A silent day

As I turned the keys around and opened the door, the air of familiarity surrounded me. It’s amazing how after having lived in various different rooms in the past four years, each one of them has been home to me, how coming back to the same bed just after one night feels like two lovers who had been torn apart by distance are now finally reunited. Too drastic a feeling I say that simply implies to the feeling I knew I had when I looked forward to spending the day at home, alone.

There are rare occasions when the hostel is not bustling with activity. Someone getting ready to go to work as someone else can be seen whipping up a recipe for the lunch or the boys from the other end sipping into their early morning tea as they once again start the conversation about the error in the pages (symptoms of working for a newspaper and living with the same people). But no, today was different. The Bengalis in the hostel, barring one, were off on their rendezvous with their beloved Kolkata and Durga Pujo, while the others were still sound asleep when I entered. The silence didn’t unnerve me. Instead, it made the day look all the more inviting.

A long nap later, which was interrupted by many phone calls from friends and family, I woke up as the half day had passed. Yet, it felt like there was a long way to go. I checked my phone for the possibility of a text. Disappointed. Time passed. Numerous songs and a movie later, nothing changed.

I walked out of the room and the corridor was in complete darkness. I walked up to switch on the lights and peeked to see what were the others upto. That’s when it dawned upon me. I was alone in the hostel on the rare occasion of a general holiday. I walked up to the window and saw the lights put up all around, the TV switched on in the apartment across the street, music blaring from a speaker somewhere and chaos on the roads. And here I was, perfectly comfortable in the silence.

The mind goes back to many things. The first meeting, the unfinished conversation and the wait. And then I wrote. As I wrote, I wound back into the silence, in the comfortability of the absence of everything and I lay there alone, in the company of dreams.