There was a roof, you know that simple kind one, with small walls, no lights, open skies, not so clean one, with a bit of dark moss spread around, but it has been there for so long, now the roof is just bleached, however hard you try to clean, it will stay there! There was this friend group, talking about goodbyes, and promising they would stay there for each other, and stay connected, it was the last day of university for them, they were meeting for a party, but they ended up staying, sticking around till sunrise, sitting there, talking or sleeping next to each other. And somehow, looking at them, made me remember so many of my goodbyes, packed up rooms, without bedding wooden frames, and all of us sleeping beside each other. And remembering my own last few days with each of those people, those friendships, or as I call it, my soul persons, I felt my eyes tearing up, and a bit of loss, you know the kind of loss where your heart has a piece broken apart and drowned in this stream of time and lost memories, and sometimes that pain resurfaces, and flows through the sides of the eyes.

There were these glass window frames with a bunch of trees, closer to winter, so with a few leaves, but there were shrubs, being resilient as always, and there was a tiny shimmering wave on the surface of the water, and as you slowly look up, there was orange in the sky, with sun somewhere in between, fragmented between the bits of rays, reflected and reaching you through the branches, cluttered leaves, through those transparent glass windows. I thought I should go out, it was a bit cold, go out and have a walk, but then I looked around, I saw one of my friends, who stayed there, on the sofa, resembling the bed, who stayed around there, because I had fallen asleep there. And I looked at her, and I felt, I know this person, felt a connect, you know, someone quite close to home, people around whom you felt safe, remember, humans back home, plain, raw, your people, and I fell asleep, feeling calm, safe, I don’t why know why my eyelids had a bit of water along the sides. It was one of our friend’s home, and his parents are these accepting kind of people, you know, good people, as we were trying to wake up, and trying to be better people, we thought, yes yes I will do this and that, don’t worry, but he was like here kiddo, have coffee before you even open up your eyes properly, you know like home, where they would try to wake you up, by making you drink chai right there in the bed, so much to making sure, you don’t be a lazy person. 

There was a tiny room, a warm one, there was a glass door, a broken ceiling and pretty outdoors, a good public library, and there was a lady, I read for, more like a lady I spent time with every week, reading poetry, and someone who makes me feel okay, correcting my English pronunciation and appreciating my insights about poetry, and cannot lie, I love reading the poetry from her and her classmates, and understanding, knowing and finding about their deepest versions of themselves, of lost childhood, angry parents, empathizing kids, crushes, kisses, and a myriad of their romances, and me being a total stranger, getting a chance to live this life through their poems. And recently I told her, I might be moving places, to another state, I think her current crush lives there that state, and every time I meet her, we know, we are getting closer to the days when I won’t see her every Thursday, and you know, last week, while saying bye, I felt like the way you feel, when you go to your Naani’s place and it feels like home but you know it is not where you stay there for long. It is your place, the people, the neighbors, everyone is your people, they probably love you more than anyone else, the entire village, because mums are the daughter of the entire village, so visiting back into a place, who treats you, and your mom, like a kid, just would make you feel loved and cared for like nothing else. And somehow, for some reason, when I talked with the lady I volunteer for, about leaving New York, it felt like, this feeling of, going away from grandma’s home, you know that feeling of knowing it feels like home, but you cannot agree to go to a party a few weeks later, because you know, even though you feel, they feel, you belong, you won’t be there. 

I went there to attend one of the talks, and I dropped by to say hi, and ended up staying for a few hours, hearing about his life stories, telling him about mine, a common drive to fight through and change this world, affirmation, talking about love, and hearing their battles, sharing bits of your own, calling home, talking in a language unknown, being there, being there for them. Some of those friendships, some days, lost in this maze of being there, trying to be there, cooking meals for you, you know, here is the kitchen, do whatever you want with it, have some food please, not showing up, some times, not being able to be there still accepting you, trying to be there for you, trying to be there for them through 3 am calls, to lost love, being there with the teary-eyed bad people days to being there when they need you the most, hopefully not missing the rest almost. Some friendships, new ones, old ones, taking care, being there for them, celebrating birthdays, good days, bad days, laughs, smiles, some new things, learning a new game, neighbors! 

And New York has been feeling lately like that home, because of these people, people with whom you could talk to while sleeping on the couch, a place which could handle as many people as you invite over, a place where you don’t have to be prepared, you go there, and stay, they will take care of you, of food, clothes, toothbrushes and of course everything else. I never thought I would feel this way about New York, or if I would form these friendships, friendships, thought of leaving which would make me teary-eyed. I know it takes about a few years for me to be friends with people, with people who make you feel like they are your soul people, but I now have so many friendships, who make me feel like, they are, they have potential at least to be those soul persons, around whom, life feels like a bit easier, who understand you, who can keep your secrets. You know people who appreciate the goodness you have, sometimes look at you with glittering eyes, accept the weird in you, and people who on the surface with their rough edges, have so much love and care, as my friend would say, people on whom you can rely on. People who around whom kiddo in you feels safe, around whom you there is no effort, let’s make this chai, a mission to find all the ingredients, or eat the burnt pieces of paneer from the grill, share that flan, fight to clean up the dishes, fall asleep while watching that movie, or make that perfect dal, or that whole weird tasty set of dishes, play with the fire, sing those perfect songs, sit there, here is to shared jackets, glances, being tired slowly, silently helping to clear up. Hugs and good people you, my kind of people. There are so many places, so many people, and so much love, we need to go live for, live through, meet and care for, maybe there is someone out there, somewhere, who would need you more, but right here, right now, is good as well! I don’t know what the future holds next, but I have a feeling, I have a feeling, I would love to keep these friendships, along with this feeling, these people in my poems, in my memories, in life wherever I go next. Here is to a new place, to meeting new people, hopefully finding a few new friends, and being there, being there for the ones I have already found, loved and cared for always!