Daal Roti & Aaloo Ki Bujya

I think the fans must be running now. Not on the higher speeds but rather on a slow churn that grinds the rims on every round and makes a noise that after a few minutes has its own relaxing rhythm. Where, very often the fan's breeze leaves one feeling hotter than cool for the air is disproportionately distributed in our houses. That's Lahore. Its more a feeling than something tangible. Its like a small gland at the back of your throat that salivates in the same way as some one hungering for a meal. The sun would be setting later now. And had I been still in college, younger, the shadows of the trees lining the canal would some in hues of darkness and light as I would have made my way home. The birds in the afternoon sun--a time when college is quieter--would chirp in a manner that only memory holds now. I forget the sound or perhaps I colour it too sweet to be the real thing. But that, is Lahore. Maybe at home the windows are open for longer. And the greenery in the patio is not as dusty as June. But come July and everything will shine with a ferocity that seasonally defies our pollution. That's the mythical monsoon. Evenings are still cool. At least memory says they are. And if I was at home maybe we would have walked 'up and down' for comfortably an hour. And that too, not for the exercise, but just to talk. Alternatively there is always the water tank, which though is becoming embarrassing for me to climb, still affords the best space for contemplative 'nothings'. I still need to scourge the dome at 34/C. When I have done than then I can turn back the clock, albeit briefly.