A.V

For three days, we built walls from words. Rows of desks, raised hands, carefully sharpened opinions. We stood beneath flags and microphones, defending ideas as though the world depended on them. And perhaps it did. But evening arrived regardless. The Sansad fizzled out, a place that saw the LOP being thrown out five times by marshals, was now empty. We too moved out, closed the lights, closed the fans, closed the doors. Slowly, all moved to the open theatre. I could see the equipment lighting up with power, as the sun lingered above the hills, unwilling to leave first. Familiar faces shining among the crowd. Soon, the rhythm of drums and keyboard picks up. Soon, it all fills with Pahadi words that I can't understand. But their resonance still hits us all, anyway. And it all starts to come together. The arguments loosened their grip. The minister, the opposition member, the organiser, the volunteer, the stranger whose name I never learned, all became simply people. One ...

  Storms and hail fall almost every night. I open the windows and doors for them to take away this stagnant air that lingers, rotting me away. The room feels cold, not one that pains, but one filled with petrichor's delight. Wind sways the curtains, as cats and dogs rain down. Yes, a cat had rained down. She had barged in uninvited, inspected every corner, let me clean her with a damp cloth, And now she sleeps peacefully curled upon a warm blanket. I too wrap a shawl around my shoulders As slow songs fill this dim room. I lie beside her, petting her softly, her ears twitching at the slightest touch. When slumber embraced me, I don't know. But for once, The restlessness had faded. A.V