Of phones.

I have lost my phone. Officially misplaced. People know it has been stolen. It was.
At least I think it was.

It was new. It had a dent on the top left corner. It looked nice. Much too nice.

This is the third phone I have lost in the past 18 months. There will be many more.

I would have loved to say that I have lost a part of myself. That I miss the phone. The characteristic ring. But I don't really. I hate the inconvenience. But I don't want the phone back. I want a phone back.

I guess it was with me for too less a time to forge a bond. I am trying to be sad. Repentant. Responsible.

There are things more about the phone that will make you scream. Things like how the first caller was him. The last too. How both time, I was left stung. The first time he spoke haughtily. The last time, not at all.
I didn't want to type out these things. But now that I have, I think it gives the whole post a pretty fashionable melancholy feel.

I don't miss my phone. I like the fact that I can blame all the ills of my life on it. And now that it is gone, hope again. Even if in vain.

I will start calling people again tomorrow. Today is transition. Not from phone to phone. From life to life.

Untitled 2

When I was little, my mum used to take me to the local market on Sunday evenings. I remember this one evening when we had gone to the fishmonger's and then to buy some stationery. At the shop, somehow, I lost hold of my mum's hand and didn't realize. She didn't either. She happily went off.

I remember standing there, amidst a crowd, trying to look for her hand or hair. I remember giving up. I was found, ten minutes later, my mum visibly distraught. I remember not understanding what the fuss was all about.
For, you see, not for one moment did I think I was in danger. I never doubted my safety. There was this strange strong faith that things had to work out in the end. This was a minor blip. I would be found. Nothing could go wrong. Mum is the superman.

I wish I had the faith now. I think I lost him today. He wears the shirts I picked out for him. He carries the bag I chose for him. He uses my phone. He lives off my love.Its sad to know that he doesn't need me any more.
The sad thing isn't that he doesn't talk to me anymore. The sad thing is that I think he has broken my trust.