Fools Forever

Fool that i am, i dont even realise till i see the back turned. time after time i meet people trying to establish and feed 'good working relationships' and time after time i mistake it for real friendship. like ramu and rama. a mite for a myth. though, i think its only fair. as usual, i think and am sure that its i'm the one who must have gotten it wrong.

looking around, feel really ancient. its been so long, that the beginnings are beginning to blur. yet, i dont think i learned anything at all. sadder but none the wiser

Found my old friend, the musician, again last night raising spirits on rose street, as usual.

Its a big rowing weekend. We're gowing to glasgow, I think and have loads of stuff coming up soon. I'm tried of the way I never seem to find or fit into a 4+ properly. Maybe I should try sculling again? The whole point of the move was however that I wanted to learn team work. Bah!

Come morning I was on the run again. It was dark & cold. Even after one lap round the royal botanical: no sweat. Hands felt too numb to reach for my cell and check my time. I run past an old man with layers and layers of clothes and he gives me a strange look. I smile back and wave good morning. In the dark of the morning the whole world seems less frightening.

As I walk back, the surface of the pond is fading from lead to silver. The swans imperiously pulling out head tucked into wings and looking with coldly at the ducks who have been up and racketing a while. You can almost feel the raisied eyebrow. Overhead, the dawn flushed sky seems to gently smile. As I walk out of the park and onto the street, the shopkeepers are setting up their shops. The little cafes smell of something tempting. I look at my watch and start to hurry: dont want to miss the dog-who-comes-back-at-seven-thirty: i have a crush on a german shephard next door who looks just like a bleached version of Leo. Re-incarnation?

I pass into the the Water-Of-Lieth walkway. The canopy of trees overhead makes it darker than it is. Its deserted, as usual. A squirrel runs across the thickpile carpet of fall leaves ... rich russet, red, yellow all the shades I love best.

I just found out Edinburgh is the UNESCO city of Literature. Seven layers of city. Flocking with tourits, passers-through, immigrants and the happy and drunk. Everyone smiles. Everyone has time to make friends or chat a wee bit. Theres a castle bang in the middle and miscellaneous historical sites sprinkled over a overall city thats actually pretty miniscule. And the Lieth runs through it. As the end approaches, I realise, how much I have fallen in love with it.

Yet, South-Ave and Rawdon street beckons. School. Park Street. Rowing on the Lakes. Standing around on the hanging bridge. SPE. (egg mutton rolls, biryaani, chaap, kosha mangsho luchi). My Calcutta. My beautiful Calcutta. My angel. My love. The most special and sweet and unique of all ... is this how a guy feels coming home from mistress to love?


Originally Posted at Prerona.

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