Of strong winds, light rains, fond remembrance and bittersweet symphonies..

Sometimes I imagine a lady on the wrong side of forty sitting by the window in an elegant dress writing away in her journal about lovers from the past and all the possibilities. The if not's and if only's. Someone who has lost love, found it and then lost it all over again. And has only herself to blame for it.

The light is dim, yellow and soft to her skin and the recent wrinkles around her eyes are suffocating under too much concealer. There is music playing in the background. French. Think Sous le ciel de Paris. The curtains are heavy, brown and smell a little musty but only if you get too close to them. The view from the window is inspiring. There are trees bellowing in the wind and then there is rain. And clouds with silver linings.

She is the kind of lady who used to be the center of attraction at masquerades. A ravishing beauty in her youth she was the fantasy of every man she met, married or not. I think it’s her long faded beauty that is the cause of such loneliness at this age. She felt she was too good for the rest of the world. Much too good for those who gave her their heart. Ah the tragedy of delusions. Sigh. And she is alone now, without the comfort and company of neither her beauty nor a soul. The splendor is lost and so is the magnificence.

She is the spinster who will die alone. And die with regrets. She will die without the pleasure of raising children and pampering grand children. But mostly, she will just die alone. Destitute. Arrogant. Reclusive. Lonely. Disconsolate. Miserable. Discordant. Incongruous. Egregious. Cacophonous. I need to find her a name.

I spent most of today exploring this new town. I feel like a child with too much candy in her pockets. There is a lot to taste. To see. To feel. I walked through a narrow lane that was lined with bookstores on either side. It was quite a delightful sight to behold. Needless to say, I will be visiting it again. Among other things, I also chanced upon the most famous building of Cambridge, the King's College Chapel. It's breathtakingly beautiful a structure but I was stunned most by the stained glass windows. Such striking red and blue. And more than 500 years old too.

While I was waiting outside the chapel, in the courtyard, a trail of little boys in black gowns hurried past. The choir boys for the afternoon mass. For a moment there, I was transported to the first Harry Potter movie. To that particular scene where Hermione overhears Ron making fun of her and pushes past them, leaving Ron red with shame. I later found out that some parts of the movie were shot in this compound.

When he breaks up with her, he tells her that it's not her, it's him. That he thought he loved her but he didn't. That he wished there was more but there really wasn't. A conquest, a mere conquest, that's what she was. Disbelief and then anger flash through her eyes. She was broken. Devastated. There were tears. It must have been quite sad for her, that moment. To have her heart broken like that. But it will always be for Sebastian that my heart aches. It's his pain that pierces through me. His loss that I find hard to bear. It is not as easy as it looks, this business of breaking hearts.

I am impressed, she said. Oh well, I am in love, he replied. Cruel Intentions has the most distinctly powerful characters I have seen on screen. And Sebastian will be the character I learned to hate but love. 'Even more treacherous than he is attractive, he hasn't uttered a single word without some dishonorable intention.' I have always found charming and manipulative to be a lethal combination. God save the rest of us. Sucker love is heaven sent. You pucker up, our passion's spent. My hearts a tart, your body's rent. My body's broken, yours is bent. And Placebo at its best.

So the thing with Cambridge winds is that it is lazy. So lazy that instead of going around you it goes right through you. I can still feel it within me and the mere thought of it makes me shiver. The heater is gurgling away, spurting strange noises in my direction, reprimanding me for bothering it at this strange hour. I almost feel the need to apologize.

I can't seem to concentrate much on anything today. Especially writing. My thoughts are all over the place. Let's blame Cambridge. The place and the people. My room here is a beautiful little space. The view is brilliant, with its trees and the ground. The desk is huge and already cluttered. The shelves are gaping for books. And at the foot of my bed, are three chairs. I have arranged them to face each other. So every time I enter my room I feel like I am interrupting a cozy tea party. And it makes me wish I had knocked.

King's College Chapel Courtyard. Braving the Cambridge wind and rain.