Tower 12- 114
Supermax
Noida-220304
8th Jan 2018.
My dearest Nilofer,
As I write, I know for sure that you are on your rooftop, basking on your vibrantly embroidered mat, a snug sprawl for your sunlit flirtations. It's two in the afternoon, reminiscent of those Sundays when we'd escape to our rooftop after tending to household chores. How interesting those winter afternoons were, surrendering to the warmth of the sun, every pore eagerly welcoming the golden delight. Oh, Nilu, how much I miss those moments.
In this concrete city of towering skyscrapers, where I hardly can see the sky, my heart yearns for the simplicity of rooftop gatherings from days of yore. Perched on the twentieth floor of a twenty-six-story building, my two-bedroom apartment offers little solace with its minuscule balconies adorned with petite pots, barely catching a glimpse of sunlight. I long for the warmth of our rooftop ‘gupshaps’, where the sky felt within reach and the trees waved at us. Oh! those winter afternoons bathed in sunlight, where we'd lose ourselves in endless chatter, and gossip. Your tales of hostel life in Meerut during your post-grad days always intrigued me the most. Meanwhile, I'd regale you with narratives from the bustling streets of Lucknow, my hometown, painting vivid pictures of the city's ‘shabab and kebab’.
One particular afternoon stands out in my memory map. It was the day you had returned from Meerut, from a cousin's wedding. Upon your return, you ascended to the rooftop clutching a bundle of letters in a nondescript small plastic bag. Then, amidst the whispering of leaves, you confided in me for the first time about Pradeep Sircar, the boy from college who had captured your heart. Despite your love for him, you found yourself wedded to your cousin Aftab. The thought of ever revealing your love to your parents was a forbidden territory. For three years you and Pradeep exchanged letters of love and longing. The epistles ended abruptly post-marriage.
Even after two decades of marriage, those letters had remained your not-forsaken fossils, tucked away in an old trunk in the attic of your home in Meerut, brought out only in strict secrecy. You had confessed that those letters, filled with words of love and longing, still held the power to make you feel good! You implored me- your dear friend, to read them aloud to you, convinced that my voice would reflect the emotion they deserved. Despite your insistence that your marriage to Aftab was content and stable, you shyly accepted your love for Pradeep as a bittersweet memory. As a woman who has tasted both love's sweetness and its sorrow, I heard you out. Your trust in me, Nilu, touched me deeply, and I thank you for sharing with me the sacred secret of your past.
Now I find myself writing this letter to you, perhaps as a gentle reminder of the hidden treasure beneath the loose brick on the rooftop—a spot we had whimsically marked like schoolgirls sharing a secret pact. Though I remember you had initially suggested keeping those cherished letters safe in my cupboard, I am grateful now that I left them tucked away where they belong, awaiting your leisurely perusal.
Today, as I sit here missing our spirited conversations, there's a certain thrill in reminiscing about our unfiltered exchanges—conversations that meandered effortlessly through topics as diverse as beauty secrets, the joys and trials of parenthood, the quirks of our relatives, delectable recipes, neighbourhood gossip, the nuances of married life, the allure of discounts and sales, the latest films, and even discussions about intimacy and the importance of safe contraceptives. It's amazing how that small transistor radio, our steadfast companion on the rooftop, lent an extra layer of charm to our intimate rendezvous under the open sky.
Perhaps in the not-so-distant future, our paths will converge once again, allowing us to indulge in unhurried conversations. Until then, accept this virtual embrace, dear Nilofer, my cherished confidante. Please pass along my affectionate regards to the little ones, Shahana and Shahid, and tell them some of the rooftop tales we once shared. And, of course, don't let the hustle and bustle of life deter you from dropping me a line when time permits.
With fond memories,
Your rooftop companion,
M
DoubleSpeak 