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YOU O'CLOCK

July 23, 2023
That was the day(Mahi vey!) I chose to let it all go.
Daniel Jacob Radcliffe's birthday is beautifully scribbled on the calendar with a geometric star along with cosmic scribbling. I was flabbergasted by knowing he is a father now; standard 1st Munazza would have cried. I laughed at my unending insecurity for a fictional romance.

I sat with a pile of drawings and sketches I worked upon since July 10, 2018, and my journal diaries. It isn't a good day to burn the unsent letters, paintings, and a useless collage I worked upon. So, I decided to submerge them in the puddle.

“The state experiences a good amount of rainfall, with South Western monsoon and western disturbances bringing a good amount of rainfall.” My Geography notes inform me about the dip in the temperature.

“कितना सुकून है हवा में और मिट्टी की सोंधी खुशबू!”
Sipping tea from kulladh is an ultimate goal during any part of the life. I like biting some of it, it is delicious. My ENT Specialist Dr Gaurav Srivastava, would definitely deny my medications from the next month on sinuses' anniversary.

The clothes were swaying while toeing on musical raindrops with the drop of droplets.

“Munazzaaaaaaaaa! (The increasing ‘a’ is directly proportional to the amount of scoldings to the clothes drenched).

Piling up the clothes unevenly, I ran downstairs keeping the bundle on the bed making everything look like a mountain of clothes. Journal diaries played the role of hook holding the mountains.

“Ammi, I've brought the clothes, they're all dry, Let me enjoy baarish ab!”
I sat on the balcony, letting the breeze and rain shower my feet, and soul. Alhamdulillah!

I closed my eyes to feel the freedom which I found after years of waiting in Azkaban (a distorted memory).

When the breeze leaves the silvat of the bed sheet in the aangan on jute rope, it reminds me of your last footsteps. I'm glad! (Danced a few baby steps while singing an old poetry). The bed sheet stays intact in its place just like your last pricking memory with a harsh word(s); [the list is long].

The radio near the kitchen window is switched on during Sundays when Ammi prepares kheer.
Gruff voice of radio reminds me of your favorite songs which were part of the movies.
I let songs go like the draining of cough with blood in the basin — filled with disgust but relief.

Now when a voice recalls me singing(your), I cover my ears with chirpingof birds in the morning and crickets at night, along with the dhikr(remembrance) of Allah, Peace, Peace and Peace! Finally! 🪞

Whenever someone knocks at the door, I no longer run barefoot to find you cleaning your shoes on the doormat, with a beautiful hey from you. Instead, I wait for the answer from an unknown voice of postman with a letter from a bureaucrat. Freedom with postcards. 💌

The wall clock is slow and no longer usable, it shows wrong time. We tried mending it, like I tried saving us in the painstaking way, each way possible. It is framed on the wall like an old map of a destroyed alley that government no longer recognize and wants to use for their own gain.
I survived somehow with more wounds, you left without a sincere apology but filled the dusty lies and betrayal in my heart, making me feel like a lost city. I owe myself an apology for giving a chance to the unknown stab.
I'm glad to be a phoenix by rising again from the place, this time with more strength. Jazakallah khair for leaving (running away like a coward). The one who runs away from the battlefield leaving their loved ones to die is a real foe. I no longer look at the wall clock to see the time when you'll return. Clock is free from YOU O'clock.

I have a journal which is embedded with your names: the real one of yours and the ones I gave. I decided to bury it under a bougainvillea tree so that one day it reminds me of all the vibrant colours of beautiful past, and a wise self. I got a new journal with ink pen telling my happy stories with the best characters.

CLANK!
SCREEE!

The fountain pen has been discovered by cousin Umar, who is welcoming the diary with his crude art. For the second time in my life, I let the diary welcome another visitor. The water fountain with a fountain pen was a child's freedom, while the new season for person in their 20s.

Pitter-patter, slosh, splash, splosh, splatter, sputter, swoosh, tinkle!

With the sound of rain, I welcomed clean slate. 🫀


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