This feeling of blues arising at this station shaded in one of the most calming hues of azure is so real that it almost hurts. Although I realise it shouldn’t, but somehow it does, and these infinite flashbacks of seemingly minute moments just come haunting back. These images, of the ghost of the past, brings along this grieving epiphany of the actuality of Evanescence, of fleeting moments and minutes and semesters. Everything seems to be running with a faster pace, somehow it feels that the time it took to travel from this station called Mandi house to that called Jhandewalan is seemingly less, and that brings this frightening feeling of fading away, of not only passing of time, or of semesters or of papers, but of people, of the fear of falling out of feelings, of growing out of things, of things changing because of the dreadful distancing that distance can do, of dozens of misunderstandings that can be thrown our way. And how taking the metro back to those four-walled structures is not going to fix that, how the absence of these rides to those pale yellow buildings with concreted grounds and amphitheatre with all shades of autumn, the sounds of laughter, the paradoxical puns regarding nothing and everything, having great expectations from these seemingly hard times, and these rides, struggles to grab these grey colored seats, favorably the corner ones near the iron poles with their unique vantage points and offering the better part of air conditioning, the endless ringing of phone and the dreadful yet familiar aspect of getting late, every single day, haunts the very core of my soul at this very moment. How at last when you have seemingly found this very rare feeling of home and peace in these very pursuits of golden sunsets, feeling of awe over the aestheticism that those houses hidden beneath the lushness of trees or of the adorable doughnuts, or over the serenity presented by those metro stations at the other side of the city, the strangeness of these strangers that are busy in their own endeavors, everyone with their own stories and own little part in the world, and in those words you’ve licked so ardently, how that feeling feels slipping away, like the last metro of the hour, like the last vestige of sundown. And even as you realise that that aurora is near, that it’s almost here, this fear of falling at the brink of something beautiful, of having it almost make it to you or you making it to it, terrifies you.
You realise that the dawn is probably nearer than the stations between ramesh Nagar and Nawada. But with every passing station that brings you back to the screaming, suffocating stillness, the shades of blue seemingly increases. You fail to witness the drooping daylight as you find yourself burning in this heat, which is almost ironical and majorly weird owing to the icy numbness you feel inside.
What does it matter? That’s not the question anymore, it’s how does all of it matter so much that you begin to fear it. The prospects of what the future entails and the reminiscence of these moments you’ve just left behind, all devouring you in them, completely, and you, drenched in the infinite fears and guilts fail to breathe in this very moment.
The moment this realisation enters your mind, the door to metro opens and you realise that it’s just Tilak Nagar, there remain, still around four stations. And the pale sky outside, bathed in this summer madness will attain your favorite shade back someday, very soon, hopefully. And probably this shade is somebody’s favorite too, this feeling helps you breathe a little lighter, as you realise that this, probably is not the last ride after all, and while these fears will ultimately find their way in the labyrinth of your complexes, this feeling, this aftertaste of doughnut called coffee toffee or the excessive cheese in this pizza, while your mouth pains due the excessive smiles you’ve smiled today, they are to remain. And no matter what happens, nobody can steal it or force it away from you. With this feeling, and with Jason Mraz playing in the background, you begin to breathe in the blueness of the blue line of Delhi metro, setting your mind free to the unblemished horizons of the skyline, and the sounds of these laughters, which you perhaps adore the most in the world, probably even more than that of Sheeran finds their way back to you.
So you breathe in the familiar running in circles before pausing for some two months or something, trying to not live in denial or despondence,
And you revel over the last two minutes of this metro journey, thinking out loud of this metro musing before steeping out of this trance.
You hold the iron pole, clinging on to it, just a little longer, letting it know that you’ll miss it, all of it, a little more than too much,and how much you look forward for everything new and old to happen,
Some other day,
Some other semester,