A night in Old Delhi.

It felt like a film. And all of the old Delhi in its nightly beauty seemed like a blur background.

Let’s leave it like this. A photograph, of sorts. Preserved forever as the present without any distinction of time.

Maybe also like a silent film where dialogues come after the moment, sometimes skipping it altogether. You hear what I say only after I say it, anyway. For my voice in the present belongs only to me. You hear it after the moment I have actually spoken.

We all belong to different times, that way. We cannot escape these timescapes except in instants we do not speak to each other.

2 responses to “A night in Old Delhi.”

  1. This is beyond beautiful.
    I almost felt I was there in that photograph somewhere…extremely embarrassed to be a part of a frame that shouldnt include me.but loving the frame nonetheless.

    “If memories could be canned, would they also have expiry dates?”

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