Soumita is a goddamn wildfire.
I am always trying to understand who a person is, any person. All the time, my brain is trying to figure out: what makes them? Why are they the way they are? What’s their story? I think knowing helps me calm down, feel more comfortable, like it is familiar, comfortable territory. It’s a lengthy process my head has been working on perfecting for 29 years, trying to pick small details, moments, words; like putting together a giant, real-life jigsaw, with absolutely no idea how the whole picture looks like, sometimes annoying, sometimes fun.
And then there’s Soumita, who will throw the whole damn box out the window, shattering the glass for added effect.
In any case, my first sleepover with her should have been a fair indicator. I went over for a sleepover, t-shirt and shorts and phone and nothing more, and next thing I know, we have driven to Pondy to sleep in a hut and wake up to see the beach.
Over the years, I’ve gotten used to the annoying cycles of getting to know she visited Chennai and flew back without as much as a hi, the times she will stop by between a haircut appointment and packing to fly back, the random messages once every few months from some remote town in a new country, proclaiming true love, the even more random phone call on a lazy evening I have oiled my hair up to sit and edit: “You have 15 minutes to dress up and come to Round Tana. We are going out.” No “I am visiting next month” no “Hey, I’m in the country” no “Let’s maybe make plans” nope, none of that. I have 15 minutes.
And extremely rarely, the fine miracle of actually getting to meet her, and talk to her, between wolfing thattu idlies and filter coffees, blissfully unaware of time flying by, because it’s impossible to be bored around Soumita. It’s one intense hour after the other, rolling into days sometimes, speaking every truth of your life or dancing like it’s the last day you will live to see. What happens with Soumita around pretty much never happens in my life otherwise.
How did this person become someone I love so damn much? Why do I feel like I will cut any person that bothers her while also being so ready to smack her annoying face myself? How does this relationship work? Where in the world is she right now? I have no fucking idea. But as long as dat cute butt keeps popping up on my feed on a throwback to Iceland or Korea or wherever the fuck, we good, I think – because knowing Soumita is knowing there’s a love that is so raw, so intense, that will tide over everything you have ever known, unannounced, and knowing Soumita is knowing that letting it sweep over you, surrendering, is a necessary reminder of how alive you get to feel in your very own skin.
(hic)
Hit play and scroll to see pictures :)
I am always trying to understand who a person is, any person. All the time, my brain is trying to figure out: what makes them? Why are they the way they are? What’s their story? I think knowing helps me calm down, feel more comfortable, like it is familiar, comfortable territory. It’s a lengthy process my head has been working on perfecting for 29 years, trying to pick small details, moments, words; like putting together a giant, real-life jigsaw, with absolutely no idea how the whole picture looks like, sometimes annoying, sometimes fun.
And then there’s Soumita, who will throw the whole damn box out the window, shattering the glass for added effect.
In any case, my first sleepover with her should have been a fair indicator. I went over for a sleepover, t-shirt and shorts and phone and nothing more, and next thing I know, we have driven to Pondy to sleep in a hut and wake up to see the beach.
Over the years, I’ve gotten used to the annoying cycles of getting to know she visited Chennai and flew back without as much as a hi, the times she will stop by between a haircut appointment and packing to fly back, the random messages once every few months from some remote town in a new country, proclaiming true love, the even more random phone call on a lazy evening I have oiled my hair up to sit and edit: “You have 15 minutes to dress up and come to Round Tana. We are going out.” No “I am visiting next month” no “Hey, I’m in the country” no “Let’s maybe make plans” nope, none of that. I have 15 minutes.
And extremely rarely, the fine miracle of actually getting to meet her, and talk to her, between wolfing thattu idlies and filter coffees, blissfully unaware of time flying by, because it’s impossible to be bored around Soumita. It’s one intense hour after the other, rolling into days sometimes, speaking every truth of your life or dancing like it’s the last day you will live to see. What happens with Soumita around pretty much never happens in my life otherwise.
How did this person become someone I love so damn much? Why do I feel like I will cut any person that bothers her while also being so ready to smack her annoying face myself? How does this relationship work? Where in the world is she right now? I have no fucking idea. But as long as dat cute butt keeps popping up on my feed on a throwback to Iceland or Korea or wherever the fuck, we good, I think – because knowing Soumita is knowing there’s a love that is so raw, so intense, that will tide over everything you have ever known, unannounced, and knowing Soumita is knowing that letting it sweep over you, surrendering, is a necessary reminder of how alive you get to feel in your very own skin.
(hic)
Hit play and scroll to see pictures :)
'Bad guy,' Billie EIlish
