From Love Letters
The grey, the rust, and the blue welled up in my eyes as I stepped into this place (after ages) — bathing in the fading light of the sunset and bringing back the darkness of the night slowly. An onslaught of nostalgia. As I started strolling around, I felt heavy. Overwhelmed with the feelings hard to contain. I couldn’t move but somehow managed to reach a Pani puri shop and tried to console myself. Ordered and waited blinking away the drenched memories of an idyllic life. At liberty in Liberty.
A brimful plate of Pani puri was put before me, the tantalising aroma filling up the ambience, ah — its bittersweet taste. Gulped them. And you know it afforded me with a triple joy — Copious, Flavoursome, and Cheap. CFC in Liberty is a must-try. My favourite bit is the crunching sound followed by shroop shroop — the moment when we don’t give a damn about self-consciousness. (you do? Oh, poor you) The shudderingly sour shiver is the cherry on top. It rekindled in me the spirit of ‘Zinda Dilan e Lahore’ lying dormant for obvious reasons. Not to mention the oomph of Pani puri eclipsed the overwhelming feeling at least for a little while.
Afterwards, I strolled around happily and tried new drinks and food. Also, got myself a pair of khussa — a visit to liberty is incomplete when I don’t get them — a memento of love. At liberty in Liberty is inevitable whether it’s about delight or otherwise.
Trivia: I had no idea that the ensemble I inadvertently donned would come in handy.