I hear the parakeets

After a nearly a month of staying at home, I finally step out on to the street. There’s a light breeze blowing, picking up leaves and other things and dropping them on the pavement like a scene from a John Woo movie.

The heart is feeling a bit lighter after weeks of anxiety, tension and sense of hopelessness. The never ending ambulance sirens aren’t as never ending as before; bird calls no longer being drowned; my neighbour flashes a smile down from her balcony.

Underneath the warm breath trapped by the mask and my glasses, I think about work. How it all started off as an experiment a couple of years ago. How like all experiments it had been faltering for a while. And how like most such experiments it needed to be shut down. And how it will feel like in two weeks time when I am finally done with it.

From across the large wooded area, I hear the parakeets and the barbets.

I think about what’s next. No, what I think about is how should I think about what’s next. I think about letting go. I think about distances.

I smell the cardamom from the tea vendor’s cart.

A loud air horn jolts me. I am the end of the street. 1.5km from my gate. It feels like a lot, and not at the same time. Maybe this is how it’ll be. Halting, full of doubt, overwhelming.

It’s good to be walking again.