Today is the day it all ends. A Black Friday. Where he moves to one of the million bright sunrises and you slither off to the countless shadowy sunsets that fall to your share…
It always ends in the same manner. The flickering flame that dies just before it reaches to it’s most glorious moment. I wonder how long does it take to tire of something that never came to you easily in the first place.
Not long, I presume. People of tragedies can never become fairy tales. Their endings are always tragic. And sometimes, hope that came in bits and pieces, chokes off and dies. More
The third valentine handwritten scrap for Huma
I read this and it really shook me
Sometimes it’s the hardest bit to do stuff on your own
You know
The next time I am in your city, I would love to go and meet your mom with you.
Hold my hand if it gets hard
That’s what hands are for
The clouds had just begun to gather as he closed the door behind him. I turned to look at him, like always. Taking my time to let that last look linger. When he’ll turn away, to retrace his steps, I’ll go home and have dirty thoughts of us.
He struggles with the old lock for a bit, and finally gets it. I turn back to face the road, so that he wouldn’t catch me looking. He quickens his pace to walk right behind me. It’s our daily ritual. It’s a familiar place, and we had just come out of an abandoned building. If someone sees us together, all hell would break loose. I walk slower than usual, trying to catch the scent of our lovemaking that still lingered in his clothes. He tries to push back his scanty hair into place and whispers, asking me to walk a little faster. More
I always thought love was placid. Something like a silken shroud. Of eternal peace. It should have been something to soothe the ever grinding life. Something of a shade from the glaring sun of age. It should have been eternal.
I was wrong. We only love when we are in full confidence of recieving something in return. We do not really care if it has nothing to give to us.
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The same things have been happening over and over again.
I called.
“Hello, is Reshma there?”
“Yes Kabir, she is…she is saying she is not at home.”
“Ok.”
“Hello, what do you want?”
“Hello yeah, what happened?”
“Don’t you know? I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Ok. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I IMed.
Kabir: hi
Kabir: how come u r online so late?
Reshma: sut up More
I have been cleaning my closet. I feel like a heroine. Perched up on a stool. Mops and dusters in hand. cleaning out the cobwebs. there are layers of dust settled on the shoebox that serves as my treasure chest. All my memories, safe inside it.
It has served me well all these years. But its grown old. Musty and moth eaten. Its crumbling now, of age. I handle it warily as I pull it out and keep it on my desk. Then as I lift the covers, my eyes get dazzled.
Its the smiles I once hid in there. More
She stumbled upon an old diary yesterday. Going through the yellowed pages, she felt ashamed. She claims never to do anything for the sake of doing it.
Yet the diary. Reminding her of the scribblings that are there just for the sake of being scribbled. And she feels like the biggest hypocrite.
Funny how we can claim to be who we are not… Funny how sometimes we want something so much that we start believing lies about it…
She planted a lilly bulb yesterday. And then sat lovingly looking at the tilled soil. It has been turned. The seed in it breathing life, lightly, slowly. As she sits there and watches it, she is impatient to watch the first bids spring out. The wait is so tremendously painful that she has to try hard to keep her heart from breaking.
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She sits by the window. It’s almost dawn and her eyelids are heavy with sleep. She looks at the lighthouse… still no one at the waters. He is not home tonight too. And everynight, she spends in the same fashion. Waiting for him to return.
Everyday, she brings fresh flowers for him, and at night as they wilt, she throws them away. He doesn’t like to see them wilted. The same way he doesn’t want to see her wilted. But yet, here she is. Wasting away in the hope that one morning, at the horizon, she will see his small canoe. And he will be back in her arms.
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The nightlights shine off the road today. It’s such a beautiful weather. You watch couples snuggle up closer to share the warmth. Your eyes are misty today, and yet you can see clear.
Damn Eye lenses…
Who are you kidding? The poison of tears? Really? You don’t know. But something’s wrong. Either with you or the world. Let it be the world, please let it be the world… chants a small voice inside your head repeatedly. More
It’s been a long day today. The streetlights shine brightly as the sky starts showing the first signs of dawn.
My feet are aching from the adventures of the day. The little sore on the soft skin near the toes is becoming a blister and each step is becoming more painful with every passing moment. But I walk on. On the sand with my bare feet.
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It’s been two years since he’s been locked up in the acrylic frame. It was two years back that he left. But he left behind a likeness of him, framed high above my bed.
Nowadays he sits silently in the brown shoebox on the top shelf of my almirah. In a pile of speeding tickets that my reckless heart has collected over the years. More
A believer of myths. I’ve given up on words; I trust now in feeling, not in justifications. Explain me nothing; just give me a sensation- show me some thing, shut up.
That’s all I’m saying….
Actions speak louder than words- always. Smiles and slouching shoulders; or winks; or nods; or avoiding some one’s eye.
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At first it was just a look. A long look that seemed to pull me. A mute look that didn’t speak of anything. No longing. No sparks. Nothing. Just a pull that defied all the rules. A look that had no regards for religion, age and above all, common sense.
In the ensuing years, he said many thousand words. Words that sometimes rose and fell in the silent bay of the countless mistakes that I made over the years.
Words that sometimes glowed phosporesecent on dark nights. The words that on some days flew too close to the sun, like the mighty Icarus. More
Dear Someone
Its a hot day today. It’s funny that I would begin my letter to you in this manner, but really, the heat’s all I can think of these days. How’s it there? Not too warm I hope.
I have been meaning to write this letter for so long, but didn’t really know what to write. But I’m quite enjoying it, contrary to what I had imagined. Don’t you just love writing letters? More
