My Shadow Self

I don't know what it is exactly. The weather, the golden spring leaves at my window or the fact that I wanted to write this for some time now. I saw her again. And by her I still mean her.

Four years would entail a lot of changes. Lives change in course of few months, people change over the virtual reality of text messages. While I was making my way to the crowded corner, I was trying to recall the last time we talked. And strangely I didn't. You know, some relationships are not constricted within definitive. I don't recall the first time we met or the last time we talked. I remember the snipets of conversations. It's like talking to myself. Only someone who is not quite me in the strictest sense. Begrudgingly, someone who perhaps has a better taste in the fabindia kurtas, expertise in ordering food at an eatery, knows her wine, wears the big silver earring for the second piercing, has long black smoky curls and the those beautiful bengali eyes! Aah! that's her. My shadow alternate self. To be found somewhere in the diplomatic quarters of Chanakyapuri, alternate afternoons of the week.

How do I know her? I do. I know her enough to notice the subtle changes that time has forced. I notice the look that sometimes creeps into those big black eyes. Something I never noticed before. She rambles on about this and that. I sit back and listen to her talk. How blue the European panorama looks. How she still haunts Oxford for smell of books. Yet, at times she talks of love, life and hopes. Some of which we both lost over the years. Of passion and obsession. In her words I sense a certain drift of unending romanticism. This is still someone, who loves "love". Still trusts it. Still feels it. I on the other hand, seem to have lost it all.

We talk of the books we love. The words that entice us, makes us want to reach out and touch that little something that only printed words can afford. The sense of security, belonging and trust. She still wants to keep faith. She still wants to experience what life has to offer. Good, Bad. I, on the other hand, would rather move through the shadows. Whispering not a word. Making not a sound. My shadow self! One can hardly call her that. Though she seems like me, a long time back. Me with a world of hopes, me with that carefree boisterous laugh. Me with the careless saunter, me and the shrug of my shoulder. Me with those black black eyes, me and my clear blue skies.

She's calling me back from my reverie. I look across the table and see her mouth the words "awfully quiet". I shrug back, telling her that I am way too tired, and the noise is making me dizzy. She gives me a quizzical look. We still have company. I laugh back, remembering the sense of deja-vu. Life does come back a full circle. In so many strange ways.