Silence

Sometimes silence feels so complete that somehow you are scared to speak. As if it would break the spell. As if the way your thoughts have been creating someone would tear apart when that person spoke in real. It would be like bringing everything to the realm of the packed buses of office hours and the shabby chaos of the morning vegetable market. That rhythm which your inside seems to have deciphered in both your beings, that fleeting connection between two beings that your thoughts give a knowing nod to, as if that will be broken, ruptured, never to be captured again. It is akin to the fear on an early winter morning, when the lukewarm sunlight making its way through the thin veil of a misty fog brushes against your cheek and brings that smile of contentment. And you want that slice of time to last. But the you hear the clang of buckets, the honk of rickshaws, the urgent bells of the bicycles, the vroom of the bikes, the loud careless dropping of last night’s unwashed utensils near the tap outside as the morning municipal tap water time starts. You know your daily aunty would soon come up to the terrace carrying washed clothes to spread on the line, to start mopping the rooms and give you a basic first news of the locality before the morning paper. The sun would shine brighter, the foggy white mist will disappear into nothingness, the real world would start. It is at that moment that you want to hold on to the fleeting dreaminess of the early winter morning ensconced in white mist and a kind of pure silence which somehow seems almost holy, almost divine.