Sunday, October 9, 2011


I learnt at Spanish class today that casa blanca translated to English means white house. I was tempted to pick up the phone and call you. And share the excitement of finally having decoded and understood so clearly the meaning of these two words which mean so much to you. But I didn’t dial your number.

I didn’t give you a call. Because I know that you will not share in my excitement. My joy would mean nothing to you because I mean nothing to you.

And yet every time I come across something which you had even fleetingly mentioned, words which you had carelessly dropped, my tummy does a double churn of the nice kind. And I think of you.

“We will always have Paris.”

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