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Hi!
Hope you are doing swell!
I'm repeatedly told April is spring here in North America, but just like the date (where the month goes before the day), adapting to these changes is taking a very long time. Come April and my heart screams summer! After all it is summer in India, for the few months before monsoon kicks in. Ah, monsoon! So, even though I am writing to you from 5 degrees Celsius weather, let me believe I'm eating raw mangoes and getting some sun in the sweet start of summer.
How is the weather there? I ask this all the time speaking to friends or family. I ask this before we visit a new place. And a "How's the weather been?" as soon as we arrive at a new place. Its usually either this or a constant update on my feelings about the weather. I like this weather. I hate this weather. Last winter was colder. This monsoon is different than the last. A "it feels like it may get really cold tonight!" just before we step out for a Saturday night, after having stayed home editing pictures for the last three days.
What am I really saying though? What are we talking about? Is it seeking comfort with the hope that everybody around you maybe experiencing the same thing as you when it comes to the weather? It is nice to be able to talk about something so basic and transient as the weather, just so we can all sort of be on the same page about things.
Okay, here I am, with my serious glasses on, two cups of black coffee down, offering a sincere apology if you looked forward to receiving one of these letters earlier but felt let down with the waiting.
Now here we are with Heartbreak Central. With the last letter mainly focussed on all the joy love brings, I only thought it fair to address the other sides love as well! I haven’t got it all covered, but I did want to share a few things. Theres also a section by Caroline, who is rapidly becoming my greatest muse!
I’ll also let you in on a little secret! This is my favourite month. This is also the month I married Karthik. This is also the month I wake up early and over coffee just smile about the gloomy, cloudy bangalore mornings where the weather is perfection! Not too hot, not too cold. Just a touch chilly. Perfect!
My words they die on their way to you, cold and heavy. With light fading, the gloom prevails, as all evidence of reality lies frozen, the stillness muffles all the truth being spoken, offering shelter only for all that is false. This is the winter of discontent, the times of our disconnect.
A cloudy, rainy day. My neighbor’s son sits sprawled on a white plastic chair on their balcony, restful and casually observant of the street below. He has been here as long as me today, watching over some men working on the side of the footpath, digging concrete to lay some cables perhaps.
Earlier this morning, another neighbor had a loud argument over the sweeping of the leaves on the street with the lady who comes to do the sweeping. It lasted for a good part of an hour. The vegetable vendors came soon after, and as per an arrangement, one of the women rang our doorbell so karthik’s mother who would have missed them otherwise, could come out and make her purchase. We will now be eating drumstick sambar with rice for lunch.