I didn’t know I’m in love with my lonely soul unless someone came to stay for a night with me. I came back from my day’s work, and didn’t find the key in my pocket. Did I lose it? I thought for a moment. Then I remembered someone is there inside to open the door…slowly my finger pressed the door-bell. I really don’t remember when I had seen the switch of my door-bell last time. The door got opened, I entered my apartment. For fraction of a moment, I felt like my space has been occupied and honestly, I didn’t like it. Then I went for a shower, and habitually I started singing at my highest possible pitch and just that time I remembered, someone is there and he might not like this – I stopped. It was dinner time, and I had to arrange it on the usual dining table. The single couch probably felt bad that night which used to be warmed by me every night. And at the mid of the night when I woke up, lit up a cigarette, and a song of Tagore was playing deep inside my mind – I dared not to blow up my cacophonous voice, just because someone is there.
The day is not far when there will be lot of people around me day-in and day-out. I know that will be another habit of mine to share the space. The lonely soul will slowly go inside the shell like a snail takes its body in. But it will be there; it will very much be there and will wait till it gets its own space. Amen.