Those Nights

It was one of those nights. They would come, creeping on regular evenings, every once in a while and pass by without resulting in anything extraordinary, noteworthy or even memorable.

Her feet hurt from the sharp edge of the table but she dint shift her weight. She dint think correct spellings were important either.

We are so present in action in the immediate; let a few years pass and we notice that they passed while we watched, spectators, with no will or intention to participate. These nights, they were just like that. She loved them. She floated through time, making eons of fleeting moments.

It was a new city in a new country. Usually fond of exploring, today she felt like she dint need to see this new place. Just her balcony was enough. With the unknown landscape beyond, it seemed perfect. One could just be. Without thinking of what one saw, for one knew nothing about it. It was like visiting someone else’s life. It was like signing out of the world.

The film playing on Star Movies was the one she had planned to watch with her friend. They were cute together for the little time that they were. Deciding to watch a movie just because the title seemed to tell of their lives and then, having such little conviction in the idea, being too lazy to even go. Saying lovely things is a lovely thing. She knew so many like him.

The breeze blew through the open door. She couldn’t even say that it was a breezy day, for she dint know how yesterday was nor how tomorrow would be. It was so liberating to lack context.

She played that game with herself, the one where one has to say the first thing that comes to mind when a word is said. She was always afraid of ever having to play this game with him. It would give so much away. So she played with the TV. The TV would ask and she would answer.

It took her to so many places, to so many people. And she went back and forth, between absurd and sentimental, between childhood dreams and adult fears. It felt so light to remember, without thinking before and feeling after.

She was liking treating this unknown city like she had been living there. With no urge to make every evening special. The charm of the regular.

The TV was such a mundane thing in the Indian imagination that it was so intensely romantic. It smelled of domesticity. She remembered the conversations about TV. She had had a few. One of her friends or whatever you would call him, had once wanted to watch TV lying next to her, just to pretend like they’d always been together.

She switched off the lights and lay down in the new bed. Without even checking what the window next to it looked out at. It wasn’t important. She was getting what she wanted from this place.