The Whiff of lost friend.

My closest friends are books, in the human world it used to be Anupa.

Jarod Kintz wrote,”flowers and fear are a lot alike, for one flowers and fear have a distinct smell, and two I’m currently trying to grow both in my garden.”

Anupa my friend and I sat on the rocks of Manipal, they no more exist, the open expanses invaded by fortress like concrete flats,

I remember sitting in on the rock edge at the quarters, month of June, like an obscene phone call from nature, air is moist, secretive and not really fresh – it was dampening too. Sometimes the wind sounded like heavy breathing, the monsoon flowers emitting their fragrance, the rotting debris adding the punch the mystery smell of flowing water the atmosphere only amplified organic sleaze. It was to a certain extent aphrodisiac at the same time repressive, soft, yet violent. Yet I guess the musty smell had a comfort of its own.

With this was aroma of coffee, sometimes some eatables too we would share our day, and create a new one. Who can deny that two teenagers, sipping coffee/tea, would actually swallow the universe with it, and the moment of lifting the bowl to the lips is eternity transcending time and space?

We until aromas from the neighbourhood kitchens wafted in. The sambhaar from Kannamma aunty’s kitchen, the more subtle one from Nalini Aunty’s the milk cooker from Kasturi aunty, we knew the evening had to wind up.

Unlike Cinderella, we could not wait till the clock struck twelve; our curfew hour was when the street lights turned on.

written for www.facebook.com/AmbiPurIndia