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?

INDEED CHAOS

Away from all the sick people and frustration, I was in my very world. No cold eyes, no pungent thoughts, no sarcastic comments, no outrageous dreams and no temptation to wounds. I was in my very train of thoughts.. sweeter this time! I do agree, when life becomes stagnant, one really aspires to stir it. Its similar to say "if you don't have problems create them!"

Those were the long chilled nights, when away from my bed and rugs, I have learnt, sensed, tasted, smelt and lived my life. It was an analysis to observe "me" .... I could distillate myself and was not a part of vapors this time! I was the precipitate, here to stay, ever and forever.

This was the time, I was realizing, sukh hai alag aur chain alag hai..par jo ye dekhe wo naina alag hai. I learnt to sit and enlist all bad things and good things when we happen to encounter any incidence. I was stronger then. Like cooling lava, hot but sedimenting.

This was the time when I realized only free space and atoms exist, rest is perception! Happiness is only a better way to express that. I never have been developing the courage of facing so many people at a time. But I did it. These holidays helped me in molding my relations with my mother at heart, better termed as father.

This was the time I could see the clear boundaries between friends and not so friends.

This was the time I asked myself the very question, which I should have asked before entering into my institute. Something inside me answered me, this was first time and I observed how all these factors contributed for my choice of the career. The Chaos helped me in the discovery of me being in existence and satisfaction of fighting against all odds and getting the best out of it. I hope for next couple of years I don't develop some other Chaos in mind, I hope I read newspapers with no random intense thoughts; I concentrate on my work without keeping my other self away from cherished moments. Exhilaration of seeing myself successful, though I know I can turn more unromantic and develop new philosophies! And finally I hope this distance and time parameters never bother me and my friends!