I am in my forties now, and when I look back, I realise how
fast I once lived. I rushed through days, chasing deadlines, moving from city
to city Dharamshala, Chandigarh, Shimla,
Delhi, Hyderabad, Mumbai, Bangalore, Uttarakhand, Himachal, Kolkata, and so
many more. Each place gave me people, friendships, and moments that I thought
would last forever. And yet, I treated life like a race, sprinting through it
without pausing to breathe.
In Dharamshala, I had childhood friends who carried my
secrets. In Chandigarh and Shimla, laughter echoed in hostel corridors. Delhi
gave me colleagues who became family, while Hyderabad and Mumbai offered nights
of endless conversations and dreams shared over coffee. Bangalore was full of
companions who believed in me, and in the mountains of Himachal and
Uttarakhand, I found peace with people who carried songs in their hearts.
Kolkata gave me warmth, poetry, and friendships that felt eternal.
But many of them are gone now. Some drifted away because I
was too busy to call, too hurried to pause. Others moved on, chasing their own
lives. And some died, leaving behind silence where once there was laughter. I
thought there would always be time , tomorrow, next week, someday. But time is
short. The music doesn’t last.
Now, I sit with memories. I miss the voices, the faces, the
ordinary moments I once overlooked. I miss the way someone’s laughter could
fill a room, the way a friend’s hand on my shoulder could steady me. I don’t
know what I will do with the years ahead, but I know this: I carry the absence
of those people like an unfinished song, a melody that lingers but never
resolves.
Many people in the past pleaded with me to live gently, to
hear the music before the song is over. I didn’t listen then. I thought I had
forever. But now, with the weight of loss pressing on me, I understand. Life is
fragile. Friendships are gifts. And if we don’t slow down, we lose them before
we even realise they were there.
So I write this not as advice, but as a confession. I ran too fast. I lost too much.
The only peace I find now is in remembering that I met so many beautiful, extraordinary people , people who loved me in ways I still don’t fully understand. I wonder why they chose to love me, why they gave me so much of themselves.
I don’t know if they miss me or if they even remember
me. But I must admit this: I miss them. I miss every single one who once made
these cities feel like home.
And in the quiet of my forties, I finally hear the music. It is faint, fading, but it is there.
A reminder that life was never meant to be a
race; it was meant to be a slow dance.
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