“There is flattery in friendship” – William Shakespeare.
I don’t know if you remember, but the first time we talked it was about literature. You said you love Shakespeare’s comedy plays. And all I could do was smile.
You seemed to like Indian ghazals. I did not tell you I cry every time I listen to “kagaz ki kashti”. Or that sometimes i dream of that unknown silhouette and a midnight seranade with an old Hindi song I heard over the radio.
You are the only person (without dentures or wrinkles) who knows a perfect cup of tea is a work of art.
I know you have your own version of literary characters. I often wonder how different your Anna Karenin is from mine. Every time someone mentions Sherlock Holmes do you conjure him out of thin air and does it remind you of the smell of pipe tobacco?
Sometimes I wish I didn’t hide behind a veil of *everything blonde*! I will never find out if you like moments of silent meditation.
Paris in the rain or the sound of hoofs on paved London streets? Lonely passes in the Himalayas or the parathewali galli in Chandni Chowk?
You know the subtle beauty of old age. It is not the profound wisdom but the toothless smile of innocence. That is why our grandparents are our best friends.
I met a dreamer and did not ask if his dreams ever came true.
These unfinished conversations will haunt me forever. Of Philosophical discussions, of favourite Rusty stories, of tea on a rainy day, of sunsets and valleys.
Goodbye and good luck.
B
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