letters to aught

to the girl with wings

receiver's address: the caravan that tonight leaves the clan.

sender's address: the traveller with a destination.

subject: i've realised that defining home is a challenge, a tongue twisting song i can never sing.

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dear girl with wings,

it was the winter of 2007, i was seventeen, young, pioneering and had my life laid out in front of my eyes. graduation from an elite institution, a fine family, creamy work life. then, i saw you. nineteen, young, wandering, going where life steers.

i was boarding the train to the hills, you were getting off from my seat-to-be. blue turtleneck cashmere top, pepper black pants rusted with mountain soil, spiky undone hair and deep, deep, forest green eyes.

to me, you looked ambitionless and wild.
a vagabond, ridiculing the meaning of life.

sophisticated, i straightened my already straight dress and got lost in my own mind, while you went away. when i sat down, complaining about how the seat was soiled, i found a letter.

a letter that i did tear, burn and grind,
for to me, it was no more than a wild folly at the time,
a letter whose words would be etched in my mind,
a letter that would mean to me not now, but five years down the line.

torn at the edges,
yellowed at the centre,
the contents of that letter,
i will forever remember.

in a learned handwriting that seemed to be scrawled in a hurry by somebody who was far beyond his years, were scribbled the lines-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dear traveller with a destination,

the muddy girl who sat in this seat
in a bulky backpack shell,
that girl i call "me"
does it ring a bell?

you saw me today, but you never will again,
for i am a vagabond, an unsettling suspense.

sometimes i wonder, how it would be,
if i were you, instead of me.
a traveller with a destination, not a restless spree,
a traveller with a home, not the urge to leave.

i follow the hue of the heather purple skies,
swimming in the seas beyond the sands of time,
maybe willingly maybe not, but i've chosen this life,
chosen the road, to be my sole accomplice.

i may be reckless, but today i have a faint plan,
i'll be in the caravan, that tonight leaves the clan.
i've seen the world, but there's something beyond my span,
if it pleases you to write to me, define "home" if you can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i thought of you to be foolish, to be so homesick that you're writing an open letter to a stranger, just to be reminded of home. yet, condescending as i was, i decided to reply, tried to come up with what i'd call "home". turns out i couldn't think beyond bricks, so i kept the thought aside and ripped apart your absurd letter.

years should have passed, you living your way and i living mine.
i don't know about you, but for me this didn't work fine.
your words ring in my ear, the caravan calls me every night,
i may have torn the letter, but the words are stuck in my mind.

it was long before i realised that i cannot define "home", even longer before i knew that i'd started to wish i was you.

what have you done to me,
oh lovely girl with wings,
for i've realised that defining "home"
is a challenge, a tongue twisting song i can never sing.

yours i wish i could be,
the traveller who once had a destination

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