He is now in Ahmedabad. The young, dimpled boy I was once married to. He lives there amongst memories and old neighbors. He still dwells in our nest. The one we chose to make our home. The one that was supposed to be our own haven, the one we come back to after fighting battles out in the big world. Our very own personal harbor that would anchor all our sorrows, joys, moments of happiness and angst, our first kiss as man and wife, our collection of memoirs and souvenirs from our travels across the globe. The one place, which, was always open to friends who fought with spouses or parents and left home occasionally, to the weekend getaway for many more who lived in from Friday through Sunday, to the common ground for the rock star’s band member’s music making activities.
I often want to ask him. Does he think of me? How is it there? Do you miss me when you lie in the bed that once wrapped us into its arms on cold nights as man and wife? How is the weather there? Do you think of me when you walk through empty spaces in the house that once held my things, my personal belongings, ones which I proudly thought of as ours? Do you think of me when you see empty walls which once had pictures framed of our times of love? Do you often still wake up in the middle of the night, disturbed by your own snoring? Tell me, do the neighbors ask how come I don’t come home anymore? Do you miss the whiff of my perfume in the air or early morning chatter over coffee?
Does it matter that you can no longer hold me in your arms after a long day’s work? Does it matter that I don’t ever open the door anymore? Does it make it different that you have to always carry your own set of keys to work and come back home to vacuum? How is the vibe now? How new is it? How different is it? Is it just like it was? Do these questions cross your mind too just like they come to me as often? I look for answers to these same questions, like a little child wanting something badly at a toy store. Do they tick in your head too? And our dog, what happened when you saw him last? Could you hear my voice ring in your head like yours rings in mine when I see dogs across the street? Do you miss it that you come home from your travels and you don’t see me there hopping around to ooh and aah over what you brought me or things I did in your absence. Does this volcano of memories burst and burn your heart too like it does to mine?
I plead for answers to the same questions again and again. Repeatedly. I know well enough I shall seek forever. For some place that I looked at as a permanent home, was looked upon as just a temporary abode by you, my once upon a time lover, my friend, my significant other.