Imagine

Imagine a room

A room with a view

Of white bearded mountains and sparkling streams.

Imagine a room, square, smallish, single bed, bedside lamp, whirring fan, wooden desk for writing, some picture frames: ‘Kashmir, the home of paradise’ and ‘Paradise on earth - northern Pakistan’.

Imagine a cold tiled floor, a simple bathroom, cold showers, the noise of braying donkeys, the squawk of hawkers, the smoke of the kebab seller. Imagine a room, with a view.

Imagine a table, a desk; wooden, rectangular with no draws, just a simple desk, with four legs and a varnished work top, not smooth but slightly rough with smooth curved edges, looking out over the window, at the bearded mountains. The cedar trees.

Imagine a pad. A pad of paper, A4, lined, thin, lying in the middle of the table, waiting. Imagine a pen. An ink pen, smooth nib, made in China, cheap but reliable with piston filler and blue ink. Like the early evening sky. Lying beside the paper. Waiting.

Imagine a chair. Wooden with wooden seat. Not cushioned, so hard for prolonged periods. But imagine a pillow placed on it, much better now!

Imagine the lamp. Grimy yellow light buzzing with flies at night, but useless when load-shedding, but a lamp nonetheless; important for night time – what is one supposed to do at night? Trudge the darkened streets? Nothing stays open at night here – the occasional weak balls of light strum weakly through crepuscular shop fronts. Throbbing to the din of cicadas. And the wink of the stars.

Imagine the books. A dozen. Lying on the floor against the wall: Broken backs, yellowed, crinkly - Dictionary, Thesaurus, V.S Naipaul, Theroux, Steinbeck, Naguib Mahfouz, Rimbaud in Harare, and Douglas. Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker of the Galaxy – rest in peace Douglas.

Imagine the walls. Grey, cold, prickly with heat and damp with brocaded patterns that you stare at and that you will never forget. Imagine a pad, a paper and a pen. Imagine a view.

Imagine time. Still. Like the lake in Srinagar. Stretching into the future for as long as you wish. For you are master now. Master of time. Imagine the clock. On the wall. Useless and defunct. How to measure time? Number of days? Number of weeks? Months? No, number of pages. Yes. Number of pages.

Imagine your slippers - rubbery like a Dolphin. Imagine your clothes – simple Salwar Kameez - comfortable. Imagine your life – basic. Imagine the landlady’s cat- your only friend – she crawls around your leg. And the dirty little boy who stares at you through the crack in the door. Watching you. Strange man you are! Imagine a window. With a view. Imagine the mountains taking you to lofty places. Imagine your thoughts. Here. Now. Imagine inspiration, with wings like a butterfly, fluttering in through the window, landing on the pad.

Imagine yourself.

In the future.

Imagine,

imagine her…

Is she still with you?

Yes.

As always.

Just imagine.