Buckets of Rain...

Years later, I'll probably look back at these days and amaze myself with what I've been capable of. It's nothing special- people are doing it all the time, but somewhere in this whole hurried process, there has been quite a bit of growing up done and that will always amaze me.
This city I have lived in for a little over five years- laughed in, cried in, looked around with wide eyes, shouted at its heartlessness-suddenly became a stranger city. I realised that it's not so much the places as it is about the people.
The city has been about the people I've been with- the ones I talked to under skies torn apart by the roar of airplanes, the ones who never refused the chance to have a 2 am feast of poached eggs and lemon tea and the ones who almost never paid for their tea. With them gone, it's like a part of me disappeared.
And these days have been a long drawn, incessant process of trying to deal with the missing bits and yet trying and emerging with enough strength to cook, clean and sweep.
This place will probably become home again- quietly when I cook the next morning's breakfast, when I walk around these strange new shops with unfamiliar names or maybe when I push my way into a bus which runs on a route I have never walked.
And then, maybe, I will start taking pictures again.

Photo: Ria and I, on her last morning in JNU. Taken by Atrayee.