When I was trying to search for chewing gum, I found a lot of information on Bing and Google. Even if I ignore its commercial and scientific aspects and look at it from a literary point of view, the most popular thing we can say about it is that wives and girlfriends are like chewing gum. Why? They do everything in a mechanical and circular style.

This may seem to you as if I am writing all this on my laptop without having my breakfast, on this faithful day just to write something. There is every possibility that I was forcibly trying to write something about chewing gum. Maybe I am comparing chewing gum with wives and lovers and the love that comes to an end at a point in the end.

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You are right and ask what one can write about love with chewing gum. I can write a murder mystery, love story, science fiction, memoir, or anything you ask for. I am doing this story without having my breakfast and without combing my thining hair, and was even more angry after reading the message from my bank that my account balance was low and I must deposit to avoid a penalty.

Life took a full circle last month when I quit my job and back to square one.

I was 26 or 27 years old then and a novice writer who liked to write 'anything'. I used to sit for hours and think about what kind of face the primitive humans would have drawn when they first remembered a face and made wall paintings in the caves. If the descendants of that man are on this earth today, in which country would they be? What would they be doing? Which language would they be speaking? In my opinion, writers who think like this can write anything. No, you can't bind me to any specific niche.

But now, as far as I am concerned, I can at most write a love story by remembering chewing gum. But I want to do all kinds of experiments, vague, nonsense that makes my thoughts and mouth move in a circular way.

For instance, I am sitting with her far away on the terrace of a high-rise building in a big city. Both of us were chewing gum and looking at the open sky. The skies of big cities are not blue. The skies of big cities are grey. As grey as all the truths of this world. As grey as the truths of people who call themselves practical. The smoke coming out of the chimneys of factories sequesters all the blueness from the sky.

The kerosene stoves in the houses of the workers emitting smoke who come to the big cities from far-off areas and become part of the crowd of big leaders that find an opportunity to deliver speeches on the environment to fill the pockets of the capitalists and to fulfill the absurd needs of the people around the world.

This little blueness in the sky makes me sad. But trust me, we two were lovers but never sad while together. We were sitting at the wall of Red Fort and competing to see who could blow up the chewing gum bigger with their mouth. Both of us were busy shaping the chewing gum into a balloon shape, and I was smiling watching her circular lips when her balloon would burst and the stickiness of the chewing gum would turn her face into a joke. I would laugh and then become serious and look at her face as if she were the biggest comic of them all.

Once this girl with her brown eyes, her finger on her lips, and trying to mimic a sweet voice, told me that when young writers are serious, they probably look like fools, mysterious but very attractive. I knew this girl said this after seeing my serious face, but she said something that made me furious. She was trying to play pranks on me.

But her next sentence made me sick, "Dev, I want to go away from you. Living with you now feels strange and old to me. I never feel anything new with you. This laughter and happiness with you seem like my old dresses decorated in the cupboard to me. The love that looked heavenly a few months ago is slowly turning into chewed gum, tasteless and boring. Let's go back now.