I am writing this in a train, passing by Pune right now. On the rail station an old friend came to meet me. We met, a small meeting, pleasantries exchanged. I gave him a copy of “Papillon”, the book I am reading nowadays and he got me a box of food. He knows me well, knows what I like to eat and how much I enjoy my food.
In case this makes it to the blog, I must tell you that I am writing this on the cardboard box. I have no choice since I have no paper. But I feel like writing.
It is raining lightly outside, almost a drizzle. Typical Pune rain. Surprising, in a way, that as I pass by this city I do not feel a flow of emotions. Maybe I do, in bits and pieces but no, nothing more than that. I could have taken a break in Pune while on my way to Bombay but there is no feeling to come back here. Unanticipated, because I have spent about three and a half years in this city. The ‘bits and pieces’ of emotions are whats left by a big emotion, overlapping, overwhelming just about every other feeling. Like a big tidal wave dissolving the effect of the small waves.
Outside the window I see the roads I have walked on, the surroundings of the place I worked, in fact this same railway track I have crossed countless times by foot. Yet, no feeling, nothing happens. Yet another void to swallow.