This Is Not Here

Starting my daily ritual, plugging in my iPod, I began to run. Recalling a line I had read, I smile. Today, I could relate to it full-well- 'This Is Not Here'. The road unwinding before me, the sun rising in the distance, my eyes fill with tears. I couldn’t keep away the memories. I start running faster, hoping the memories would blur away but all it did was blur my surroundings.

Going down the narrow road that led to the sea, the tiny houses lined along the sides, the memories were rushing at the walls I had built like waves hitting the sea-shore. The moments were uncoiling like a movie right before my eyes. I imagined myself running down that road, the only difference being that this time, I was alone. I felt myself transported magically, running faster- the tiny houses, the black cat with green glaring eyes, the bend at the end of the road, the steep downhill walk to reach to ocean, the waves lashing harder this time. The places were rushing past my eyes, my head heavy with emotions. The warm breeze embracing my body, the thick essence of the trees filling my nostrils, the blue of the sky and the hue of the ocean, I had to slow down. I reminisce the time we had spent in Goa.

The narrow intertwined roads hemmed with lush green trees protect me from the scorching rays. The lanes are filled with air thick from the humidity and the foliage alike. Every breath I take causes my chest to heave gratefully, for the air feels so pure. Looking up at the sky, I thank the sun for having filled my day with rich hues of amber. Hearing my stomach grumble, we walk in to the nearest restaurant which, though slightly off the road and suspicious looking, opens up to the sea ahead and invited us with lapping waves and a sniffing dog. We sit down to relish the food.

Suddenly, the sky is covered with grey clouds and the sun bids us goodbye as it shies away. The waves are not lapping anymore and the saltiness comes in contact with our feet. The dog begins to bark and back away. We exchange looks, his face contorts and my gut tells me to tear my eyes from the view and run straight back to where I came from. Alas, it was too late. I’m being half-lifted and half-dragged toward the sea, while I hear my tummy groan and demand that uneaten fish with all its might. He lays me on the beach and I grunt. I wince at being covered in saline water while the sun shines no more. I pull him down next to me and lean on his shoulder, showing gratitude for having brought me here, to Nature.