A white line…a road…a tree and me in between, the Sophia’s lane is one that carries numerous memories. The glamour, the irreplaceable bonds, the make ups, the break ups, the fun and laughter echoing, the discussions blaring, the nonstop dramatic ‘encounters’, chais and suttas sending us back to sanity, every step has a story which is impossible to define in words.
As I sit there and look up through the leaves at the starry sky, the buildings covering the moonlight, I notice the time fading away with each night. We could spend hours pondering over nothing, yet creating memories with everything. It is like a bonding magnet, where stories are told, retold and remembered. That’s when you realize it’s not the end but the start of something unknown.
Here, no one felt big or small, rich or poor, pretty or ugly. We were all synonymous, we were all akin. Requesting anna to one last cup of cutting, bartering with kakka to let go off one rupee a cigarette, demanding the bhaiya to make the bhel puri a little spicier while eating away plain papadis for free. Here, the nerds, the snobs, the chillers, the losers, the populars, the loud speakers, the preachers, the timid all got together, each grabbing the back of a different car to perch. Here, there were no rules, no limits, no discrimination, no isolation, only an inconspicuous connection that joint you to everybody with ease.
Even now, looking back at the times when stories and chatters continued indefinitely, remembering the times spent together endlessly, talking about the times to each other incessantly, we still don’t tire. But as I squeeze each memory from the past I wonder, is nostalgia just a state of mind or is it a state of life predefined.