This is not a day to be lonely. This is not a day to pine alone. As I look outside, I can see puddles and little children playing about..with paper boats...and I think of you. I remember those times-its seems like a figment of my imagination now-the times we got drenched in the rain for want of an umbrella,the time that you gave me a piggyback ride just so my feet wouldn’t get wet.It seems criminal to be lonely on a day like this,and yet, I am alone-lost in the thoughts of you and hoping against hope, that one day, you’ll come back, but knowing, in my heart of hearts, that you never will.

Outside, the birds have stopped chirping. The golden sunlight has faded away-and only the menacing clouds seem to stare at me, almost in contempt. I remember how you held me in your arms and comforted me when the thunderstorms crashed outside and I grew upset. I feel old. I don’t feel eighteen anymore. Am I the only eighteen year old in the world that feels no desire to exist? I’m not going to do what you did. I know that there are people in the world that love me and care for me. At least, that’s what I tell myself every day. Why did you do it? If not for your own sake, why didn’t you do it for me? And then, I remember the last letter that I ever wrote to you:

Dear Ahir,

                     Sometimes I wonder how I can write such long letters on demand (If I remember correctly, you forced me to write this letter, but I don’t mind) Is it that I have become so mechanical that, like a professional chef who whips up the same gourmet meals day in and day out with unerring accuracy, I can churn out words without fail? Is it that I can write about anything, or is it that I never tire of “free flowing” conversation? You are possibly better equipped to handle this than I am. Sometimes I wish I had a little memory box, where I could store all my thoughts and send them to you.Sometimes, I wish you’d tell me a little bit about your college too. Have you made any new friends yet? What are your favourite subjects? What do you do in your spare time? I guess I am to blame too,because every time I talk to you I blurt out all my thoughts to you. You’ve always told me that all I have to do is ask. But the thing is, the moment I get to speak to you, I give vent to all my frustration, jealousy and anger. That is why, my darling, letter-writing is so wonderful. It is an absolutely wonderful feeling, to be able to put down my thoughts on paper, knowing that you will read it. It is an absolutely wonderful feeling-like that first ray of morning sunshine or those first drops of morning dew. Tell me what you’ve been up to. I haven’t heard from you in a while.

                                Much love always,

                                                                   Mitali.

And then...you disappeared from my life completely.

I had no way of tracing you. None of your friends here had any idea of where you could have been or could be. I had absolutely no way of tracking you down.

This is not a day to be lonely. This is not a day to pine alone. And yet, as the raindrops beat noisily against the window pane-my heart aches with an aching numbness...

I decide to take a long walk, across the city of Kolkata. My city. I belong.Or do I? I stop walking only when I feel thirsty and settle for a cup of hot lemon tea,or lebu-cha, something that I’ve become addicted to ever since I joined the University.And as the phuchkawallah hands me phuchkas in shaal pata,the familiarity is also painful. I walk into the University,the sprawling football fields are peppered with used cigarette stubs and used muri ‘thongas’.

I miss you.When you killed yourself, you killed me too. I live only in body. At least, My soul will always be with you,resting in peace with yours.