Saudade

Charas the cat is sitting strategically near the order window in the cafe. Her movements largely devoid of the feline grace of others of her kind. She's shamelessly begging people for food, giving them a mix of Oliver Twist and Cheech & Chong expressions, stealing away clumsily with the food in her mouth and chewing furtively like a dog while hiding under a table.
When I entered, she looked at me from across the room. I crouched in front of the counter and stroked her spine, her cheeks, her chin the way she likes and then ordered a Thums Up while she circled my legs, purring. She came and sat on my lap for a while and allowed herself to be pampered, all the while eyeing the cake slice the girl opposite me was eating, then high jumped over my ipod wire and went to business.
Not a good day to be left alone with your thoughts. I'm late and I don't have anything to read. I watch the 'jock' girls in their jerseys coming back from practice.
Bob Dylan was depressing me this morning. I was thinking about Edie (with her fog, her amphetamine, and her pearls).

I need my groove if I'm going to get through the day, so I stub my cigarette, put on The Song again and walk into college, smiling at the sun and thinking of a time when 3 friends and I staggered home very drunk, arms around each other, singing this loudly at 2 am.
Charas is now squatting in the middle of the cafe with her eyes closed, looking part meditative and partly like a chicken laying eggs.

6 more minutes till class ends.

It seems that these days I'm in a constant state of missing things, instead of looking forward to anything like I used to. In school everything was a momentous occasion Garba, Durga Puja, the next party.
Now I just...miss everything. It's sort of a Bossa Nova saudade, but also, a lack (for lack of a better word). I miss people, my friends. I miss ridiculous blanket statements they make about life when they're drunk. I miss sitting in a corner and singing half remembered songs with utmost feeling and sailors at a pub camaraderie. I miss mad quests for various substances at odd hours.

I even miss people, places, times that I've not known. That existed long before I did. I'm thankful for the mercy that my interest hasn't died. I still want to know what Iltutmish looked like, or what Dara Shikoh was really like, or how Karaikkal Ammaiyar became a "pey". I want to know women, courtesans like Umrao Jaan whose power over their audience was complete with the slightest ada.
I wish I could have looked into Rimbaud's blue eyes and heard him speak.
But it seems that in all this wistful daydreaming, I'm only putting one foot in the present, in whats happening around me. Inert in the space in between.

PS: Shout out to my bro Homo DJ. I know you've been reading. Whenever Canada gets you down, just write me an email.  :)