I feel him sometime....

Tonight, I am not just looking at the stars, but staring into my past as well. Constellations shine with the light that was emitted eons ago, and i wait for something to come to me, words that a poet might use to illuminate life's mysteries. I am at a lose to tell you what is that I feel my life is missing. I was a simple person once but then now I do think "everything is perception". I can sometimes lose track of time when staring at a sky filled with wind whipped clouds, and when I hear thunder rumbling, I always draw near the window to watch for lightening. I feel him sometimes. Having someone in life is blessing because there is an outlet for everyday strains of life; it is a curse too, because the outlet is someone you care deeply about. I feel nostalgic when I cross that bridge where we met for the first time. Life is not suppose to be stagnant, without him I have learned to live but then when in many people, I take deep breathe I feel the ambivalence. My throat chocks. Soon I recollect and cherish those moments for life time. Someday when I close my eyes, I remember some circumstances, some subjects of humorous anecdotes. His charm, laughter, the way he stared at me, his stupidity and his wooing have never ceased to amaze me. Meeting him was certainly a serendipity. I am a classical dancer. I perform Katthak. Love happens and same in our case. But he left me alone, went far... far where I could not find him... I cant even wait for him. I lost him forever. It was a road accident. Love is not mere walking hand in hand and sharing that divine silence, but it is when whole universe conspires that somebody loves you more than anything. The very feeling might be wordless. Now I dance for him, I feel him through colours, aroma and senses. Rightly said by someone, "love is a state of mind when mind is not in state." Long five years have past, I now live sometimes in my world; where he exists; where we are together; where we talk, we walk together. I write romance, and yes I do agree when people say that I live in different world sometime. At nights, in rains, in breeze, traveling in thousands of people, having coffee alone in coffee shop, watching those couples near the shore, he surrounds me. As if life rewinds and I live those moments again. I see my empty hands and I then feel his touch, he holds me to himself, closer to his heart. Whispers, "nothing lasts forever!" My love is in keeping him alive within me, dancing with all passion as if he could see me.And then for the briefest instant, it almost feels like we're together again....

I love him, yes I do, I feel him sometime...

Loving a Chemical Engineer is not easy

“Kahani ki shurwat abhi hone ko hai
Dillagi ki hadein abhi hone ko hai
Mausam bhi be- imaani badhane ko hai
Humare beech ki duriya khatam hone ko hai”

Especially, when you are a romantic writer, you tend to imagine things to formulate them in your writings. May be camouflage works for me, but he was not. Stronger arms, killer smile and witty stuff, what else a lady expects! May be great Casanova, or maybe not. A drama writer and acting as if he defines romance.
Ye aaj kal ka pyaar.. might be strange thing but the basic remains same. Intimacy might be the start but if it ends with respect, it is love. With him it feels like reflux of emotions is everything you need. May be he is all I wanted. Eros turns a man ON, but it is a very fact that other than being little emotional, a man has to be witty to turn a woman ON.
Dedication is dependent on inertia; most of the technical men prove to be passionate lovers. So it does imply to a chemical engineer. A typical guy with a priority of boozing over girls, night outs before exams, not much into reading but still will beat you in every topic, pretending to be not so desperate, “sutta” with friends and movies ( I hope you can imagine their types) for “lukka time”. This was never my choice. But then if things start moving as we wish, they don’t charm. Spontaneous moments define the flow, at least in my life.
Days past, things were moving, realisation of the distilled feelings resulted in saturation of hiding, consequently, into addiction. I do agree, it begun with flirts, or may be in easier “lingo” flirts acted as catalyst. Precisely, like oxidizing all the senses. The warm hug melts me in his arms, the words mere are enough for the surrender. The transition is always fun, the energized state of mind, as if you are purged. I hope for some azeotrope with me. Sorption of happiness and labile sorrows...
He yells and then says sorry, God knows what exactly he thinks or may be my brains are malfunctioning. But whatever happens just pushes the reaction into forward direction, avoiding all the side products with good conversion. Thus the affection in situ is a great feeling. He is selective, yielding better moments with him. He is like a solvent, dissolving all I have in me and evaporating the sorrow after extraction. He is like base, neutralizing all my sorrow. My heart has already diazotised and coupled with him yielding some lovable colours in life.
Life was always unpredictable and it will be, but this man has sketched a hybridised stated, more symmetrical and still ready for covalent bond. Finally this reaction being exothermic, still behaves against Le Chatelier Principle. Thank you for everything you gave me, though you are slightly corrosive, but I will love to handle you with no concerns of your MSDS. Lastly, I can just say many things move like if thermodynamics proposes, kinetics disposes!

Sometimes it takes water to kindle the fire.

Love is not a search, doesn’t contain prognosis. Uncertainty, in fact is the flamboyance of love. Love is when you believe on rewinding the moments; realising that once there was nothing beyond him/her and now you are feeble to articulate the very feelings.
Love can be a time dependent thing, forgetting it isn’t. Nothing actually lasts forever. It was just another wrong number on my landline. The next time he called, he was on the better part of his valour expressing that he has fallen for my euphony. Thus it flourished. I wondered about it being just another leap in dark. But his dazzling flirts nevertheless lured me.
The very next day I was with my friends at college canteen, it was rushed. Girls, as usual were having some soul “girl talk”; I was never into that discussion. Something sparkled at me and I had a gaze of the soccer ground. I saw a hunk running after the ball, his sharp look made me forget that I was giving order to the waiter. I then came at the counter to pay and the same time those guys entered the canteen. I was pushed and consequently pressed against him. The proximity made me evaporate myself as if his perspiration smelled like perfume, as if I recognised something throwing me in different world. I was dumb not to look at him and go away!
Month passed, it was July, it poured that day and I found a tree to cover myself. There was a small abrasion of his strong hand against me. I looked into his serous eyes. He was in azure wet shirt, tall with gravity as if a man with thoughts that glow and words that burn. He stood with a vanity and rubbed his wet hair with heroic instinct. I sublimed and forgot to breathe; I smelled something quite known, it was the same feeling which I experienced in canteen that day.
Days passed.... Things went blurred. I was at cafe with my friends; someone got me a bunch of orchids. I ran and saw a cherubic handsome standing against his car. My blood was getting viscous as if something dragging me against him and my wish, as if someone whispered, “Don’t add extra pains, and get away!” I could see myself convincing my soul, “If it is a pain, let’s have a pain once, I will die if I live without pains, the paralysis will end me!” As soon as I recollected my senses, he spoke. His smile with deep dimples, glittering topaz eyes, marble chest, his dusky skin and black wet hair, sharp features attacking before his words, in fact he was something indeed splendid I saw in my life. He was the same guy; name him anything, my phone man, the soccer player or the Greek God in rains. He uttered, “I know you act crazy when you see me, I just wanted to tell you that am leaving tomorrow, here is something I wish to give you before I go.” Giving some envelope in my hand, he disappeared. This is called “Destiny”.
I opened it that night. Within it, there were my pictures; I have never seen myself so beautiful ever as he made me look into those clicks. He clicked them when I was around, unknown of him being there somewhere. I laughed with moist eyes. The last photography had something written on back side, “If God could give me a chance to cease something, I could have wished to cease these moments, I can’t, and I recovered. These gifted moments are enough to nurture something nameless feeling within us”
I didn’t understand it that time. He was in the ‘Indian Navy’. He went; that monsoon I realised that finer things are never glued, they perfume you, ignite you, burn you, regenerate you. Exists like a breeze, like a rainfall, like a hug in his warm arms against his carved chest, like melting in his moist lips, sweetness of his breathe hitting my face. The most lovable part was the telepathy we shared. As if whatever he does is heroic in some sense, his sophistication, his way of holding my wrest against him, his way of innocently hiding ignited cigarettes before me, the way he played guitar in his balcony, throwing his T away for a goal he made in high spirits. I will never forget those moments of night with a dripping sound of water through wet leaves, moist dawn, Gulmohar shedding down its petals for the aristocrat red carpet and the silent twilight. He was my personal brand of inebriant; I was addicted; though everything was washed away.
Everything pulverises, fades away. The only thing remains is the aroma, sweetest as the musk, of those emotions. Love, I learnt, is like a dewdrop. It condenses at dawn to enhance beauty but vaporises as day proceeds. And then I realised what he meant to say with that note. I found my love in that moment, though less but was liveable.

I Owe Her Everything

I have never tried estimating the very feeling, my mother must be getting during delivering the most beautiful thing she carried for nine months, in fact within her soul. My mother has repetitively telling me about I not being able to understand her feelings of concern and care. Beyond her spontaneous pains and long sleepless nights, her physical wounds are healed, but her emotional wound of being mother is still raw enough and will always be vulnerable.
She is a typical woman loving her husband and children beyond anything else, though she is a primary teacher. She is a modern day woman, but when it comes to her kids, she is more contemporary than anything, she will read newspaper, but cases are rare when she doesn't worry about her children by seeing any accident or fire! She might murmur to herself, "what if that was my child?" and I guess this thought process of typical mothers make them caring for others too. No road accidents, no plane crash, no fire will spare her from haunting, what can be more worse than watching her own child dying in front.
No matter how much my mom has turned sophisticated, she turns to her primitive levels when it comes to me and my brother. I have seen her sacrificing her lovable belongings without any hesitation, the only thing we need is to call her "mom" from any corner of the world. No matter how manyyears she has invested in her career, she derailed professionally for her motherhood. However decisive she is in her school, she constantly second guesses herself as a mother. The cesarean scar was never something ugly for her, in fact the shiny stretch marks were badges of pride.
I would always feel the exhilaration when I ride my bike but at the same point would see my mother's face full of weird thoughts. She must have fallen in love with the changed man, my father, all over again, this time for being unromantic though. She might then be feeling like loving that man more, who carefully powders the baby and never hesitates to play and talk with his child. She gained several pounds and ruined her figure after me, but she is always quite concern about her girl's figure. This might be the smallest version of her care, the one with the larger dimension is that she wishes few more years to Lord, not for her, but to see her child accomplishing their dreams.
Amity in teenage, harshness in childhood and naturing in all ages, I have seen her changing herself for me. Brilliance and grace of her love cannot be estimated. I remember my every cry when she shouted at me; my every meal, she cooked with dedication; my every gift, she bought when I wanted it badly; my cherished memories, where she has a lion share. She has never given me anything which I don't deserve.
I have penned this not for others, but for HER. Mhantat na "Swami tinahi jagacha aai vina bhikaari".

Beauty doesnot comprise Complexion

There are many things to learn, it's just that we refrain from doing them. It took me almost two decades to come out of the complex, I faced for being black. Yes, I am black. Black is suppose to be the colour of "SIN", in fact, black is the colour which have been carrying both sides, good as well as bad. Black may be the colour of evilness, but the blacks are not evils. I do remember every comment on me for me being black. I have lost many finer things in life. It felt like indefatigable thoughts resonating in my mind when I almost decided to suicide. Being black, I have tolerated nonsense comments by guys in my very tender age when every other girl aspires for praises of her beauty. My black complexion became integral part of my persona, it was inseparable then. I was never considered to be beautiful and the reason was always clearly stated, that I am black. It is till now we use various phrases and words like "blacklist, blackmail, black comedy, black mood, black hearted, black magic etc." describing unloving and undesirable things. Is this achromatic, hueless colour so disliked by people?
My parents and friends have been washing my brains over this topic since years, they have often gave me examples like Bipasha Basu, Helle Berry, Will Smith, Obama, Prabhu Deva, Remo, Tyra Banks and many others. But its tough to keep your foot in my shoe. "Colour matters". Many things in life had made me believe this very fact. I was called UGLY; I still control my tears when I listen to the story of "Ugly duckling". I have wasted my nights weeping over it. I have wasted all those sweeter moments I would enjoy rather. I have lost those attentions. People who are fair are given the preference, and no further research on this is needed. I am experiencing it daily. These vociferous thoughts indeed have eaten up my confidence and childhood. Life is quite beautiful and we have really less time to live to its fullest, this might sound a movie dialogue, but its true. These racial difference have thrown me away from the very world in my imagination, I forgot to smile, I forgot the ambrosia, I forgot that tickling , I forgot those melodious cavatina, I forgot those luminaries twinkling in sky, I forgot that chrome variegations, I forgot to love, I forgot to live, as if I was punished for this swarthiness. This imperceptionability of mass threw me in sudden depression for many years. I started hating myself, I never saw myself in mirror for hours, I never came in any photograph.
Beauty lies in the eyes of beholder; it took long time for me to digest this. I get immune then. My wisdom became my beauty, my cogitations gave me strength, and my noetic and rational approach is my pride. The compliments I got never bothered me first, but sooner when I got exposure to this world, I realised fair people cry for them, I was described as "girl with great personality", "girl with appealing voice", "girl with a great charm", "girl with lots of witty stuff", "a great conversationalist", "voluptuous" and many more. I observed the vigour, the utterance of soul, the elegance and lucidity of my thoughts and then I defined my own way.
Soon I realised that no dictionary in this world gives "swarthiness" as a synonym of "ugliness". It's just some contemporary and not justified belief. It's my loquacity and conation which attract people. Then I believed Life is to venerate. Live it. Love it.

Some relations are never defined.

The nights I remember, with hot cup of tea, colder winds, exam fever and this man just luring me with such an ease. Moreover, fighting against all those jealousy of he being liked by thousands of other girls, my unecessary possession. I have never been able to distinguish between “love, I think” and “the actual love, what people think about”. It’s not like I have never been in love, but these days its different, love was complex thing for me. I have never thought of someone abruptly entering my life and making me so addict of himself. Love is bigger word and time dependent (in recent days it is also distance dependent). I don’t know I should feel this about him or not, it’s just my heart wants to pour the emotions!

The state which robbed the mind peace; a want and a desire which matured with time and transformed to a need. I felt the sense of belonging to him wholly; readiness to accept him unconditionally. He is a source of courage to deny traditions, rules and customs. It was indeed the most beautiful state of mind a man can reach.

Love, maturity, matrimony were bigger words, he made them easier. It wasn't as complex as ocular fixation and then transforming into love, but it was just the readiness to spend good time with each other. May be love is defined as courage to spend their rest of the lives with each other (What can be a greater act of bravery?), but some relations do exist where defining them, spoils them. Though its a quite commendable phenomenon, it doesn't lack commitment, I am sure it isn't just a sheer carnal lust.

The sight of appealing satiates the thirsty retinal nerves, when I see him and love results. I know it isn't infatuation this time because my every rational thought sustained, it was never rusted nor even clouds of lust hovered. I am taking pride in relation causing all the differences to prove inconsequential. Roots of true love, after all, lies in understanding and flexibility. Though love is out of the vocabulary for both of us, something magical keeps us bound.

He might be neither expressive nor he thinks love is the thing to be displayed randomly, but I want his silence to speak volumes for me, though he is difficult to read. It is exponential feeling. I discovered that I can love and I can nurture. I was out of my senses when I saw this man, the very word came to my mind was “Casanova”. He has got the perfect lined teeth, beautiful lips, marble chest and incredible smile. Apart of extrinsic physical beauty, this man possessed a good heart and constituent brains to handle my Chaos.

Differences are always ample. It is, this time quite difficult for me to cope up. I can never be at his levels. But great things have sacrifices, the situation will always be wierd, no matter how much time I take. I sometime, laugh on myself, fractionating myself from world, thinking in lonliness, finner things are often momentary, they are lost with breeze of time and washed away with rains of experiences. My wit may lure him, but I am still not for him. Even his unromantic moods are enough for me to just set myself free in air. It is quite difficult for me to store eternal love, so I thought of glueing moments together. May be this is only a phase, may be he is not my cup of tea, whatever it is, lets not waste the feel. It’s very first time that I have enjoyed waiting for somebody, and pain in my eyes will still remain the same. Mhantat na.. “ prem mhanje prem mhanje prem asta..” Ayushyastlya sarvyach goshti kuthe define kele jatat! Infact, the most beauitful things in universe have remained in a tight fist, unexplored and virgin. Kharach halli bhalti "Bhangad"aste, nahi ka?