MIRRORED WATERS
Through an open window, the mossy monsoon winds of a lazy evening visit my room after playing with the curtains for a while. They waft over the tiny ears and delicate fur of Tao, my four-year-old cat, who sits quietly on her perch, her ocean-coloured eyes drowsy yet watchful, gazing at the backyard where wild taro leaves have grown freely and rebelliously spread all around. The air brushes against my face like a cool sea breeze my heart had been seeking for a long, long time. Life slows down with subtle tenderness when the body, mind, or heart needs rest. Incessant and limitless desires line up, yearning for all the time and attention they deserved but didn’t get. I feed them with poems, stories, music, cinema, culinary art, and many fond memories of the past. On some days, I stay in a forest bungalow, go on evening walks with Gaibi and Nag listening to their witty repartee, and watch the large orange sun gradually drown into the Dumartarai River, sitting on a tortoise-back rock clos...