February was bright, crisp mornings.
Waking up to the sound of Amma humming Nazia Hassan songs under her breath as she assembles sandwiches for lunch. Listening to Ubeer’s clumsy footsteps making their way to the bathroom; the sound of running water as she washes the layer of sleep off her skin.
Pulling back the covers and stepping onto the floor, feeling the familiar cold seep through my body.
February was grey days, the joy of walking past a window in the stair well on the way to Spanish class and finding it covered in rain. The rivulets blurring the world outside, muting it so that everything- the traffic, the buzz of the coffee machines, the cacophony of whispering voices in the FC – was blanketed by the rain knocking against the window pane.
Seeing everything slick with raindrops, the trees becoming green again and thinking – yes, yes this is new beginnings.
Falling asleep to the sound of thunder, dreaming of a city that does not hide from the thunder at its door because the thunder in its bones out roars everything. A city where raindrops are greeted like lost lovers, with outstretched palms, smiling faces and tender kisses. Baarish.
February was dancing in the rain with my friends, jumping in puddles – the rain seeping in through my socks so achingly familiar.
February was also cold shoulders, foreign stares from familiar faces, pauses pregnant with words left unsaid. New habits. The loss of a cherished presence leaving behind phantom pains – muscle remembers what the mind forgets. This pain too will become habitual.
February taught me to survive.
Now, onwards we March.