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…
9 comments:
i can
While I sympathise with you,I would also say that you most likely have a deep-rooted insecurity complex, mixed with a desire for rejection, and a preponderance towards self-flagellation.
Did i say it was my story?
in any case, u know all about insecurity, preponderance, self-flagellation...don't you? I knew all that too except that my vocabulary is quite poor...i needed someone to give me those words...thank you..
btw, I think I know who you are though why not give the name, why anonymous? Do I see a deep-rooted insecurity there? :)
No, you do not know me.
I flip though blogs frequently and happened to come across yours. That's when I read your first piece on the rains. You write well. I only said what I felt. Mea culpa...I thought it was a sort of an autobiographical account, I stand corrected. Did not mean to raise your hackles. Evidently you do not take critique too well. Adios.
Hi anonymous,
If I don't know who you are...thanks a ton for reading my ramblings...though you sound soo familiar.
Contrary to evidence, I am totally tolerant. Critique is good..as long as it is not about me ;0
I am kidding. Yes, the story is not autobiographical though it is real. And definitely a study in psychology.
Thanks and keep critiquing me...I am all ears..
err all ears? or all eyes :-)
CerealK©
chuckle@all ears or eyes :)
all this anonymity has me pulling my hair out...
ppl please gimme names...i am no interpol
This lady who sits waiting - does she have my number? :P
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