We Live Under The Same Sky

0 6 • Z E E S H A N

⁕ A r p a n a   P a t h a k ⁕

A U GU S T  2 0 2 2 ,

I loved the sensation of the wind brushing against my skin as I leaned against the window. Despite feeling nervous, I couldn't resist joining Thakur and Joshi's enthusiasm on their convincing road trip to Mussoorie. I wanted to play my Spotify playlist, but Sarah won the toss, leaving me with no choice but to endure her boisterous party songs blaring through the speakers.

To capture Sarah's essence, you'd need an entirely new lexicon. Outrageous, blunt, bossy and often sporting a scowl of perpetual irritation, she was a force to be reckoned with. But, despite her fiery demeanour, no one could deny the undeniable charm of her cute appearance. Thakur couldn't resist her chubby cheeks, even at the risk of Sarah's wrath that only deepened their unlikely love story.

At first, Sarah and I clashed. Her brusque mannerisms and sharp tongue didn't sit well with me. However, the longer I spent around her, the more I realized there was depth beneath her rough exterior. Sarah was refreshingly raw and genuine, unlike others who hid behind sugar and honey.

I put on my headphones and played the soothing soundtracks on my Spotify to romanticise scenes in my mind. Meanwhile, Thakur and Sarah bickered like children over Thakur's messed-up dating history. But Taylor Swift's song "RUN" gave me a much-needed sense of peace.

It always does.

I reminisce about the arguments I used to have with Rudra over Zayn Malik and Taylor Swift. I was a devoted fan of Zayn—his vocals, music, and persona were something I loved in a celebrity. Meanwhile, Rudra was steadfast in his love for Taylor. While I still held Zayn in high regard, after all, he's my celebrity crush, Taylor had undeniably carved a special place in my heart over time.

Perhaps it was because Ruh loved her music! Yeah, perhaps...

Vikrant was weary from nearly three hours of driving, and we were all feeling famished as well, so we decided to stop at a roadside dhaba*. The rustic charm of the place, with its red tables and chairs, a crackling furnace near the kitchen, and a weathered old man wearing a turban at the cash counter brought back waves of nostalgia. These dhabas were my favourite spots for eat-outs during my childhood whenever my father would come home for vacations after his military deployment.

Maa often scolded us for eating outside food. We'd feign guilt, but inevitably, we'd sneak out of the house to enjoy Naan* and Soya Chaap* at our favourite spots.

Ugh! Why am I even thinking about him?

If you're honest, maybe you do miss him a little. After all, he's your father...

No! I hate him, hate him, HATE HIM.

Most of the items on the menu seemed too heavy for lunch, so I decided to have just plain roti and salad with buttermilk. Meanwhile, the others ordered Dal Makhni, Naan, Soya Chaap, and rice. The aroma of their food made me slightly queasy, but I kept my focus on my simple meal. And after satisfying our appetites, we continued our journey towards Mussoorie.

As we journeyed along the road, our conversations meandered through the sights we passed by. The lush paddy fields, children frolicking with their livestock, and the grand old houses that exuded an aura of vintage charm captivated our attention. We encountered scenes of rural life—beautiful women gracefully balancing bundles of grass on their heads while cradling their little ones in their arms.

Thakur couldn't resist the urge to compliment them, albeit in his typical flamboyant style. "City women need makeup to mask their weariness, but you radiant ladies glow effortlessly even amidst your toilsome chores," he exclaimed, his voice echoing across the countryside. "If only I were single, I'd marry one of you in a heartbeat. My mother would be overjoyed."