it’s raining. i’m reading things i don’t remember writing: stories, poems, anecdotes.

.

i remember so little of the past.

the more i try to recall memories, the more they retreat into the unknown. each time i try to reconstruct one, i add something from the present to it. i now have different versions of each, and no way of telling what really happened.

even recollection is an act of defamiliarisation.

.

redesigned memories are falling around me, simultaneously pushing me away from and bringing me closer to other points in time.

water never precipitates alone.

the temperature outside is 25 degrees celsius.

my earliest memory, except i was 11 then. i remember things from when i was younger, but i have displaced my light cone in my mind (despite the laws of physics) and now zero coincides with Bombay.

.

doors will open on the right. please mind the gap.

dilli is all the years of my life compressed into the present moment, all the points in space and time that define me confined to a place marked ‘here and now’;

and now, rising up from the tangled mass of memories belonging to other places and other lives, the faint shadow of a familiar voice:

.

as long as the words are coming, don’t stop.

never again.