Unlike the love stories, this is real...written all by me
And sent to someone...with disastrous effects. He's since migrated to the West African Republic of Burkina Faso.
I would have seen you in the Babylonian legend
In Egypt, in the palm tree's deep angular shade
We must have patterned the Mediterranean sand
And soaked up Africa's gossamer green woodland
We must have dabbled in the hues of every sunset
And walked every path that was wind-swept
I remember we scented the pages of history
And drew new lines on the palm of destiny
How can you say we met only yesterday?
How can you say you tread just once this way?
How can you say this is our time only now and here?
How can you believe you are human mere?
Did it not occur to you in the misty winter’s yesterday
Did you not see my life in flowers dotting delhi’s kings’ way?
In the steam from the tea cup ensconcing our oh-so-short day?
In the wakeful dreams and the dreamy sentience?
That we have not met yesterday but you were always there
mingled in the drops of rain, in volcanoes afire
In the red stellar circles around distant planets
And in my each breath and my soul and intellect
So we have not met just now, my dear love
You were always there in the fragrance of flowers
And in the belief that there is a sheer touch alive
Between two beings across eras, eons and miles
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
Remains of the Day: Three Love Stories (?)
She was a butterfly
Around the garden she flew
Colourful and capricious
Red green yellow and blue
Just 23, she was at an illogically intense age. And it was an accident waiting to happen.
They worked at the same office. First day at work, he swept into the office. It was his habit to open the door wide…totally wide…and walk in without breaking stride. And he walked right into her mind…without breaking stride…into her consciousness, her heart. Seems clichéd? Well, 23 is cliched.
But the problem was he was not 23…...far from it. And he was far from her in so many more ways…as she discovered gradually. No, he did not lie that he wasn’t married…not possible when they are working together…nor that he is the father of two school-going kids…They made an unlikely pair…he tall dark rugged…she fair petite…but then no one knew they were a pair…not even themselves.
It’s just that knowledge about him did not prevent her from loving…and losing. They had a million cups of tea together…they took a thousand midnight rides through the city…they shared a hundred letters….he said he loved her…the first time ever he loved a woman.
And that was all…no exploitation, no deception, no commitment. Is that a love story? Or is it a freakinfukkinstupidrelationship?
She said let’s just let it fade out….easy…slow…and gradual…but suddenly he remembered he was 34..that he was married…that he was a father…and he said break…now. And what a bloody mess it was. She still bleeds from one corner of her heart…
Now when she sees him on the street suddenly, all that she can notice is that his hair…the thatch she had loved so much…sports so much silver.
The other corners have not learnt their lessons well.
She was 27. At an age where experience does not get better than impulse.
He is a Kashmiri. Is it the extremities of geography that attracted them to each other?
He barged through closing lift doors one afternoon and gate-crashed into her life. Why does she have this tendency to love people who walk in uninvited? Weird.
He is so handsome…and such a crook. She knew from the first moment that he was a rogue…and yet loved him….guess u know her a little by now.
She saw Himalayas in his eyes…and apple sweetness in his smile…he was soo handsome…
And then he vanished…just like that…again…what was lost? Nothing really…no commitment…no more in the relationship except exchange of sentiments…
What was that? Was it love or just freakin-fukkin-stupid-acquaintance-at-convenience? If only she knew…
She was 35…at an age when one becomes blasé at even being stupid…
It is the virtual space…she does not know him…has never seen him…or heard him…it is just red words between them…and an intensity that came more from the late hour than from any real feeling.
The monsoon night’s moist noises…the cool air heavy with the fragrance of rebellious jasmine…the remaining traces of a youth fast evaporating…whatever was it….the red words became the Truth…..the Obsession…the Preoccupation.
She wanted more…he gave none…She sought personal touch…he shunned even virtual presence…And she ranted and raved and then bled quietly…and he just watched….when he had the time…
What was that? Was that love or just a freakin-fukkin-killing-stupid-adult-delusion?
Three Love stories…..are there more coming? God forbid…
Around the garden she flew
Colourful and capricious
Red green yellow and blue
Just 23, she was at an illogically intense age. And it was an accident waiting to happen.
They worked at the same office. First day at work, he swept into the office. It was his habit to open the door wide…totally wide…and walk in without breaking stride. And he walked right into her mind…without breaking stride…into her consciousness, her heart. Seems clichéd? Well, 23 is cliched.
But the problem was he was not 23…...far from it. And he was far from her in so many more ways…as she discovered gradually. No, he did not lie that he wasn’t married…not possible when they are working together…nor that he is the father of two school-going kids…They made an unlikely pair…he tall dark rugged…she fair petite…but then no one knew they were a pair…not even themselves.
It’s just that knowledge about him did not prevent her from loving…and losing. They had a million cups of tea together…they took a thousand midnight rides through the city…they shared a hundred letters….he said he loved her…the first time ever he loved a woman.
And that was all…no exploitation, no deception, no commitment. Is that a love story? Or is it a freakinfukkinstupidrelationship?
She said let’s just let it fade out….easy…slow…and gradual…but suddenly he remembered he was 34..that he was married…that he was a father…and he said break…now. And what a bloody mess it was. She still bleeds from one corner of her heart…
Now when she sees him on the street suddenly, all that she can notice is that his hair…the thatch she had loved so much…sports so much silver.
The other corners have not learnt their lessons well.
She was 27. At an age where experience does not get better than impulse.
He is a Kashmiri. Is it the extremities of geography that attracted them to each other?
He barged through closing lift doors one afternoon and gate-crashed into her life. Why does she have this tendency to love people who walk in uninvited? Weird.
He is so handsome…and such a crook. She knew from the first moment that he was a rogue…and yet loved him….guess u know her a little by now.
She saw Himalayas in his eyes…and apple sweetness in his smile…he was soo handsome…
And then he vanished…just like that…again…what was lost? Nothing really…no commitment…no more in the relationship except exchange of sentiments…
What was that? Was it love or just freakin-fukkin-stupid-acquaintance-at-convenience? If only she knew…
She was 35…at an age when one becomes blasé at even being stupid…
It is the virtual space…she does not know him…has never seen him…or heard him…it is just red words between them…and an intensity that came more from the late hour than from any real feeling.
The monsoon night’s moist noises…the cool air heavy with the fragrance of rebellious jasmine…the remaining traces of a youth fast evaporating…whatever was it….the red words became the Truth…..the Obsession…the Preoccupation.
She wanted more…he gave none…She sought personal touch…he shunned even virtual presence…And she ranted and raved and then bled quietly…and he just watched….when he had the time…
What was that? Was that love or just a freakin-fukkin-killing-stupid-adult-delusion?
Three Love stories…..are there more coming? God forbid…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)