“yaad hai, ek din mere meij pe baithe baithe
cigarette ki dibiya par tumne
cchote se ek paudhe ka ek
sketch banaya tha
aakar dekho, us par phool aaya hai.”
Imperfectly translated in English as:
“remember, the other day while sitting at my desk
on a cigarette pack,
a tiny plant
that you had sketched
come and see, a flower has bloomed on it.”
- ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – ~
The life whispered in my ears, I don’t know exactly when, but it did. I am sure of that. It said ‘see, the flower has bloomed’.
And since then I’ve been restless. Restless, in an enthused way. My eyes bright with anticipation. searching.
Trying to find that cigarette pack, that page of my notebook, that blank margin of a news paper, that shiny glossy cover of a magazine, even that wall of my childhood room …
..where I could have scribbled that tiny plant. I clearly remember sketching a plant somewhere. It looked pretty. Tiny and promising.
I always hoped it’d have flowers on it someday. And now that it has, I cant seem to find it. But I will. Very soon. I hope.
I am positive. :)