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  • Writer's pictureDeep Sarkar

Some things Never change

It has been years since he had last tried to get the ink to flow from an ink-pen by giving it a quick impatient jig. And sure enough, the paper and the bedsheet and the wallpapered floor got a taste of the royal blue ink in a train of splatter. Some things-he smiled-never change.


A song had just wafted into his heart and made it all kinds of tender. He listened to it half a dozen times. Smiled. Cried. Sighed. Thought back to the violin piece he would listen to a decade ago-over heartbreak, before entering the stage, to churn up pain from the bottom of his heart, and some happiness and hope. Somethings-he thought-never change.

His wristwatch had lost all track of time. It needed new batteries.

The petunia and rose in the balcony were a shrivelled mess. Evening no longer meant an end to class, and night did not always mean the start of a new day. The ink-splattered room looked less inviting than he remembered it to be. Love smelled less of tomorrow, and more of everyday. Happiness smelled like a sanitiser-free room. Peace sounded like a power blackout. Most things-he knew- change.


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