Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Of shining pearls and a flying peacock

April 15, 2016

Content I am.  With a smile on my face and a glow in my eyes.  That I had just been in a dream. Moments flew on feathery soft wings.

We smiled for no reason but for being happy.  We gleamed.  We shone.  Not like a firefly, nor like a diamond, but like a pearl.  Soft and milky white.

That we rode in parching heat, like it was a breeze of early summer mornings.  That we pulled off the road, so that the time should halt.  That we fell into embraces like how much we belonged there.  That we tasted the nectar like our lips had never tasted love before.

How would it matter what we were? The two eternal souls randomly collided in the complex machinery of existence?  Why would it matter?

That we existed is truth. Like the peacock that flew right above our head and no one else but we two saw it.  If we two had not noticed it, would it mean that the peacock never existed? It did.

You’re a whole life I miss

October 30, 2015

You’re a whole life I miss.
This song I found just yesterday –
This song we never listened together..
It will be one of those, the first among them all, that we will never listen together.

I love you.  I do.
I’m sorry.  I hold myself a lot I won’t say this thing to you.
I am happy.  I am living a life.
I don’t want to be the hope – once again – that  we’ve lost already.

No, this is only today.  I don’t cry often.
I felt like sending you a mail.  I didn’t write that one.
This is what we’ve come to –
Songs never listened, mails never sent…

I know you’ll read this.  I know you’ll cry too.
I really don’t want to make you cry.
I want you to let me slip into oblivion.  I want to help you do that.
And I’m still making you cry..
Can you forgive me for this, ma?

Of what it could be…

January 6, 2015

It’s not that he never cries, but when he does, he usually knows it’s coming, and he keeps feeling like he can stop it if he would really try, and then it makes him feel kind of guilty to cry even though he can “not cry.”  It makes him feel fake.  But when he cried this morning on hearing her voice, he knew it was not fake.  He still tried to stop it, and he did actually succeed, but still couldn’t stop sobbing.

It was the first time in years he had not heard her voice for so long.  He was used to starting his days with her voice, and it was her voice he was used to go sleep with.  He was so accustomed to it, it never occurred to him that he may have to live without it some day.  And still when it came to that, he did reasonably well. He plunged himself into his tasks – building his bridges back.  “Enjoying life is so subjective,” he thought.  He started forming new definitions of enjoying life, and of life itself.

But when she called this morning, past a few awkward moments, he saw nothing has changed – he is the same he, she is the same she, and it still could be the same “us.”… It came so suddenly – tears rolled down.

Of an infidel morning..

July 2, 2014

Such infidel thoughts in this circumspect world – and you’re being watched from everywhere. I’m missing a girl whom I shall not! But is there really something that “one shall not even miss someone”?

I was reading Slow Man by Coetzee this morning. Paul – my protagonist, a man of 70 with his leg amputated – pondering over his feelings for his caretaker Marijana – while she is dusting his books. Paul tries to find an exact word for his feelings. If he has to choose one word, he thinks, it would be admiration. “Can desire grow out of admiration, or are the two quite distinct species?” Paul thinks.

I, suddenly like a twinge, thought of a girl whom I had fallen in – principally an admiration. Whatever it was, it kept floating between admiration and desire – more towards admiration. What was it that I admired, I know not. Not really intelligent – someone whom I would put in “average” range – someone who makes mistakes in spellings and words and gets confused between convince and convenience. A beauty she was – no doubt absolutely gorgeous (so much that I once in my thoughts had named her Georgiana), but that must not be the reason. Was it her innocence? Perhaps it was, at least for the first few days, but later it was more of her reluctance to fall. I knew she admired me – a lot – and hence perhaps more cautious to let it not move up to desire. Sheer reluctance! Perhaps, it was no more an innocence.

My days were counted. As such, I was kind of taking a liberty to indulge, knowing it is to end on a fixed date. I weaved my days around her. I knew it was cruel of me trying to break her reluctance and I was still doing it. I knew it was best of it to leave it unsolved, and I was still trying to untangle it – only such that it does not get solved indeed. I lived my days between a yes and no – between admire and desire.

With an abrupt end, it started to fade away day by day. It was never to the stage where I could text her and say “I miss you” – in fact, never even where I could text her anytime I want. So when I was reading Coetzee this morning and was thinking of my Marijana, there was no question of me letting her know about it.

Then it started raining today – first real rain of this monsoon – making the weather kind of romantic when you see it out of the windows – and I set myself afloat, let myself flow…

The full moon of Buddha Pournima

May 15, 2014

Then he went out, walking on roads. This is one thing he enjoys. He walks with his own thoughts, with ear-plugs in, often playing no music.

“Will it ever be the same?” He thought for a fraction of moment, and felt a half tear behind his lashes. But he was calm again soon. “It is for good that it happened” he said to himself.

He started the music – something classical – he was listening it for the first time. It was beautiful – Raga Tilak Kamod – he googled. “Beautiful.. isn’t it?” he said to himself – again felt something like a tear under the eyelid.
He stopped for a panipuri, and kulfi perhaps. He likes the feel of sweet, cool, milky kulfi after the hot panipuris. panipuri and Kulfi is a routine.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” He looked at the veiled girl having panipuri there. “These girls with hijab look good eating panipuri”, he thought. Was he staring at her? The girl – who seemed standing alone there – walked past him to her boyfriend standing a little away. “Hmm”, he thought – “these girls with hijab don’t seem married.” He always thought hijab means married.

The panipuri-waali lady knows him by face, so does the kulfi-waala. He paid for the panipuri/kulfi, and again went on walking.

He was a little calmer now. He knew it will be difficult – the consequences will be long-term rather than immediate – over a relationship in one evening – she knows it’s not that simple. There will be many such evenings and he will still have those half-tears. But does that matter?

It was getting dark – he started walking back towards home. Ustad Bismillah Khan playing Tilak Kamod in his head. He looked at the sky. The moon was bright. “It’s Buddha Pournima” he thought.

He had seen many such moons – different phases of it. On the ninth day of Chaitra – when she was sitting right in front of him and the moon was exactly above her head. The crescent on the dawn of Dhan-trayodashi – while he was talking to her on phone. “Different moons, different girls..” he thought.

But this moon was different. He somehow never noticed it earlier – the full moon of Buddha Pournima! He didn’t give it much thought, and started walking back to home again.

A shair for me

December 29, 2013

Of living without her..

December 23, 2013

Dear X,

It’s such a lonely evening. Just returned from work. Stayed there late after hours – just to shorten this period of loneliness. But now that I’m back to my room and writing this – I think I needed some time for myself – to lean back and ponder over what’s really happening…

Something is badly missing from life. Perhaps, it’s just a change of habit. I’m really not missing you, but it feels like I’m missing a life since we broke up..

P.S. …, nothing!

Short letter to X

December 17, 2013

Dear X,

One shair of Ghalib for me, rather just one line of it. “ Aashiqui sabr_talab aur tamanna betaab..” Love asks for patience, and desires are uncontrollable. What shall I do of my heart until it ends all?

thinking of you,

Ganesh

Of nothingness…

November 24, 2013

There is a certain nothingness for which I exist.  I know this is too vague of a statement, but I am doing vague things and living vague moments and have stopped dreaming of a vague future.  I am catching up on things – not people.

Dreams needed to be curtailed – I did that. Why should one dream of life when one can dream of a big home (with lavish furniture in it), etc.? I have somehow convinced myself.  I can somehow manage to not miss you – not now, and not a few years later.

You remember? One of our very first coffee shop meets when we had met after my office hours – those comfy sofas, pleasant ambiance, some cricket match on TV, you – and I had told you “This is peace.”  Now I have learned that that peace was not because of something “out of this world”, but it can certainly be recreated with the same sofas etc., isn’t it?

I will manage it somehow! You know “a man at 30 should know himself like a palm of his own hand etc.” I am going to be 30 soon.  I cannot keep things pending.  I must lose you if I cannot achieve you – and convince myself it is for better.

Again and Again : Rainer Maria Rilke

October 29, 2013

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others fall:

Again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees,
lie down again and again
among the flowers,
face to face with the sky.

You and I, despite knowing the churchyard and the sorrowful names there, fall in love again and again.