A fist traces circles upon a missing heart

I used to wonder how it was done.

Night after night. A slippery limestone cradling a person. Feet in floaters.
How could someone?
An incredible a thought. For the Immature.

A distant Pajero throwing up cooling sand.
Streetlights a safe walk away.
Gleaming glass doors sliding open a relaxing whiff of dampness where the cool air hugs the humid one in slow joyous tears.

I'd told you I liked the fragrance of my earth as it cooled with the monsoon showers.
But I wanted to tell you all now, that there is another such that I like.

I'd lead you through the quick tempered asphalt.
Down the glory of camel herders.
Flanked by the modest pointed trees we drew with dangling fruits for several years.
In Social Studies class.
That we also called Lu'lu.

Then I'd show you where I found the starfish with narangi hands.
Clutching onto a dark spotted rock submerged under half my arm's depth.
And I'd tell you....
I'd wondered if it would feel like the white coral that Mummy had found.

Small beady calciate under my feet that slip and twist the small ankles into a crash of crushing pain.
But it didn't happen.
Because I skipped away.
Only a bad kid would dig their feet into black waters at night. Haina?

But that fragrance was locked and stored away like the bottles filled with coloured sand landscapes.

That was never to be shaken.
Purchased for an unknown reason.
A strange pull to those souveneirs.Without which a foreign visit would remain incomplete.
That was often bought by the tourists we looked at in detached amusement.

Sucker!

He didn't take a fancy hookah away or an Irani kaleen. He'd probably think the heritage village was real and snap a roll away too! We'd shrug our shoulders and laugh.

But it is a fragance not a delicate balance of silica submerged in colours of a fake smile. I can't place it in front of you all.
It was never meant to be put in the curio cabinet. Nor was it purchased. It was an heirloom of sorts - I was the first to recieve it.

How could someone?

Feet in floaters.
Turn the left foot and see a prominent dutiful til.

A slippery limestone cradling a person.
That I took away from Atlas.

Night after night.
Now I know.