Postcards from Pondicherry

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Pondicherry is quiet. Sometimes I look at it and I think that maybe time moves slower here. It doesn’t, I know that. Pondicherry is not Calcutta. It’s so bright with its yellow walls and houses full of sunshine. It’s also so small. I walk a lot here; I guess I knew that would happen.

Here, nothing is okay but time keeps moving. Perhaps time moves me too. This place is funny really. It makes me laugh without happiness. Am I just homesick? Perhaps not. Perhaps, reality is just closer here. It stares me right in the face and I can’t look away. There will be times in life when there will be no escape from yourself. Here, I have to be who I am; there is no other space.

Too many things run around here. Spaces join faces and all the colors just come together to a sense of meaninglessness. Everything means nothing. Not the wind, not the red bicycle, not the blue door that you see in your dream but never find in reality. Everything is a shadow of some unseen, imagined territory. Shadows fade out with the light. Here, they carry themselves through the breeze. Everything is a blur. The breath of the sea frees you and suffocates you. The narrow lanes remind you of life that is; there is no going around it. All roads lead to nothing, didn’t they say that?

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Do you see those lines of sunshine and wind? Do you see them criss-cross into each other? They touch each other and fall away. Eyelids close, suddenly, gracefully. Did you see the smile in the eyes before they closed? All the roads are built here like a maze. All roads can lead to the same thing. Is that how fate works too? Would the owner of the house paint it yellow in a different universe? Somethings are meant to be.

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I haven’t seen my home in a few days. Sometimes I call this home. Then, I curse myself. Makeshift homes are only made of mortar. They are demolished by the very idea of their existence. Sometimes I think love is makeshift too. Who can see the truth of it? I think there are many truths, all of them makeshift. I see you. I love you.

Sunshine creeps inside from behind the blue curtains. Well, love doesn’t really change anything.

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