I misss

I miss the sweet smell of the mud after the first rain, and the excited faces of people. The steaming hot tea, and the dazzling street markets bustling with noisy crowds. The guy frying samosas and selling them to the young and old. I miss the excitement of the holiday, spending the day on the road feeling that freedom like no one has. I miss the hundred options in a snack shop filled with delicious munches to eat. I miss those PVR shows, with chips and salsa in the intervals of long boring movies. I miss drying my wet hair on the bench in the tender winter sunlight, and enjoying the winter salads on the rooftop. I miss the walks to the temple every other day in the fresh and crispy sunlight of the summer. And those juicy leeches and mangoes in abundance every summer.
I miss that land, my own land.