Sax: Do you cry?
Me: Yes I do.
There are a number of things I miss.
I miss the smell of fresh earth after a brief spell of rain. All I can smell now are the asphalt road, cemented gullies and overflowing drains. And I cry.
I miss the late night coffee mom makes after dinner. Now I drink water – mineralized and chlorinated, I think I hear the walls of my wall erode. And I cry.
I miss the cold wind on my face as I drive through NH17. Here, I move at the speed of snail, unaware of the man pushing men to meet ends needs. And I cry.
I miss the warmth of friends, embracing each emotion as being their own. At present, I wait every night, hoping for a virtual hug over optical cable and satellite signals. Not warm. But someone cares. And I cry.
I miss the solitude of the blue room. I miss the redwood bed. I miss the green gdrej. I miss the antique computer. I miss the world map covered table.
I miss home. I miss love. I cry.