FOR ALL OF YOU

 

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.