North East Hill University (NEHU) in Shillong was a delightful visit last year. I spent the little of the amount I got off during the day by sitting near the lake, listening to the orchestra of the geese.

One evening, I tried the tea from an on campus tea shop. The tea was sweet, and I was low on blood sugar. It was sunset, and I could see mist slowly settle on the hills in front of me. I didn’t get much cellular reception there, thankfully.

Rather, they’ve been breezing past me like I’ve been stuck in warp mode. Moments have been fleeting, and I can barely remember what I did yesterday. I draw significantly less now, my sketchbook that I proudly acquired in a local flea market lies in my bag most of the time waiting to be grasped and flicked open and marked upon. I’ve come upon the stuff of Eden without a dongle though; Wacoms are beyond reach. Consuming more bits than words. Running less and lifting more. Sleeping a good eight hours every day.

Work is fun. Can’t say I struggle to stay in touch with friends and family, but the pack has grown tighter and more real. Simultaneously, have become numb to the coarse sand and cement texture of the capital’s suburbs; I’m more used to clay and leaves. The air is spicier, the noise follows suit. Suits are aplenty under beacons, but each day I dread more, paying for them.

Hope. That’s all.

As a kid, I used to visit my maternal village in Bengal a lot. I still clearly remember the day I first tried fishing. A few friends of mine, from the Santhal community were expert at catching tiny “Puti” and “Chara” fishes from a fresh water canal and helped me try my hand at it. They used to carry tiny balls of atta (flour dough) in their pockets and use it on homemade fishing rods made with branches and nylon ropes gathered from the fences of farms. I remember watching in awe as the kids would fashion themselves a tasty side-dish for lunch in a matter of a few minutes. The small fishes are heavenly when fried crispy and served with chopped onions and steaming white rice. Strangely I still remember the smell of the homes with thatched roofs and mud floors with cow-dung layering where I enjoyed many such meals.

I couldn’t manage to catch any fish but surely contributed to losing much of the bait in the water.