There is a couple I know. When I say, I "know", it is a silent knowing, like passing someone on a commute every day, never speaking, but there is a quiet recognition and acknowledgement of their presence.

They live in the bungalow opposite my building. In the beginning I hated this house, and I hated the neighbours, I hated everything that came along with moving. I only realize this empty, blinding hate after six months of living here, and six months to go.

At first I used to only see the woman, she must be in her 60s, her eyes and body are alert and in a way demandingly curious. She tries to hide it, sometimes.

When Shreya and I used to talk, standing outside my building, I've seen her hover, unapologetically; hear us say deeply personal and revealing things about ourselves.

Usually when this happens, she is dropping me home, it is the end of the day and we just say things that depress us, but want to be let out anyway.

The man was about the same age and slightly balding. I've noticed him more than anything for the massive size of his underwear. It easily has the width of the garment that Sabu wore in the Chacha Chowdhary comics, which is surprising, because this man's waist is not that wide. So I wonder if it’s a ‘langot', but I'm not sure because I've never had the kind of courage required to observe it properly. This is also because after putting his clothes to dry, he takes out a lounging chair, and lies down (for who knows how long; I've never found out) on his terrace. Every morning he washes his vest and underwear, and after his bath, steps out with his towel around his waist to put them to dry. There have been times when I'm watering my lone aloe-vera plant and he comes up to dry his undergarments. I always look away, because I feel odd and intrusive watching him.

On the rare days that I get home before dark, I bathe, eat something and open the balcony door. Something that never came to my mind consciously before today was that they read the newspaper together very evening. At this time, they are both too engrossed to notice me or others. They sit comfortably on those easy chairs, in their home clothes; she in her ‘gown’ and he in shorts and a vest. So there they sit, next to each other, quietly reading their own newspapers, spending what seems to me a lovely time.

I imagine their lives to be simple, uncomplicated even. I know this is untrue, because no life is that way. But there is peace in their body language, as if they are floating on a gently flowing river, going no were in particular, enjoying the quiet and their partner's presence.

There are so many stories around us. And I find excitement in these "silent knowings". It’s a different kind of human exchange, hardly mentioned, but always there.