Hatred & Love

romance_after_the_fight

“Romance after the fight is the best romance in the world” is a pretty mashed up line now. And I do agree with it for starters. But what they don’t tell you is ‘why’. I think you have to look for the reasons in the fight. Hatred. Anger. The words themselves are so strong and the feelings so intense. I think it is the intensity of the fights that resides in our hearts, lurking like a molten lava challenging to be calmed down. You cannot. You could only channelize it. And what is the best stop apart from romance to get down at?

Call me crazy. Call me a lunatic. But I feel I am equally in love with her while she is screaming at the top of her voice and am trying to subdue it with my husky (clears throat) one. I think I’m oddly drawn to her flushed cheeks and her fuming eyes. I do not think I love her any less even when we are fighting. And the secret is neither does she. The anger burning in her tone only  tells me how much she believes that she owns me and cannot settle down to agree with any disagreement that may happen between us. The little things that she does not shy away from, tell me that it is the version of us belonging to this moment or the period of time we are battling and not us – whole ourselves. She inherently acknowledges this far superior worth of our bonding and knowingly or unknowingly she is careful about the fragile nature of it even when we are fighting. That knowing and yet not knowing part is what builds our castle of cards, our cloud of dreams. And each time we have an intense fight, we only prick away the least important clouds that we made together. We do have to sacrifice a cloud or two, though, each time we quarrel. That’s the rule of the game.

But hey, we have only been talking about the before romance – the fight part. Once you clear this stage of the multiplayer game, romance awaits you to rekindle few dying sparks and ignite the new ones. The fire that was set up by hatred, jealousy, possessiveness and all other motherfucking siblings of them, is now waiting to draw you close. Fucking close. It starts with her pushing you away. That is the first stage of it. Then there are more attempts from your end, marinated with sweet words of affection. The names you call her, you know. She says, Do not call me that! You then call her ‘that’ again. Next stage is your ego making an intermittent appearance questioning your pursuance of her. You ignore it at first and swallow it down at second. She then surrenders. Not completely. But you see the glimmering hope in her eyes with a reflection of yours. That hope is what we live for and die for. The hope in her eyes. Yes, that is the end. It starts with once upon a time and ends with hope and grace. Not ‘they happily lived ever after’. That is your job asshole. You write, edit, proofread that. Good fucking luck.

 

 

Nothing

Romantic Poem

You look up with tearful eyes and I tuck your hair behind your ears.

You stare at my face and fail to read it. You ask me, why am looking at you like this.

I glanced into your eyes in turns and say ‘nothing’ with a grin on my face.

You ask me the questions you ask, about the future and the present.

You roll your finger around my chest and I reply with nothing more than a racing heart.

‘Nothing’ could be a perfect answer for am too afraid and weak inside.

And I finish the leftover courage to belie the sensitive-me with just another witty tale.

You laugh your heart out and shake your head like you always do.

Before you know, it is a poem being written in the drafts folders of my mind.

‘Nothing’ but a poem, with too many feelings tucked inside.

You wish for more answers and I fray with own self.

‘Nothing’ is what we started off with, you say and I stare at the ceiling.

The kaleidoscope of our memories starts to play.

Our feelings so intense, of love, possession, jealousy and hatred.

We’d love to kill each other, with no arms, no weapons, just words to express.

 Rainy afternoons and the orange sunsets, walk by the beach and your window pane.

I saved you secretly, in the songs you like and the things you hate.

Yes or No were too narrow to explain,

How beautiful you are when you look at me and say ‘nothing’ and I…

I tuck your hair behind your ears and whisper ‘as long as we are here together’,

And you complain, as long as sounds so little.

Kryptonite

sinful

Orange sunsets hid in her pockets,

Storms of tomorrow lurked dormant in her eyes.

Draped in nothing but a sly grin on her cheeks,

Her lips whispered sins belied with amorous smiles.

A muse for a poet, a prose for a writer;

A perfectly composed symphony of laughter, moans and sighs.

Like a flickering flame she was.

Kindle her spark just enough,

And you’ll be pleasured by her warmth.

Provoke her fire a little too much,

And she burns you down to ash.

She was not meant to be conquered.

Or to be borrowed from the Gods of light.

One had to be brave and foolish at the same time,

To set themselves ablaze for few golden moments of her time…

Love and other bullshit

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Priyanka.

He felt nervous every time someone spoke of her.

Graduation days those were. And he fell in love with her the day he saw her.

And she liked him for what he was. Genuine. But she liked someone else more.

Guy who had already found her. Way before he did. So she chose to be with that guy.

That guy, pretty much stopped everyone from thinking about her.

Because?

Because it was stupid to. How could anyone? She already had someone in her life.

Yet he did.

He did not tell best of his friends. They did not know he would. She did not either.

For her, he became her best friend. For him, she became almost everything.

Bike rides with her, talks over the phone and random fights that cropped up.

He loved how he cliff dived into her memories, every time she was mentioned.

He loved her more than anything he had ever known.

But graduation got over, no matter how much he tried to hold the hour hand from moving.

They parted. She made intelligent choices. He made few foolish decisions.

New towns. Thousands of kilometres. Months turning into years.

That should have been the end of it.

That should have been the end of her haunting corners of his mind beautifully every night.

His friends had grown into Men who knew who they should really be with.

He was still a boy, searching for the one whom he can call home.

They found out about him and her in his head. They told him to get out of it and how it did not make any sense.

But like I said, he was in love.

And love is an asshole. Illogical one.

He did know he would never have her.

He did know she already belonged to someone else. But he kept her alive in his head and had a dialogue with her secretly every now and then.

He traveled. Time traveled faster.

He fell for others. Fell out of it. Got so busy that he forgot to think about her.

Maybe he was over her.

Until the day she declared that she was tying a knot.

With the same guy. With the guy who he wasn’t.

He did know he would never have her.

He did know she already belonged to someone else.

But he was not prepared to hear the news.

That day crushed him with the sense of harsh present.

Maybe he was not over her.

She told him how happy she would be to see him at her wedding and he managed to utter yes.

She was the first song he had written and the last one he liked to listen to.

It was wrong. It was stupid. Love was illogical.

She was getting married now.

His friends couldn’t, but time did shake him up.

He was no more a boy. He had grown into a Man, who knew she was not the one.

He knew he had to find someone whom he could call home.

Priyanka.

She was not his last song.

Clipped wings

3_Libras___Fallen_Angel_by_Velouria_Designs

She dreamed of flying, when others were simply learning to walk, learning to cross the street. She was just nine, when she had made white clouds her home and felt wind was waiting to carry her along.

Twenty one and she had made it up there. Flying along with one of the finest airlines, smiling her perfect smile at 200 new faces every day. From one city to another, from another to the next one…she only halted for a while. She wished she didn’t have to at all. But life had some other plans.

And tonight she sang at Eleventh east street cafe, her new job it was since past one year. A favourite hangout place for the young ones in town. And they loved her at what she did – singing their choice of songs with an occasional melody of her own. For Him, it was his first time at the restaurant.

He had taken a small round table close to the fountain overflowing with water, which failed to drown her voice. She had conquered his thoughts, as she put her dark wavy hair on one side and the battle was already half won…by her. She sang American pie and he couldn’t help but hum it along. Feeling stupid, every time her eyes caught his.
He listened intently to her voice and wondered what her story was.  After all nothing entices an artist’s mind more than pieces of a broken heart. He knew she was much more than a singing lady tonight or any other night. Maybe a little late to go back, a too early to leap ahead. Tonight was hers though. This moment sang her song. Her dreams whispered into his ears in hushed tone as he held onto the words.

They had clipped her wings down.  But nothing could kill the magic in her voice.  If you listen closely enough, you could still hear the flutter of her wings…waiting for the cage door to be swung open. Her heart was jailed and tonight he melted his into a key. She sang all night, while he sat there scribbling on his notepad. Occasionally the glass of wine made it to his lips. But his eyes, they only held one vision in that crimson moonlight – of hers in the white dress, singing with closed eyes.

He knew he had to get past the lyrics somehow and she kept hoping her walls to be never brought down, by another man.  Having reached bottom of the glass several times, he felt more confident. He felt he knew her now, probably more than she did herself. He was sure of having unlocked the draft folders in her heart. And he penned down what he thought had been hiding behind those walls, waiting for the peek-a-boo to be played with the right heart.

Her voice resonated in the four walls that night and his words did the dance to the tune of it over the notepad. Dipped in the ink of feelings, they now left a trail of romance behind. The music stopped and he fervently tried to grasp the notes flying around. She sat back and relaxed, sipping onto the drink she had bought.

“You, you sing well” he said and she shook her shoulders in reply.

“I guess I do fine.” She said and he saw she wasn’t as pretty looking as she seemed while she sang. And yet at the same time very pretty somehow.

“You got the tale you were looking for?” She said with the straw flirting with her lips.

“What do you mean?” He smiled wondering if he had completely got her wrong.

“Your story I’m talking about, the one you were scribbling while pretending to sing American pie. I’m sure you had thousand thoughts in your head, with those characters doing a dialogue with your inner voices.” She smiled and offered him a chair next to hers.

He sat nervously feeling a bit stripped down and let her take the charge.

“I am Nadia. And what’s your name, writer boy?”

“Why don’t you read it yourself?” He smiled and handed over the notebook in her hands.

“I hope the ending is good, as I dreamed it to be” she said watching him read her eyes like ‘he’ used to.

“There isn’t one. She learns how to fly. He helps her do that.” He replied.

“And she leaves him behind? Yet again?” she asked.

“He was never hers to take along. She wasn’t his. They met. Like two kites accidently brushing hands in the sky. They were meant to carry on” said the writer boy.

“Well, she is happy that she met him after all” she smiled her perfect smile. After a long time.

 

The Flying Dutchman

heart-eagle-wings

Piyush was once more flying…from one town to the other. Once more, because it had only been few months that he had come to this town and was now looking forward to settling in a new one.

He remembered his childhood as he looked outside the rounded airplane window on his right. The huge airplane wing was disrupting the panoramic view of town from the above. He looked at box shaped houses midst the green areas from above. He wondered what people must be doing in each one of those. He wondered how many were sleeping, talking, sharing a joke or making love. He thought of troubles some of the people must be living with, in those houses which now went from box size to tiny dots. He recalled himself sitting outside his house back in his school days and gazing at the sky.

“Mamma, you know which one is my favourite bird?” he would ask her, keeping his eyes focused at blue skies.

“Which one?”

“Kite! Ask me why.” He would demand.

“Oh why is it so, sweetheart?”

“Because mother, it flies up…goes high and higher, as in highest and I love the fact that it flies so up in the sky.”

His mother would smile and ask him, “So, you don’t like other birds like Parrots or Sparrow?”

“Umm…Not really, I think the kite gets to see so much. Much more than any other bird in the sky.”

“Oh but son, do you know that kites don’t have a cozy home like parrots do?”

“Uhh?” six year old Piyush could do nothing more than scratching his head in reply.

Airplane was moving steadily now. Seat-belt sign had gone off. Piyush offered a smile back to the air-hostess as she handed him a glass full of water.

Drinking it carefully, he looked at the vast sky outside. It looked like a long bed sheet with huge pillows of cotton resting on it.

He badly wished that he could point those out to Sana, while sitting next to Sakshi. It had been a year that he had seen them. Sana was five and half year old now. He had missed her last birthday due to his work schedule. Thinking of them brought back memories of the last day he had met them. He could see Sakshi walking off the front door, holding little Sana’s hand who looked just once at Piyush before walking with her mother…without saying anything. He had hoped that she did…he had hoped she would at least resist a bit…say that she wants to stay with him. But maybe his absence during her school gatherings had much more impact on her naive heart than he had thought.

He missed her now. He missed Sakshi too. Maybe one of them more than the other. He couldn’t decide which one. He did not want to.

How he wished now, that he had not taken up that big assignment. But then again, it was big after all. Travelling across twenty towns doing what he loves to do the most and getting handsomely paid for it. He was going to live his dream. So what if happened later than he had planned, it did nonetheless. But then…Sakshi and him…his inner voices kept debating with contrasting thoughts throughout that journey.

Seat belt sign glowed once again. Routine announcement was made and the plane started its landing process. After doing few squats in the sky, plane finally touched the ground and Piyush could feel the speed at which he was moving closer to his destination.

Getting out he joined the flock of passengers waiting at the conveyor belt, desperately waiting to claim their baggage. In his head he could view the scene as parents waiting outside the school, for their kids – looking all alike in similar uniforms. He smiled at the thought.

He even heard few passengers speaking his mother tongue and felt genuinely happy. He felt that there really needs to be a special word in the dictionary for this – for the special kind of happy and content feeling that tickles your heart, every time something reminds you of your home.

“Take these extra twenty and put some Daffodils along with Lilies” Piyush told the flower vendor.

Holding the bunch delicately in his hand, he adjusted his jacket and made his hair before ringing the door-bell.

He saw the eye-hole turning dark with someone peeping from inside and it was followed by a pause. He had expected that.

Shahid opened the door and things couldn’t have been more awkward with Piyush standing there with flowers in his hand.

“Hi Piyush, wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

“Well you shouldn’t be. This is not your house.”

“Says someone who doesn’t have one” Shahid replied with a smirk on his face.

“C’mon guys, cut it out!” Sakshi came from behind and let Piyush inside.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Piyush followed Sakshi to the kitchen without taking his shoes off.

“Why do you even care?” Do you stay here? Oh let me guess, you are here to collect something you forgot the last time. Or maybe you made a girlfriend in this town.”

Piyush smiled at all the sarcasm she gave him and put the flower bunch in front of his face for her to hold it. She did not.

“He has just come to collect my signed divorce papers. He will be off then” she told Piyush while slowly accepting her favorite flowers from his hand. He leaned ahead and hugged her as her back touched the wall of the kitchen.

“Get off, you” Sakshi said blushing. “Go and meet Sana. She is upstairs.”

“Yes” he said kissing her once more before asking her,

“Did he meet Sana?”

“Yes he did. But don’t worry. She still loves this flying Dutchman more than her so called real father.” Sakshi spoke loud enough for Shahid to hear who was leaving the house, having collected the papers.

“What about your job Piyush? What are you going to do and how long are you going to be here this time” she said moving the wavy hair off his forehead.

“I do not know. I do not know where I am going to work, not as of now. But I can tell you that I’m here…now and I’m not going anywhere.”

“C’mon honey, let’s both go to her room. Come with me” Piyush said to her and took her along like a kid pulling his mother out of shopping mall.

They went to Sana’s room and knocked the door.

“Daddy!” Sana looked at him from head to toe as he sat down to come to her height and hugged her.

She showed him the drawing saying, “See…see I drew a bird – a parrot. Mamma made me erase the cage I had put him in. She says it needs to fly sometimes. Do you like Parrot, daddy?”

Piyush had tears in his eyes as he held Sakshi’s hand tight and told their daughter, “Yes, sweetheart. It’s my favorite bird.”

You’ve got a letter!

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Dear You,

I know I might have been the last person you expect to receive this letter from. And that also in a hard paper format, which everyone abandoned a decade back. But then I am someone from past after all. So here I am, doing it right finally.

I went through your Facebook updates and the photos that you’re tagged in. You seem to be doing a pretty good job, mister. You are on a roller coaster in fact, with pretty faces around you. Do not call me a stalker on your profile now. I just happen to stumble upon it every once in a while. The point being, I had always known you looking at me secretly…taking a deep breath before coming over and asking me for notes you very well knew I did not have…And yes I equally hated that bitch I used to hang out with who told everyone that you liked me. You remember chemistry lab? And that one practical we both did together? I still laugh when I recall you telling me about Helium & Argon at length instead of complimenting me on my looks which you had been doing anyway in your head. But it was fun. And I liked how you did your hair, those spikes eh!

I am writing to you today because I always did like you, boy. I secretly hoped it was you who asked me out and not the ass-so called sports hero of our high school. I secretly hope that you were still noticing me even today, talking to your best pal about me and tell me that you like me. But I know you do not. You now know what is right, unlike most of us.

I am like rest of the school who went with the flow and chased the dreams they told us to. But you are special. And that is all I wish to tell you. You already know that you deserved more than me and there was a reason why you chose to be with your friend on the last day of high school, instead of coming to me and letting me know about your feeling as you had planned. The reason being, you had bigger things waiting for you ahead.

So keep flying high, champ. Do not give up. And do not think of time traveling back and changing it all. The courage that you have earned is for better things. And you’re very close to achieving what you want.
Me? I am happy living as a naive teenage memory in your heart; I am just a high school sweetheart. Keep it like that!

With love,

~Andrea

19th Sept 2004.

P.S. (That chocolate box you received on your desk in final year? Yes, it was me)

Soul mates & shit

ImageGreek mythology talks about King Pygmalion of Cyprus, who made a sculpture of a woman and named it Galatea. An artist he was after all and spent so much heart on the sculpture that he fell in love with it. He prayed to Goddess Venus and she bestowed magic over the stature and brought it to life. Pygmalion took great care of her and next part you know already – they lived happily ever after.

Our mythologies depict and preach about stories, wars and love sagas that took place because Gods & Goddesses blessed or cursed people as per their whims and fancies. Ever wondered how tough this job must have become for them now, if they did exist in the first place. Cupids are suddenly nowhere to be seen and so are the talks about soul mates withering away. But love still makes its presence felt subtly in a summer wind that passes by, in faces and eyes of beautiful smiling people on the streets. But like beauty it has taken a form of transitory appearance these days. Call me old school, but no chatting application beats meeting a person in real. And no emoticon can ever let you see, how she smiles at you simply through her eyes.

I think in the era of smartphones, what most people are looking for is not a soul mate but a wifi free zone and a compatible charger for their phone. Before you conclude that I’m against technology, I shall make it clear I am not. But come to think of it, as we are moving towards getting more and more connected through the smart devices and applications; farther are we moving from each other. Lesser are the number of people putting in an effort to make relationships work. Long distance relationships are started with a tagline saying they are not meant to work.

I know soul mates aren’t anybody’s favourite topic to discuss. I am not a big fan of it either. But I am of opinion that we seriously don’t have a right to play it down, just because we had an unsuccessful relationship or two. I mean, hardly any one of us really goes out of their way looking for the right person. It starts with looking for a good looking person in your junior high classroom, ending it in a year and realising it was nothing but a crush and you had a good person in your friend waiting to date you. By the time you come out of these ‘not so right’ people for you, you are left with no time to search for the right one. And then we give up saying that this is life and shit like that. Most people, who emphasize they do not believe in love, simply mean that they do not believe so much in people any more.

I tell you what is not correct. Logic. Logic that we seek in an answer to why we even love someone…sometimes still. Because it doesn’t have to be logical, it doesn’t have to make sense. That is what attracted us to that person in the first place, right? That is what had put a smile on our face – being illogical with her or him. And let our mind run open, naked and childlike stupid in the open wide field; because it was not alone. It was held hand in hand with her or his and looked after.
And then we got back to reality, the real people and real life who demanded sense in whatever we do. More sense and less stupid-happiness. And we fell for it, we let go of that hand because it seemed illogical to us now. To run wildly happily and stupidly together. We let it go because it did not fit well into what future others designed for us to live. We let the only person go who once let us laugh out without caring how it looked. The one with whom we did not feel shame, did not feel naked. We let the love go.
Honestly if we are not willing to sound stupid, then maybe we don’t deserve to be in love. Then those tears we may shed won’t make any sense.

Soul mates exist or maybe they don’t. But I can guarantee you that, there certainly are few people worth searching for. So shake your heart a bit. Take it out for a walk. Its wounds are healed a long time back. Let it breathe again and look for someone with a rhyming beat.