2BHK

Slowly, carefully and slightly out of breath
He entered her


Her 2BHK, somewhere in the downtown
He had come in through the bathroom window;
Using a jack-knife
For breaking and entering, unlawfully inside
And wearing a mask
To protect his face
After all, he had come
Not only to rob her
But also, to kill her....


Inside it is
Pitch dark
He uses a flashlight
To look for her
And opens the door on the right....


He remembers having been here before
This is the kitchen, isn't it?
“Yes, once we used to sit a talking for hours at the table
Talking about Bombay, Salsa and Dominique Francon
Till the gravies on our fingers dried
Later, we didn't
We just ate as a chore
You became allergic to mangoes and I to lobsters
But even today
You make me hungry”
He closes the door, silently and tiptoes into the next room....


His eyes are slowly getting used to the darkness
He can recognize the Bedroom at once
“Our life
As though hastily stitched from curtain leftovers
And pillow fights
I can feel you still,
Faintly, distinctly,
And alive
In the ripples of these bed-sheets of
Sandalwood, cardamom and naphthalene”


He tries turning the knob of the guest bedroom on the other end
But the door is locked
So, he goes back to the hall to lurk in the darkness
And wait for her to walk in
“I can still see you, in those black and white photographs on the walls
I can still feel your eyes upon me
But it's only now that I can see the hope in those eyes
Oozing through the slips in the cracked glass....”


It slowly dawns upon him, in the sweaty, August darkness
That in all its gloom, all its imperfectness
It was still a place that had once been, his own
That home was nothing but a couple of people
Who loved ciphers and sukiyaki and missed the same arbitrary place
But this home-
This home didn't belong to them
And that's when he decides to leave....


Once out in the street, he permits himself to turn around just one more time
And look back at the balcony where she had once stood
Amidst the distant sounds of traffic and her tall delphiniums that morning
She hadn't been doing a thing except standing there leaning on the railing;
Holding the universe together....


Well, like they say
Perhaps for every man
There is at least one city
That sooner or later
Turns into a girl
She was there
And she was the whole city
And that's all there is to it


…......
Moments later, she opens the door
In one second, she can make out
That someone had come in
And he had stolen something


But she doesn't know this-
That he is outside now, watching his steps, walking in the cold,
Hunting for another address
He can call his own


Yes, he will let her live
But in his life, he will never come back here again
And eventually he'll realize with a wry smile and a shake of his head
That anyway today
There's no city called Bombay anymore.