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It came as a shock the first time. “I’m leaving Friday evening. My tickets are booked.” It was Monday already. Did someone just drop an anvil on my head? Did i just lift a mountain? Did Bandra Station have a place i could vomit in peace?

I did not think much of it, though that may have been a sneak peek into what the body already knew.

Friday evening. I’m running on the central footbridge at Dadar. There are 20 minutes for the train to leave. I’m running out of time. I reach with 15 minutes to spare. My insides are jelly. We speak, we laugh. When its time to leave, i almost barf.

This time, it feels familiar. I am able to guess the direction the wind blows from.


Published by appamprawns

soni writes about children and people in controlled spaces, in his quest for appam stew. homi writes in the hope of being able to buy prawns to make patiyo.

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