City life's swallowed you, they say

From: V.K., a village near Jaipur
Under lantern light, crickets singing outside

PJ,

The 1 a.m. truck rumbled past, headlights cutting the dark like a memory I can't shake. I was mending nets by lantern when the radio caught that song from our college days—the one we danced to at the fair, dust flying under bare feet.

City life's swallowed you, they say. Skyscrapers and screens. Here, the stars still show full, and the streets remember footsteps. I lit a diya for Diwali last week, wishing on it for your safe return. Not forever—just long enough to walk these lanes again, tell stories the crickets will keep.

The truck's gone quiet now. Write if the city lets you. Or send a thought on the wind.

Waiting under the same sky,
V.K.