Layers of Different Colors, Chandrashila Peak, 13000 ft, Garhwal, Uttarakhand
They say I own a house. I say I own a piece of sky. Or rather different pieces of sky seen from different parts of the house. A patch here. A patch there. Though, the sky as vast as it is, tries its best to fool me in believing that the parts are the same. By making me the see the same stars over and over again. All a small part of something big. Something more generous. But, the sky fails to convince me. I do not need the generosity of the sky. I need to see the sky. The whole of it. The blue and black, the all of it.
I look at the house from inside. A piece of your memory there. A part of your laughter trapped in this room at the expense of my stupid jokes. My two constant companions - Patient walls and Your face. Now, both lost in this fast, but ultimately futile race. I have an uncanny ability to turn everything I touch into dust. Coupled with an unenviable quality to disappoint everyone I meet. A sorry wouldn’t do. It never does.
I search every corner of the house to retrieve as much of you as possible. But, there is so much of you. And, I am a mere mortal. And, I wonder, if this is all I am looking for. I wouldn’t have complained. But, for this sky which mocks at me. A view of something else would have soothed me. A view of the moon. But, the piece of sky allocated to me does not have that gift. I have looked for the moon in every hour of the night in every season. I have been desperate. For the Moon. Just as I worked to treasure everything associated with you. Even the broken things. Especially the broken things. The sky is unforgiving. And so are the walls of the empty house.
It was never going to work. That is why we needed to work on it. I sit quietly in another desolate corner which seems too vast for me. No, do not see in my eyes. I will burn. I request your face, present only inside me, to look away from me, so that I continue my story. This skin you see is a palimpsest*. I have to say it all, before this too turns into dust. Please stay. May be, if you stay a bit longer, I will tell you my story. The whole of it. To compensate for the incomplete sky. For the absence of the moon. Just may be!
P.S - I neither own a house nor a piece of sky. Goes without saying- Another abstract fiction.