Women can be so pretty when they think no one is looking. Pink kurta, brown eyes (brown eyes are my favourite eyes). Green sari sweeping hair out of her face. Little one in corporate shirt tucked into skinny pants and the smile. Prabuddha died. I was talking about him only recently to some people. Also the First City cover story for July, bought it because he was on the cover. Looking at his photographs is making me incredibly sad because he felt like someone I knew.
Nor is longing always person- or object-specific. You can be in a state of generalized longing without knowing quite what it is that you long for. This might be the purest form of longing, the most difficult to assuage, the least susceptible to being brought to an end, the kind capable of lasting longest—so much so that it can become all but indistinguishable from a generalized condition of existence.
I'm thinking of Nawaz and his intense brown eyes and those eyebrows (chashm e abroo) and how I did not get to see them in person. At the end of the day when the metro kills your spirit and fat women elbow you and step on you with their heels and park their asses in spaces you've been guarding from 5 stops before, you start chanting "bitchgetoutofmyfuckenway" in your head and you grit your teeth and shove. No one is beautiful.
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