Ghost of smiles

Of love and other demons
Of a gray long - winding road
Of whispers in the night
Of the ghost of smiles
growing less opaque with days
Of longing and hatred
Of sharp fingernails drawing lines
a little too deep as if to hurt
Of jealousy that clenches
tight upon the chest.
Of a thickly spun web of tales
and to be trapped by its sticky threads
Seduced, Repulsed, Enamoured.

The Nation Across

Before stepping into the aircraft, I looked back at Sree who was just behind me in the queue. In unison we gave a loud unearthly whoop and laughed gleefully. For the past few hours in irregular intervals we have been doing the same (to the general entertainment of our co-travelers) and we will continue to all along the weekend. We were on our way to Kathmandu and could hardly believe it to be true.

It was a long awaited break. For Sree, from a hectic and tiring schedule and for me, from a long overdrawn spell of general lethargy. Yet the plans were made in less than two days. We found the tickets to be affordable, our schedules to be matching- a weekend that could be folded and packed neat and light into our backpacks with much room to spare for all the excitement.

Less than 500 nautical miles away from Delhi, Kathmandu hardly feels like a nation apart. But rarely are boundaries determined by distance. Rather it is the little white immigration form, the step over the yellow line, the scanning eyes of the official at the counter and the suspicious ‘departed’ stamp in his right hand that draw the line for you.