The books I stacked up a few years back are still in the same order.
Remember when you cracked a joke about him and I laughed so hard,
I spilled tea on the floor.
The old fashioned tiles soaked that tea up,
Leaving my footprints.
Does he still get offended when you joke about him?
Please don’t change the curtains or this paint without me.
I live in them remember?
When I sleep anywhere at night,
I think of the wall under the book case.
I find my clothes lying around,
As if I still live here,
But… don’t I?

15 September, 2009,
At home, Ahmedabad