Holi, Somewhere Between Then and Now

 

It is Holi today—
and the morning arrives softly,
not with the reckless laughter of friends
but with a quiet knock of memory.

I close my eyes
and I am no longer here.
I am walking through the lanes of Kolkata,
where spring hangs like a secret
between old balconies and tangled wires.

Spring arrived in fistfuls of color,
laughter echoing through terraces,
pink dust soft on familiar faces. 

Now I work.
The day passes in quiet files and screens.

Yet somewhere,
beneath this careful routine,
a small streak of gulal
still refuses to fade.