But what do I really miss?

What do I really miss?
There is no list as such.
There is the I miss my old life
As a paranoid, insecure student moment.
That takes place at least once a week, maybe twice.
But then the alarm of things to do
And places to be in the real life
Starts to ring loud and clear
And brings me back from my reverie.

So what do I really miss?
Do I miss structure and routine? Absolutely.
Do I miss the mad frenzy
That is Bombay’s public transport
At rush hour, where we are packed like sardines in a can?
Absolutely not.
Do I miss the ping of emails and
The perennial stream of urgent calls that are not life threatening yet urgent? Absolutely not.

At 4 am on a Sunday, what do I miss?
I miss the elaborate scheming and celebration
Of co-dependency with no commitment with an old friend.
I miss buying tickets to places far away,
Where the network and Internet are fair- weather friends and
Where the house on the hill overlooks the forest,
Where the house overlooks the town’s surging skyline.

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