.

Aur jab late hota hoon,

toh sochta hoon bunk kar lu.

Par phir lagta hai,

ma’am ka pyara sa chehra dekhne mil jaayega,

toh aa hi jaata hoon.”

“Zyada muh nahi chal raha tumhara?”

she says, still smiling.

I match her gaze,

a tedhi si muskaan curling my lips.

“Jao, baitho.”

“Hehe.”

Cars and bikes pass by,

and I keep walking,

head down, earphones in,

old songs threading through memory.

'In Ankhon ki masti ke, mastane hazaro hai,

mastane hazaro hai. In aakho sai bavasta....'

I turn my gaze away, from 

students as I enter the University,

trying to focus on the old songs that ring in my ear,

the nostalgic mischief.

Birds chatter,

the jungle babbler, the red-eared bulbul,

singing somewhere in the trees.

The sun isn’t kind,

but under the shade, its warmth feels earned.

As I reach the lecture building,

I check the time 9:45.

“Dead,” I think.

Scenario toh bana liya hai,

but I know my heart won’t let me speak it.

But then,

a few classmates standing outside.

Ma’am hasn’t arrived yet.

Relief washes over me,

and I exhale,

half laughing, half sighing,

at my own restless mind.

A.V