as i move through

In late evenings, Basantapur bathes in sepia with a dash of fragrance of cigarette smokes and scalding, strong tea. On most of the evenings, as much I am enjoying the view, the people, the aura; I find myself trying to reconnect to a past that I seem to have forgotten. Almost always, I fail. The sepia undertone, the cinema-esque Basantapur- with all of it's humdrum, people, smoke and tea, plasters itself in my heart without fail. Just to say that it is enchanting would never do it any justice. For someone who avoids being close to people the whole day, the chaos at Basantapur and it's alleys attracts me like a moth to the flame. The noise is almost quieter there. The chaos almost muted. Like I said, a moth to flame. But this routine that I've had for so long doesn't seem to have a pattern that I can trace. I can't pinpoint what exactly I am looking for, or what I am trying to remember. But every step I take there is a walk down the memory lane that I don...

I faintly listen to the sounds of your heart from over the back of your shoulders. I feel warmth of you, my home, seep into me from over the space between us. We have the dark cloud of time looming over our heads. But darling, isn't it the same way for everyone beside us? We have a song singing our story to us and our four walls. Tiny blue lights shine on all the steps we take. We have our fingers finding each other like today meets tomorrow. An unspoken promise we keep alive with us. Fizzy sodas and glasses of creamy lassi build us a home of straws with cashew windows. Three wheels and a mechanical heart whisk you and me away to a world we love.