I am sitting down with my pen, in a faraway land For many days,…

I am sitting down with my pen, in a faraway land For many days,…

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I am sitting down with my pen, in a faraway land For many days,…
I am sitting down with my pen,
in a faraway land
For many days, I recalled my memories,
That faded with poor calories
Between everything that evaporated,
What remained was carcasses of my memories.
.
.
.
I, quite often swing back and forth into my memory lane. My native house was in the foothills of Guwahati, Assam in Northeastern India . Those were the days. My excitement level traveling far East from the other side of the country used to reach infinity. The four days of journey, ogling vast rice fields, feeling the cool breeze stroke my hair. Those were the days. Butterflies waking up in my belly when the train used to reach the longest 15 min of Brahmaputra river bridge crossing. Butterflies at war until the sight of my train station. .
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I would scream my lungs out for my “Choto Mama”. Those times, there weren’t cellphones, or live locations to Whatsapp them. There were emotions over pouring with love. There were actual words spoken out rather than invading keyboards. Those were the days.
I would spent my vacations breathing nature. I would explore her hidden realms. I would often play in the front yard of my maternal home, explore my grandpa’s plantations, wait for the coconuts to be plucked. I used to sit in the verandah and scoop out the mushy meat. I’d throw stones in the pond nearby and hear the water splash. I’d peek into my cousins house and see what they were up to. I’d wait for my Mama to come home & piggyback me around the house.
Those were the days… .
.
I was in my lovely abode,
where I had infinite love that always snowed
My mamas and mashis would crack funny jokes,
that always gave me an energy dose
Soon, when hours went on passing like years,
My mother would come look for me with spears
As soon as she used to step inside,
She would turn into a hybrid
Instead of lifting me up and giving me fiery eye balls
She would join her siblings for a comedy intercourse
Together we all used to have hearty roars
and some moments completely enamoured.
.
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Those were the days…. I wish my maternal home existed. I wish I could live those moments again. I wish my “MamaBari” was alive.

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