WOODSTOCK FOREVER

Looking back, I feel you were rather ordinary looking
Your nose was too long, for example
Your shoulders too narrow
Some of your anecdotes were not as funny
Ok, so you had those raccoon eyes
And the accent (and a PHD....) from Oxford
You could get away with silk scarves in the middle of July
You seemed taller than 5'10”
You seemed like the tallest man in the world
You've heard this before, I know
Then one day
You left
You left us for that Gwalior job
Today, my memories of Woodstock
Have been reduced to that fifty minute discussion in your office
During which I decided that I wanted to attend Oxford too
And where I had gone to stop you for going
“I’m petrified of my future without you....”
I had thought that would be enough
That, and my tears
Your long, black locks (with an abundance of brown in them)
Now visualized as you sat opposite me in that twilight room somewhere in 1988
Your warm, bony hands, caressing my hair
“Don't look back, kiddo..
Look ahead”
There's so much I haven't told you
That I had stolen two of your embroidered handkerchiefs that year (one blue and one light brown)
That I still have them, underneath my old lingerie, in the bedroom almirah
That so what if I was fourteen?
That I would've runaway from home with you
That we could've lived in a wood cabin in the middle of nowhere
That I would've given up basketball for you
That I would've given you my white K-mart panties anyday
That I know that you loved me too
Because you liked to occasionally pat my head when you crossed my desk
Because you said that my mid term essay was better than Paromita's
Because you only looked at me when you explained Hamlet....
For three days after you left
I didn't go to school
And it wasn't because of the periods
For two weeks after you left
I cried every night
For six months after you left
I waited for your letter
Even twenty two years later
I still open unmarked envelopes, expectantly
But most of all, I never read Hamlet
Ever again in my life
What would Shakespeare have said anyway?
That today, I'm standing here
But I can't even cry
And yet
Is there a sight sadder than me?
You knew me from before I crossed eighty kilograms
Before I became a mother of two
Before I became the most vindictive senior manager in the North West
Before I stopped feeling happy during unexpected rains
Before I stopped reading good literature in my spare time
Before I lost faith
My life
As it is
Even today
Derives itself from your lucid expositions
And yet I know if you were here
You would've said,
“It was just an
Infatuation”