The Clocktower Chowk

It is absurd how a simple structure like a clock tower could evoke this strong sense of nostalgia. 

The last time I visited was years ago when you were still in town. 

I remember how I had whined about driving you down to this place.

"What do you like about here anyway? the hustle and bustle, noisy street vendors, and the occasional paan chewers colouring the streets red?" I had nagged away. 

You had laughed at me while getting down to bring two cups of your favourite masala tea from the famed Dinesh tea stall at the open chowk around the area.

The tower was far from ornate and pompous like one would imagine if it were only left to the imagination of course. 

The entrance was closed but one could tell that the length covered empty floors with a winding staircase.

All we had done that day was drink tea to the view of the clocktower, blurry from the raindrops on the windshield while Mehdi Hassan sang "Ranjish hi sahi.. dil hi dukhaane ke liye aa" through the speakers in the background.

I remember how I had broken this comfortable silence with a final attempt at trying to convince you that how you were too young to get married and besides, you were only in love with the idea of love.

None of it mattered anyway. You had made up your stubborn mind. 

The knock on the window brought me back to the present. 

Rolled down the glass to take my cup of your favourite masala tea. Dinesh served on the car bonnet now. I'm sure your lazy arse would have liked that. God, I missed you so much! 

I looked down at my phone and searched for your name in the contact list. 

"It's probably too early in the morning there," I thought to myself while putting the phone down. 

I sat there, drinking my cup of tea in silence while I still tried to reason why you liked this place so much.

Just then, I heard the striking of the clock, surprisingly clear even through all the noise. 

Charming perhaps, dear sister.