I will start by thanking everyone who gave a motivating feedback on 'the Gentlewomen' (http://kimayarkulkarni.blogspot.in/2014/02/this-is-ode-salute-to-women-iabsolutely.html) Thank you ever so much, guys :)
You know how a regular day goes by. Because, of course, everyone witnesses a day go by.
You wake up according to whenever the first thing in your priority list needs to be done. You brush, have a shower, etc. You have breakfast. You set out on your bike to college. You curse the traffic in the city. You try manoeuvring your vehicle through a gap between a PMT and a BMW, curse both the drivers heartily, in your head, of course, and ride off with a vrrrroomm as the traffic light turns green.
You meet your friends in college and they have plans. Be it a plan of watching 'American Hustle' in theatre, a plan to attend a poetry slam or a plan to apply for an Ivy League University, friends always have plans while you look like a complete "nincompoop" with a helmet on your head and 'The Lord of the Rings' in your hand.
Of course, you can always join in on those plans but that's not the point, is it? The point is that the only plan YOU are able to come up with is a Sherlock marathon, or an LOTR marathon, not to forget Harry Potter, and Pizza.
Only when you hear your friends' plans, do you realize that the Universities don't care about how much you love the concept of a Patronus or that you know Tolkien's poetry by heart. You imagine yourself going "All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost.." in an interview and the professor's what-just-happened expression when you finish with a dramatic "The crownless again shall be king" line.
You spend the day trying hard to think of the things you like about yourself and fail miserably. But there are these breaks in your self-deprecating thoughts that feel like two hands full of cool water splashed on your face, or like a gasp of air after you've almost drowned. The sudden surge in your mood when your imagination gets a wanderlust and your mind travels to places that you love the most, with the people you admire the most. And that's when you spend the evenings with your wizard.
And you land up in the middle of the story before you know it has started. You are sitting under the beech tree on the banks of the Great Lake. He is laughing at the joke you just made about the Malfoys.
"You are ruthless" he says, laughing.
"You are laughing" you state, matter-of-factly.
"I am shameless" he says, trying to make a serious face in vain.
"It's getting late. Let's go back. They must be waiting" you say.
"But let's stay" he says, "Only for a few more minutes"
"OK"
He is sitting with his legs spread out in front of him, his hands resting on the ground. He occasionally tosses back his head and lets out a sigh.
"How old do you think this tree must be?" he asks.
"I don't know. It looks like it must have been around since even before the founders came here."
"So this tree has witnessed more magic than the history of magic itself?"
"I suppose so" you laugh. "Why?"
"Think about the conversations it must have witnessed." he says, ignoring your question, "there have been generations of students that must have been sitting here, discussing magic, muggles, love lives, the Ministry politics..."
"You forget Quidditch" you say.
"No. I never forget Quidditch" he says, "I just shift it to the back of my mind when I am trying to focus on trivial things"
"The tree has also witnessed the conversations of people who aren't students, I believe, considering you and I aren't students any more" you say.
"Well. We don't go to Hogwarts any more, no. But I wouldn't stop considering myself a student. Would you?"
"I guess not"
"It's only healthy"
"Yes, you're right. We really must go back though." you say, getting up.
"Let's come back tomorrow" he says.
"Of course. But I was thinking London next time"
"Sure." he says, "I hope they have left some pudding for us."
You hold hands.
"On the count of three."
You apparate back into the city, alone. Your helmet is lying next to you as you still clutch 'The Lord of the Rings' to your chest.
"Come on." you think to your scooter "Let's get back."
You ride home, not bothering to squeeze between the gaps this time.
When the signal turns red and the sun is bearing down on you, you feel the drop of sweat trickling down from your neck, along your spine.
You try humming to yourself-
"Rain may fall and wind may blow,
And many miles be still to go
But under a tall tree I will lie,
And let the clouds go sailing by"
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