Wild Imagination

Being a woman

2011-09-22T21:50:00.000-07:00

He: hey

She: Hey!!!
Have been waiting to hear from you
How have you been?

He: good

She: That's good to know
Are you busy?
I could always talk to you later?

He: No

She: Have u hurt ur fingers
or something?
u seem to have difficulty typing

He: lol

She: wasnt trying to make u laugh
at least not consciously

He: :)

She: This is so bloody annoying
Why do I have to reply in 3 sentences
To ur stupid one word replies

He: chill! ur just bein a woman

August Rain

2011-09-15T00:21:00.000-07:00

Strangers did not make her squeamish. They just put her off. They were like these big bad clouds ruining her perfect August morning. They wouldn’t rain, nor would they let the winds flirt with the pootted pink petunias on her window sill. They would just stay stubbornly sulking in the skies blocking out a perfectly gorgeous sun. A bundle of useless murky colored fluff- that’s what they were; the clouds and the strangers.

The minute she saw him lean against the bar counter and whisper to the bartender, she knew her peace was about to be shattered. For that past half an hour he had been darting quick glances her way. She assessed her response to his glances. Did staring back with a frown on your face qualify as an invitation? Not the last time she checked. Did swiveling on the bar stool and turning her back on him mean he could offer her a drink? The rules had sure changed since the past week.

The bartender got busy with mixing drinks. He settled down on the stool , careful to avoid looking at her. If he looked at her before the steward got her the drink, he would come across as too eager. If he did not look at her at all, it would be flippant. If he looked at her after she was given the drink, he would come across as a coward. The timing would have to be just right. She knew that. Been there done that.

Would his timing be right? She narrowed her eyes at him. His hair was thick and cut stylishly short. Definitely an expensive hair stylist. So he was a man who cared about his looks. Was that good or bad? It could mean he was immensely self absorbed, or it could mean he simply liked to look good. Did he look good? His jaw was square cut in a very Tom Cruise way, that definitely worked in his favor. His lips had a pout that just missed being feminine, making them look very kissable in a romantic sort of way. His nose seemed to be a problem. It was fine till mid-length but seemed to flare a little too much for her taste. If only she could see his eyes. In the dim lighting of the bar, with his face turned away from her there was no way she could see his eyes. But the eyes were the key to the truth of his soul.

Her scrutiny was interrupted by the steward at her elbow. She looked at him. He was leaning his elbow on the bar, his head turned towards her with a confident smile stretching his tempting lips. Timing. He had gotten the timing right. She picked the glass off the tray and raised a toast to him. He lifted his glass in response but did not make a move to come towards her. Smart move. He could not afford to seem too desperate now.

She eyed the bomb pop handed to her. A tiny smile made its presence felt. He had noticed what she was drinking. Actually he had more than just noticed, he had actually identified her drink! Not everybody knew what a bomb pop was. That was one up for him. She took a hesitant sip of the drink. An eyebrow popped in appreciation all of its own accord. She looked at him bewildered. The drink was perfectly laced with an extra hint of lemonade. Just the way she liked it.

He moved off the stool and walked towards her. She watched his every step. The way his blue shirt clung to his torso, the way his long legs swallowed the distance between them. The way his eyes never left her.

“Hope nothing’s wrong with the drink,” he smiled. Confident. Sassy. His voice was gruff. Had he already had one drink too many? If he did; it did not show.

“Its perfect. Thank you.”

“I noticed you frown through the evening,” he leaned against the table. “Was going to blame it on the drink.”

“Guess you were wrong. The drink had nothing to do with it!” She meant to be rude, but her voice had a smile in it.

“I figured that out when you turned your back on me,” he laughed.

“And yet you choose to buy me a drink?”

“I cant help it if you have an irresistibly sexy back!” He defended. Mischief poured through his eyes, which she noticed were a crazy shade of hazel.

Sometimes, she told herself as she sipped her bomb pop, grey clouds burst into a bubble of rains. And in an instant the weather changes. August rains, she confessed, were the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced.

Almost Stranger

2011-06-01T04:35:00.000-07:00

“Good Lord Anamika!” Sejal screeched in mock horror, “since when did you start liking that awful shade of blue?”

Anamika smiled and shook her head at her best friends theatrics. “Its called powder blue by the way,” she informed Sejal. In response Sejal threw her elegant neck back in a scoff. Anamika absently stirred her coffee, as she watched Sejal go through the routine of folding her expensive snake skin jacket across the back of her chair. Her Burberry bag was given a seat of its own at their table. She rolled back the sleeves of her white silk top and pulled a menu towards her.

Leaving her friend to do a critical appraisal of what was on offer at the newly opened café, she turned to stare out of the glass panes that shielded the café from the rest of the city. Her eyes roamed over the array of colors over restless feet. Each a stranger to the one less than a foot away. An occasional step out of sync made the strangers either smile at each other, or frown their disdain. Either way, it was a discord which made them acknowledge the presence of another human being.

“It used to be my favorite color you know,” she said suddenly, startling Sejal out of the menu. “Back when Rishabh and I were dating; powder blue used to be my favorite color,” she smiled. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes and she forced her smile wider in an attempt to cover them up.

The steward chose that moment to collect their orders. Sejal hastily ordered a hazelnut latte and diet sandwich. Anamika continued to stir her coffee. Sejal fidgeted for a couple of seconds adjusting the pearls in her ears. It was the only way she could stop herself from pushing Anamika into a conversation.

“This,” Anamika looked down at her powder blue shirt and blinked, “is a birthday gift from Rishabh. He still remembers I like powder blue.”

“Uhuh,” Sejal nodded. “That’s bull shit!”

“Sorry?”

“You used to like powder blue Ann. Like Ten years ago! Your fav color now is purple! The whole world knows that!” Sejal sat back and grinned plastically at Anamika.

“And I used to think Rishabh and I would remain best friends for life,” Anamika rested her elbows on the table and leaned on them. She squinted once again at the glass panes, “Like ten years ago? I really believed that Rishabh would remain my best friend forever.”

“That sounds like high school talk Ann and you know that,” Sejal reasoned. “It sounds like a girl who dreams of a prince charming on a white horse with a happily ever after. You are not that girl, anymore! You have grown up! And grown ups understand the concept of change. Everybody changes. Some a little more than others. It happens all the while!”

“Yeah yeah I know. I changed. I like purple instead of blue. He changed. He likes brown instead of black. But see?” Anamika leaned a little more towards Sejal. “I know he changed. I am aware he changed. I know what he has changed into. I accept it. But he still thinks I am the Ann he married seven years ago.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I still get powder blue gifts on birthdays, it means that he does not know I’d rather eat subway instead of chinese, that I like baking over cooking and that somewhere it hurts so bad that he has no time to notice this change!” A tiny tear slipped right down her cheek this time. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a tissue. “Ten years ago, I fell in love with a stranger who became my best friend,” she sniffed, “ten years later my best friend is an almost stranger.”

Goodbye

2011-04-26T02:21:00.000-07:00

Tears shivered on the brink of her reddened eyes. Unable to stay back, afraid of falling over the edge. A cowardly tear, unable to bear the pain, tumbled down the corner. It traveled all the way to her lip, leaving a shimmering path in its wake. It trembled momentarily, uncertain once again and then plunged down her lip.

She brushed an impatient hand against her lips. The ring on her finger bruising their swollen gentleness. She sniffed and cleared her throat. She took two steps backwards, increasing the distance between him and her. Her stone studded stilettos clicked softly but firmly on the spotless white tiles. The click a whisper of an echo in the stillness which surrounded her.

She watched him, as he threw his head back and laughed. The sunlight caught in his soft brown hair and made it look rustier than usual. She would remember him this way. She promised herself she would. For her, he would always laugh.

She tugged the red scarf free off her neck. For a moment she rubbed the satin smoothness between her fingers. She wondered if he remembered the scarf. It was not the only red thing they shared. One a rainy day, years ago, she had lovingly tied it around his neck. The red a perfect compliment to his fair skin.

The tears sprung again. And this time they did not hesitate. A drop landed on the scarf in her hand, darkening the shade of that spot to a much deeper red. Another tear soon followed. She looked away, blinking fast, as if that could stop the years of yearning. The tears had another plan in mind.

She crumpled to the floor unable to bear their torturous onslaught. The red scarf clutched tightly in a grip. It matched everything around it – the white tiles, her simple black dress, the pale hand it was clutched in. After a couple of moments she got to her feet. She tied the red scarf around the handle of the window. She watched for a moment longer as the glass between them muted his movements to her.

He looked happy.

“Goodbye, son” She whispered, uncaring that her farewell went unheard. She spun on her heels and headed out of the door.

She leaned for a moment against the door of her car and closed her eyes. Yes, he was laughing. For her, he would always laugh. She opened the door of the car and slid inside. She would always be able to picture him in the blink of an eye.

Always.

So how was it possible that she would never see him again?

Stuck

2011-03-16T01:05:00.000-07:00

Love? An over rated four letter world which drives men up the wall with women chasing them to the high ceilings. There is nothing fantastic about love. No major mystery which science cannot solve. Attraction is easily explained by chemistry. Intoxication could not be better defined than the Jack Daniels burning down his throat this very moment. Jack Daniels could in seconds strip love to its barest existence, which was in end effect no existence at all. Then why was he sparing so much thought berating the non-existent entity?

Black curls. Damn those black curls! It was those black curls which got him thinking of love. Soft, as if the clouds had abandoned the skies and surrendered to the temptation of framing her face with darkness. Lush like they had parted from the bosom of a turbulent sea. It was those damned curls which tempted him to go back to her. Those curls and those heart shaped lips. Just thinking of the way her full upper lip slightly over shadowed the line of pink below it made him want to kiss her. Again.

Her caramel eyes would widen, first with shock and then with pleasure. They would change to a darker brown as shades of desire rained down upon them. Thick black lashes would slowly curtain them from his view as she drowned in the temptation he created. He so desperately wanted to kiss her again. He sloshed some more whiskey in his glass and downed it one gulp. It did nothing to aid the searing fire building within him.

He walked briskly to the window. Outside the city lay scattered, its crazy lights blinking in a futile effort to draw the attention away from the madness of its existence. A lot like love, he thought. Scattered, with no idea of where to go or how to go, blinded by momentary flashes of that which could never last. He rested his palm on the cool glass pane. Vapors outlined the contours of his thick strong fingers.

He remembered the way they looked against her skin. Brown streaks of harsh strong passion blemishing the cream of her vanilla skin. She shivered at his touch. Not from fright, but from the joy of anticipation. Her skin was smooth, the kinds you wanted to touch forever. He pulled his hand away from the glass. The way he was thinking about her one would think she was the first woman he had ever been with.

In many ways she was. No other woman had made him feel like this. No other woman had generated any emotion in him whatsoever. They had been willing means to an end. The biology of the human existence making some moments of life a little more bearable than the rest. She defied science. Science would set a throbbing between his legs, she made his heart thud in his ears.

Was he in love? He reached for the almost empty Jack Daniels and poured it out in his glass. The answer to that question could mean the beginning of an end.

Strangers

2011-01-11T22:45:00.000-08:00

She woke up to the sound of early morning birds. Her thick dark lashes, sticky from the mascara she had used last night, seemed reluctant to go off each other. Her cheeks lifted in a slight smile. Her smile said she was happy. For the moment at least. She stretched her small body to work off the last vestiges sleep. Her hand touched smooth skin. Still smiling she sat up in bed, dragging the sheet along with her. It crumpled at her waist and exposed his delicious back to her.

In the soft glow of the golden dust, his back looked a rich bronze. Muscles rippled beneath his leathery skin as he tucked his hands under his head and settled into a deeper sleep. She could not stop herself from touching that tempting back just once more. His skin was warm. Inviting.

Like him.

“You look lonely tonight,” he had said. And she had been. It had been a big mistake to come to party. It still hurt to see her ex with another woman. Any other woman. She had thought she was over him. But the loud night with its even louder music was teaching her otherwise. He on the other hand had no issues grinding his hips with the other girls at the club. It sickened her. She sought refuge at the bar. She had never been a heavy drinker and she was not about to start now. But she was definitely tempted to test the theory of alcohol being able to drown all else.

And that’s where he had found her. She watched as he leaned an elbow on the bar table and settled his glass more firmly between his long fingers. He had a gorgeous smile. A perfect line of lips encircling perfect white teeth. His right cheek caved into a dimple making him look innocent and sensuous at the same time. Was he really talking to her? Her ex had made it clear that no man with all his parts intact was likely to find her attractive at first sight. And given the way this man looked, he would have better luck than her ex in finding hot women to take home.

“I think you could use some company,” he said when she hadn’t spoken. She frowned at him. “What are you drinking?” He pointed with his eyes to her now empty glass.

“Martini,” she replied automatically. He raised his eyebrows in either wonder or appreciation, she would never know. He signaled the bartender to refill her glass and settled himself on the bar stool next to her.

She had no idea why she was letting this absolutely handsome stranger buy her a drink. Some tiny part of her wished her ex was watching every bit of this. She wanted him to feel like he was missing out on something big by leaving her behind. She felt like she had lost something big when he had walked out on her without a second glance. She shook her head to clear her thoughts of him.

“Want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asked helpfully. He had a voice like rich dark chocolate. It warmed you from the inside.

“Spare me the psychobabble,” she replied rudely, annoyed at herself for being lustily attracted to this complete stranger.

“Sorry?”

“All that bull crap about how talking to a stranger is easier because he is a stranger kind of crap,” she explained lamely. He laughed. A rich sound which left a tingling sensation right down to her toes.

“I have a better theory,” he said looking straight into her eyes.

“Really?” She challenged.

“Sex with a stranger!”

It was her turn to laugh. He shrugged his shoulder and took a sip of whatever he was drinking. “Think about it.” He was not looking at her but looking somewhere straight ahead. “There are so many times when words are not enough to express exactly what you feel. Love. Hate. Anger. Frustration. Sorrow. Whatever. There is no exact way in which to say it. So many times when you find the right stranger to shoulder you feelings, but you don’t know how or what to say.” He looked at her, “I say you don’t need words. You don’t need any superficially clamor of meaningless alphabets when you can show what you feel. When in the silence of words, heartbeats talk and breaths mingle to understand, to comfort. It’s magical!”

She stared at him. Entranced. Enchanted. He was insane. Every word of what he had said was sheer insanity. Yet it made sense to her. She could not take her eyes off him and he never looked away from her.

That was last night. This was now. It was morning. The spell was broken. It was time to move on. Reluctantly she pulled her hand away from his back. She stepped noiselessly off the bed and gathered her clothes. He had not promised her anything more than one night. One night of passion. One night of confession. One night where she had bared her soul to him. All the hurt, all the agony, all the anger there for him to see, to soothe as she submitted her nakedness to him. He had been tender. He had cared. He had heard her silence and he had kissed every last bit of sadness out of her.

One night which was everything she had ever dreamed a night could be.

She pulled her dress over head and slipped into her heels. A tiny tear slipped down the same cheek which had minutes ago been smiling. After baring herself to him how could she ever treat him like a stranger?

Winter memories

2011-01-03T00:39:00.000-08:00

It was the perfect winter morning.

Silver mists flirted with a crimson sun. A purple tinge searing the white skies was a testimony to the fun they were having. Orange leaves rustled their goodbyes. Lifelessly they flitted to the foot of the tree. They crunched, and the tree winced invisibly. Silently watching as the leaf, which was once the reason for his very existence was ground into dust under the unknowing heel.

She could hear the crunch, and she could feel the pain. Yet, she could not stop herself from putting one foot before the other. Crunching, crushing, realizing. If only she could do that with memories too. Memories, which were faded and worn. If only she could grind them to dust as easily as the autumn leaves.

Memories which shackled her happiness. Like the green heavy moss on the barks of ancient oaks, they refused to let go. And she stood there, just as mute and just as heavy, letting the past creep on her. She was addicted to her past. A past which had almost killed her.

Crunch!

Another leaf ground to the dust.

Another moment gone. Another past created. Another memory born.

Are memories immortal?

Do they ever die?

Crunch!

More dust.

Her breath danced on clouds of vapor, as she continued walking. The warmth of life mixing with the cold of death creating a new moment… which vanished. She had to stop killing the future before it s time. She had to let hope reside. To live in the past, would mean to die. For one cannot survive in the cycle of that which has already happened.

So why did she keep returning to that moment of decision? To that fork where you could choose to live or choose to exist?

Her heel clicked against the cobblestone. She breathed a sigh of relief. The crunching leaves were beginning to torment her. This was a new path. Shining, gleaming, black. The winds warned her before they blew the mists away. Naked sunlight streaked through the clear skies and sizzled on her scars.

Another reminder that this was her second chance.

She ran a finger along her cheek, tracing the scar that ran along it. Twenty years had done naught to erase it. Nor had they managed to ease the pain of the memory of its birth. The scar had taken her parents away. The scar had left her alive.

Was the scar good or bad?

On the horizon she could see the fog kicking up again. A hazy line which blurred the golden edge of earth’s stolen kiss. An intruder. Unwelcome.

Her head dropped and she sighed. The swirls of her breath danced around her pink, glistening lips. An image flashed through her mind. Blood, hair, rugs and piece of glass sticking out of her cheek. The sun glinted off the glass and scattered a million colors on her bleeding cheek.

She shook her head to clear the memory.

Crunch!

She was back under the tree again.

Whispers of the shadows

2010-12-14T02:31:00.000-08:00

He was a thief. He stole magic from the night. He wrapped himself in the invisible velvet so tight, that every touch of his mesmerized, tantalized, caressed... He tempted life to surrender every sense to his bidding. He was addiction- of the worst kind.

She never wanted to let him go.

She had let him paint imaginary stars on the dark canvas of her wounded dreams. She had known, even then, that when she would wake up, the stars would disappear taking him with them. But she had indulged him nevertheless. How could she not? She was spellbound, wasn't she? Captivated by his presence, enamored by his existence.

She had known it was too good to be true.

He had led her and she had blindly followed. Their dance a final performance on the stage of life. She wanted the dance to last forever. She could not miss a step, for a missed step would ruin the perfection of their moment. Yet with every step, she was closer to the moment the curtain would fall.

To dance or not to dance?

His smile made his lies so believable, for some moments she pretended with him that they were true. With his smile he created a new world for her. A world he would soon leave. But he never told her that. His smile just asked her to believe in that which could not be.

And she did.

Without a noise, the magic ended. All it took was the meeting of his lids. He closed his eyes on his world and hers, leaving her all alone.

Like she had known all along he would.

La Belle et la Bête

2010-11-06T17:19:00.000-07:00

A Halloween night was not the best of times to give up the familiar confines of Hard Rock Cafe and end up venturing to some upstart lounge bar called Enter The Dragon in Koregaon Park, he decided over a sip of Jack Daniels. Of course, the fact that Celine Deon was trying to be haunting while singing 'Beauty and the Beast' might have had something to do with it. But in his heart he knew he would have enjoyed it, had he been with Pragya.

He kept thinking of their times together. Those knotted fingers, not ready to leave each others' comfort even when an upright septuagenarian of the society would clear his throat loudly every time he passed by on his evening walk. Those stolen kisses, that seemed to start for a moment and lingered on forever.. It was kind of funny thinking of those times in this environment- the romantic images providing a stark contrast in his mind to the visual inputs he was receiving at the moment, surrounded by devils, vampires, death eaters and what not!!

"Pragya!" He called out as a silken touch on the back of his neck brought him out of his trance like state.

"Oops! I am so sorry"

This was a woman in a black, off shoulder gown who was dressed up as a vampire.

"It's ok" He muttered as she floated away towards the bar.

This girl was interesting, he thought. She was not really a mirror cracking beauty, though she had an exquisiteness in features few others could have hoped to match. Her cheekbones were the defining feature of her face, or were they? The blue of her eyes stood out in contrast to her fair to a fault complexion. But there was something that struck a jarring note. Her face seemed pale, almost chalk white. But what was the point thinking about her, and he returned to his drink.

"Would you mind terribly if I shared the table with you?" Again the same girl. "There is no table which is vacant, and since you seem to be alone....." She trailed off.

"It would be a pleasure" He somehow stammered.

Now that he had an opportunity to study her, he tried to take her details in without ending up ogling at her. His attention was drawn to the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. The ring was made of silver, perhaps. But it was not the material which fascinated him. He was hooked up by the design on the ring. It was small, yet intricately carved. It could not have been a demonic beast, could it??

"Umm... I am Bella" She was saying.

"Oh! Hi, I am Vivek."

"So you are not really deaf. I have told you my name four times in the last ten minutes..."

How did I end up in this place, he was thinking. As he lay between the sheets after a night of passion, their bodies pressing together, he could really not recollect what led to what and they ended up at her place. What he did recollect, though, was an array of figurines of beasts of all kinds of ferocity in the hall, in the living room and here in the bedroom too..

Now, she was asleep, and he could study her at length. But still, he was fascinated by the beauty of the ring... He took her palm in his hands. It seemed so delicate, so... fragile. He looked at the ring, and the beast in the ring seemed to be looking back at him... It gave him an awkward feeling. Pragya's face flashed in his mind. But he willed those thoughts away.

The ring seemed to glide down her finger as he tried to take it off. She seemed to be waking up. On an impulse, he decided to put it on, knowing it would never fit him. Why, his little finger would be larger than Bella's thumb! But the ring fit, snug!

Bella turned towards him, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Strangely, the kiss seemed to leave a cold sensation. He tried to speak, but could not.

"Vivek. That is your name, right? I think you would fit well on my V shelf. As such, there are only three of them there."

He could not move, he could not say anything. He seemed to be losing all his senses.

"Thanks a lot for one more year of youth, sweetheart. And you were not too bad in the bed, either!"

Drunken Experiment

2010-10-29T11:42:00.000-07:00

Its not like me to get personal on this space. Normally it is my imagination which springs wings and takes flights of fantasy into the unexplored world of human emotions. Words just splash themselves on an invisible canvas and a new love story begins with the tender laces of black and white.

But that's what usually happens here.

Usually, when I am not tempted by goofy possibilities. When my natural instinct to write overrides my basic instinct to be me. And today is definitely unusual!

For the very first time, I have turned to the keyboard in a sense of blissful stupor. Some might call it being drunk, I think of it as being alive. All my sensed working beyond their optimum capacity. Its a little after midnight. I can hear the clock eerily ticking above the annoying clacking of my keyboard. Like the mighty hands are ticked off at being subdued by the incessant click of the puny keys. I, though, am silently pleased. I dont even want to count the number of times that horrid ticking has kept me awake at night, fueling my imagination with nightmarish thoughts!! Serves them right! Go tick away!

There is a slight wind blowing right outside my closed window. And I swear I can actually see it move. Its like angels have dressed in black and crept out of the high heavens for a midnight fiesta outside my window. Their noiseless feet move gracefully across my rusting balustrade and every now and then I can hear a giggle or two.

I am not imagining it!

The winds ought to be cold at this time of the year. There is a definite drop in temperatures. A cold chill runs down my spine as I summon this thought. Goosebumps taint my dry skin. But I swear that guy in the red T-shirt standing next to his black CRV has sweaty palms as he helps his drunken date into the apartment. I can almost smell his thoughts.

And gag on them.

Yuck!

I can hear him too. Waiting for me to join him as we close our eyes on another day together. I can hear him getting impatient to fold me in his arms and let me loose only when a new day has dawned upon us. I can hear him waiting to tell me, that tomorrow is another chance to create a lifetime together, so lets hurry up and seal today!

I love listening to things he never says!

Unfortunately I hear them best only when I am drunk!

Dancing in Dreams

2010-09-28T01:53:00.000-07:00

Thick eyelashes rested gently upon the silken smoothness of her creamy cheeks. The night winds stilled to coordinate their dance to the rhythmic rise and fall of her slumbering chest. Invisible angels guarded the doors to her dreams, lest some unwanted warrior thoughts break the spell of this dream.

This dream which repeated itself every month on the same night. For on this night, twenty four months ago, she had turned her back on the one she loved, without realizing that she had indeed loved him. And every day since, with the streak of veal announcing the departure of a cumbersome night, she had woken up knowing that she had lost on love. The agony of life was painted with invisible ink in the form of scars on her memory. Moments which refused to be erased with the advent of newer ones. Incidents which embedded themselves with startling clarity in the soft creases of her shaken mind, and which sprang forth unannounced, taking her by surprise. Pain laced with knowledge reminded her she could still feel.

This dream was a respite. When unwittingly she slipped from reality into the arms of love. His arms. She knew exactly how she would feel once in his embrace. Like a million butterflies had carried the golden dust of an autumn sun on their velvet wings. And he would hold her like that for as long as she wanted him to. She wanted to be held forever.

Yet even in her dream, she knew that this dream was bound to end. Clutching desperately at his shoulder she would lift her eyes to his face, daring all the love she held for him to shine through her eyes. She never spoke in her dreams. Words could shatter a spell. She willed him to understand her love. She willed him to forgive. She willed him to realize that she would never love again.

“Wrong again, my love,” he whispered. She fluttered her eyes in confusion. Why did he sound so different? And wasn’t this supposed to be a silent dream? Why did he talk then?

Before she could part her lips to speak, he rested a feathered finger on her lips. Through the blinding halo which surrounded his angelic face, she sought his eyes. The strength of his halo blinded her. She blinked. Then she squeezed her eyes shut. The butterflies were flapping their wings in such agony that their flapping sounded like the thunder ready to split the sky.

“Once again you make the mistake of loving but not knowing that you do,” he whispered as he lowered his cold lips to hers.

And then he was gone. So were the butterflies. But the sun-kissed warmth lingered behind. She searched her dream high and low, she even called his name. But this time she found herself all alone.

Maybe not.

If she stretched her dream little more, she could envelope the hazy silhouette dancing on the fringes. The silhouette was dancing hypnotically. Like it had a song of its own which the world wouldn’t know. She moved towards it. It was a man. Dancing alone to the songs of broken love and a heart forlorn. Yet he was happy. Happy to be dancing to a tune of his own.
She walked towards him, her own feet as light as air. Her left foot already tapping a rhythm in sync with his. He did not stop, but he took her hand in his and together they danced under strawberry skies and honeyed winds. They danced for love. Lost and won. They danced for life. The one gone by and the one just begun.

Two strangers, not so strange anymore, dancing in dreams, dancing to dance some more.

The angels left them to their dance. The skies were changing color, the night was taking leave to go. They hesitated for a moment and then kissed her sleeping form. They had a feeling they might need to guard her dreams no more.

He followed their kiss, with one of his own .

She fluttered sleepy eyes to his loving face as he whispered, “Good Morning, love.”

Wood Logged

2010-09-07T23:45:00.000-07:00

“I have to be totally insane to be doing this!” she giggled as she pulled the sheet over her breasts. He leaned over and nibbled at her soft earlobe. She giggled again.

“Either that,” he said as he trailed kisses down her slender neck, “or insanely in love!”

“That too,” she purred as she let go off the sheet and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“I don’t believe you haven't told anybody about this!” he said as he traced her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. She arched herself towards him, encouraging his explorations.

“You were right,” she purred, “nobody would have approved.”

He dug his hand into her thick black hair and tilted her face towards him. With his thumb he traced the outline of her lower lip, “So everybody think you are attending a conference in Milan?”

In response she wrapped her lips around his exploring thumb and sucked on it. It was his turn to smile. “And what do people at work believe?” he asked mischievously.

“That,” she leaned closer to him, her lips a breath away from his, “I have a family function to attend.” With that she sealed any further conversation by taking his lips firmly between hers.

The eerie stillness outside the wooden cabin was a striking contrast to the roaring passion inside. The trees stood in silhouetted dread against the morbid background of a starless grey sky. Despite the chill, there was nothing to stir the pointed leaves which ached to flutter to ground and bury themselves in the same dirty soil they once rose from. For miles around there was nothing but a thicket which stood as dead as a cemetery. And an everlasting chill.

A thin sheen of sweat highlighted their abandoned passion. They lay down beside each other, staring at the ceiling. Minds devoid of all thought and bodies alive with the sensation of being loved.

“That’s weird,” she said breaking the silence. “I don’t even hear a cricket!”

“It’s too cold for the cricket to be making noises,” he explained.

“What are we doing out here, all by ourselves, cut away from this world, in this cabin of yours?” she smiled and snuggled closer to him.

“Rediscovering love,” he wrapped an arm around her. “You know that was a dangerous thing to do,” she said seriously.

“What was?” she asked staring at him in confusion.

“Coming here without telling a soul about where you were going to be,” he explained. She scoffed. “What if I was a serial killer or something. And this cabin was a place where I got women and then murdered them.”

“Are you?”

“Let’s say I am!”

“Then when you murder me, would it be like a gruesome form of murder, or would you make it painless.”

“Oh I would keep it gruesome. I would torture you and get off on that expression of naked fear in your eyes. It’s how serial killers operate. Didn’t you know?”

She raised herself on her elbows and looked at him. “Ok now you are scaring me,” she laughed nervously.

“The scared you are, the better for me,” he eyed her steadily.

“This is absurd!” she got off the bed and pulled the sheet around her. “You think this is a joke?” she shouted at him. “You get me all the way here, to some godforsaken place and start talking all this psychotic bull shit with me!” She exited the room.

He shook his head and laughed. He got off the bed and pulled on his boxers. “Sweetheart,” he shouted to her, “ You know I was just kidding! I love you !” He followed her to the kitchen. “Ok, I am sorry. I know I took that joke a little too far. Talk to me…”

She turned around with the meat knife grasped firmly in her hand. A small sad smile danced on her just-kissed lips. “Look,” he reasoned with her, “I am no serial killer and you don’t need to get that defensive. Put that knife down.”

“Ok!” she laughed and struck the knife in stomach.

“Ok!” she laughed again as she pulled the knife out. His eyes widened as he registered the blood flowing through the fingers of his clasped hands.

“Ok!” she laughed as she plunged the knife into his chest.

“Ok!” she laughed as she plunged the knife through his ribs.

“Ok! Ok! Ok!”

All Is Well That Ends Well..

2010-09-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

The chill in the air was freezing... Reaching his bones and icing his marrow.. And after a long day's work in which his only respite was a cup of rancid coffee..

The day had started off bad.. Missed breakfast as there was no way he could have made it to the office in time after getting up so late... Got stuck in a traffic jam due to the fog.. Reached an hour late for a presentation to the client.. An hour late!!! He knew the loss of the client will be squarely blamed on him, when the presentation itself was pathetic and could hold no client interested even if there was Shakira doing a belly dance on the tunes of Waka Waka for them after the presentation...

In the cafeteria, an over-zealous cleaner cleaned his tiffin dabba off the table before he could taste a morsel of the aloo parathas the PG aunty had packed for him, while he had gone to pick up a spoon.. Disgusted, he decided not to eat anything at all..

And then, the dressing down in the office of the boss!! As expected, the morning debacle was blamed squarely on him... And what was more, he was assigned one more report to make and submit by the next morning.. And the stupid phone had to ring at precisely the moment when the boss was just about seeing the merit of his arguments vis-a-vis the presentation.. How he hated these Bajaj Allianz insurance people at that point in time!!!

So, being the last one out of office, correction last but one before the guard, he was trudging his weary way back home in the late evening hours... Once back to his room, he picked up the newspaper and was about to call the PG aunty for dinner when he saw the stick on pasted on the smiling photo of Sachin Tendulkar on the front page that told him to fend for his own dinner that night as aunty had to go to some stupid wedding!!!

He just picked up the newspaper and started going over it, from one end to the other... And somewhere inbetween the advertisements for a "personal massage at your home" he found something that made his day!! Or rather, his night!!

Immediately, he set down on the task at hand.. A few punches of some buttons on an otherwise meaningless jumble of wires and chips later, he was ready... And boy, was it as good as promised?? Precisely two minutes later, as he opened the door, the aroma wafting into his nostrils made him go weak in the knees... The sight was, if possible, even more delicious.. Could anything on this earth give a single man more joy?? Surely, this must be the best creation God could have ever come up with... So smooth, so enticing... As he opened his mouth to taste the forbidden fruit, so to speak, he literally felt he was in heaven itself...

Inbetween his umm's and aah's, the only other thing he thought was - He was lucky to have with him on this winter night, a packet of Maggi...

Trapped

2010-08-27T18:55:00.000-07:00

He was the first one to wake up as usual. He rubbed the sleep off his eyes and padded into the kitchen. Sherman, the calico cat they had picked off the street, dutifully rubbed herself along his pajama clad leg. Smiling he bent down to stroke her soft fur. No matter what time he woke up, she was always pleased to see him. He opened the fridge to fetch the carton of milk. She clung on to his pajama and climbed up to his shoulder. She stay poised there as he fetched her old orange bowl and poured out a decent helping for her. She then promptly forgot about him, shut her eyes and greedily gulped the milk.

Morning routine phase I over. He sighed tiredly the smile crumbling from his face. He scooped coffee into the filter and turned on the coffee machine. He looked around their tiny kitchen. From the window, just above the granite platform on his left, he could see the garden and the clear skies beyond. It was a perfect autumn day. Pink laces decorated orange tinged clouds. The sun was beginning to look lazy and the warmth was being gradually replaced by a gentle chill. The gurgling water called his attention back to the coffee machine. Right behind the pot was the note to fetch croissants from the local bakery.

“How could I forget?” He mumbled as grabbed his jacket and draped it over his white T-shirt. “Croissants on anniversary day!” He walked the brief five hundred meters to the bakery at a brisk pace. He hated croissants. Not that it had ever mattered. She loved warm croissants with the butter still melting on their glazed surfaces. So croissants it had been for every anniversary breakfast.

They had married for love. Or so they believed. He would do anything she wanted, just to see her happy. She knew what she wanted in order to be happy. The equation was complete. Yet ever since they had gotten married, he had been restless. With every passing year the restlessness just increased. It was like something was wrong, something was out of place. And the last week he had figured out what it was.

He reached the bakery. The warm aroma of freshly baked bread engulfed him and lifted his mood by a thousand notches. The smell of warm bread would always remind him of her. Not his wife. But her. The girl with a crescent dimple who lived one door away, on their right. He had bumped into her a couple of months ago. She had hurried into the bakery clad in pink pajamas, with a white fluffy shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders. She stood in the line behind him and darted shivering smiles at him. For a week they did not speak to each other, just smiled their acknowledgments.

Finally on the eighth day he had asked, “Are you new around here?”

“About a month old,” she grinned back.

And just like that they had gotten talking. She lived with her brother and his wife. Both were doctors, while she was an artist. She painted. She had graduated with a degree in commercial arts and was working out of her own studio for the past five years. She was spending some time at her brother’s home, helping him do his house up by lending them her creative inputs. They invited her entire family for dinner. Soon get-togethers became a part of all their lives.

He looked forward to having her over. She was vibrant. Everything she did, she did it with a passion. She even listened to what you had to say with a passion. He found himself discussing things with her. Things he would have never dared discussed with his wife. His wife did not have the temperament to listen. He also discovered that with her, he could be himself. Say things he wanted to say, do stuff he wanted to do and be assured that she wouldn’t be quick to judge and quicker to condemn.

And just like that on a bright Wednesday afternoon, as he watched her walk down the road in front of his house, his heart had squeezed with an aching to reach out to her. The feeling was so strong that it numbed everything within him. He could not move. His wife had walked into the kitchen and scolded him for leaving the eggs unattended. Her voice registered in his head, but his senses were attuned to the lazy walk of that figure crossing the road. Sensing his gaze, she turned and looked towards his house. Seeing him standing on his doorway, she cracked a smile. That crescent shaped dimple dented her left cheek and he was lost again. She lifted a hand and waved at him. Reflexively he waved back. She turned around, her hair flapping in the wind and walked into her house. He just stood there.

After five years of marriage he had fallen in love.

He sensed her before he saw her. She had slipped in behind him at the line at the bakery.

“Hello stranger,” she smiled at him.

He smiled back at her. In that moment the world was a nice place to be in. The line moved and it was his turn to order the croissants. She ordered for bread. They paid for their purchases and started walking back together.

“Croissants!” She said with delight. “What’s special?”

“Anniversary,” he shrugged with half a smile.

“That’s wonderful!” she beamed. “Happy Anniversary! Are we celebrating?”

“Do you want to?”

“Do YOU want to?”

“If it means you are coming. Yes.”

“And if I am not coming?” she asked.

“Then I’ll let her decide what she wants to do,” he replied honestly.

“Well then let her decide!” She announced still smiling. “It is her anniversary too after all!”

“I think she would love to have you guys over. She loves throwing a party!”

“Are you sure?”

“I have been married for five years!”

“Of course!”

“Will you come?”

“Maybe,” she stuck her tongue out at him and left him standing at his door. Inside he could hear the coffee still boiling. He looked at her back for a long moment, but then remembered his wife did not like her coffee too strong. He headed inside to fetch the coffee and melt the butter on top of the croissants.

“Happy Anniversary!” He mumbled.

Understanding Love

2010-08-19T00:27:00.000-07:00

“Was it worth it?” she asked as she tucked her feet beneath herself and settled more comfortably on the rocking chair. Everything around her was a complete contrast to her deceptively serene stance. Angry raindrops slapped against the window panes, threatening to crack their fragile existence. Lightening slashed he already bruised skies like a murderer’s blade. Winds howled and waged a war against the sheets of water. Any attempt to blow them away was met with a brutal resistance. The heavens had gotten in touch with their dark sides.

Inside the twelve by twelve bedroom, a different kind of chaos reigned. Her room mate buzzed around like a bee with a short term memory loss. She picked up things – clothes, shoes , books, pen stands, photo frames walked to the big bad spread open on the tiny bed, dumped them in only to pull them out again and scatter them all over the room. She walked briskly to the dresser and grabbed the perfumes, lipsticks and her favored artificial jewelry and dropped them into the bag instead. She stood there for a moment thinking and then upturned her entire bag on to the floor kicking viciously at the jewelry and scattering it everywhere along the marble floor. It was a good thing she had decided to sit with her feet off the floor.

She watched her room mate’s tear stained face. Fresh tears mingled with the mascara coated old ones, leaving ugly black streaks along her fair and slightly reddened cheeks. Unlike the cheeks, her nose had no compunctions sporting a bright red right on its buttoned end. A small amount of water ran down her nose. She valiantly tried to sniff it in, before her body rocked with another bout of heart wrenching stops. She stopped mid-stride in her pacing, to let the sobs flow out of her body. Then rubbing her nose on the sleeve of her three thousand rupees top, she started hurling things into the bag once again. She seemed to be undecided on whether she wanted to leave or stay.

“Was what worth it?” She sniffed and tried to gather the scattered clothes in her shivering arms.

“Being in love,” she said simply.

She paused her gathering and turned her beautiful wet eyes to the window. “Depends on what IT is,” she whispered finally.

“IT being all this pain,” she explained panning her hands to accommodate all the scattered items on the floor. “Was being in love worth all this pain?”

“How can anything be worth this pain,” she howled. She threw her armful of clothes back on the floor and the hurled herself on the bed and gave in to a fresh bout of scalding tears.

“Then I don’t think you are or were ever in love, “ she leaned back in her chair and smiled even as her friend continued to sob.

“What do you mean? “ she asked biting back a sob and sitting up on the bed. “I should forgive his every lie? Pretend that I am not hurt? Give US a second chance?” disbelief laced itself through her high pitched agitation.

“I never suggested that,” she closed her eyes and sighed. It was a happy kind of sigh. “All I was trying to say was, if being without him hurts more than being with him, then the pain of being with him is worth it. That would be love.”

For a moment everything stilled. The heavens gasped. With that gasp the rain shattered into a million dews and scattered along every shiny surface. The winds stilled and whistled with gentle awe. The lightening suspended somewhere between the sky and the unknowns beyond. Like a lazy victor the sun stretched its warm fingers and caressed the smile he so loved.

The Toilet Seat That Changed It All

2010-08-07T11:03:00.000-07:00

Well, this is not fiction. And surprising though it may sound, this blog has two authors. That too, two founding authors. Of course, by now the intelligent reader, by comparing the flowing and entertaining (and mushy) writing style of Beauty and the Beast (hereafter referred to as beauty, and deservingly so) that makes the world seem full of sunshine and happiness with the dry and bare method of yours truly, would have come to know that it is not the keyboard of beauty that is churning out these words.

Now, the aforementioned intelligent reader might also wonder as to how the intelligent person that beauty is, fell into the evil company that she evidently has in the form of this co author. This post shall attempt to elucidate upon the same.

Way back in times of yore, beauty used to write in some other corner of blogsville. Yours truly chanced upon her blog. I may be anything but no one can dispute the fact that I appreciate good literary skills, and even more so if the author (rather I guess it should be authress, if indeed such a word exists) is a pretty young woman who has wits to boot. Now, by some funny quirk of fate and a practical application of the Principle of Six Degrees of Separation, yours truly had the honour of being a slight acquaintance of the almighty beauty.

In all this, the intelligent reader might be wondering how the toilet seat (the same one which is referred to in the title of this post) comes into play. It would be slightly difficult for me to explain the precise physics, mechanics and dynamics of the same (the seat, not the post) for the simple reason that I have not yet had the pleasure of interacting with it (again the seat, not the physics et al). But the first post written by beauty on which I commented, and hence placed the first brick of the edifice of our friendship, concerned that toilet seat. And the rest, as they say, is a mixture of history, Gutenberg, Alexander Graham Bell (telephone) and George Bush (petrol for bike).

And it was one learning experience in life. Till date, yours truly has been treating toilet seats of various types, shapes, sizes and states of cleanliness with a new reverence.

Raindrops of Love

2010-08-01T23:29:00.000-07:00

She closed her eyes and let the cool drops of water lick her face. Love can be such a cruel thing, she thought. At one point it consumes your very existence and at the next it ceases to exist completely, leaving behind an emptiness that cannot be defines. An emptiness echoed hollowly by the pattering drops of rain. She stuck her tongue out to taste the cold which wrapped her. She tasted nothing. Raindrops, she decided, were a lot like love.

Somewhere in the distance she could hear the loud sirens of an approaching ambulance, or perhaps it was a police car, who could tell the difference? They both wailed in the same unappealing manner. The loud patter of drops as they splashed against the puddle at her feet buffered that annoying plea. Her pink toenails looked like they were sprinkled with the tiniest of diamonds. She wriggled her toes in the water washing away those diamonds. They adamantly reappeared.

He had loved her feet. He said they were sexy and just looking at them turned him on. Liar, she smiled. But he lied well. She had believed him, hadn’t she? She had also believed him when he had said he loved her. And she had foolishly loved him back. She had made him the center of her existence and had planned every moment of her life around him. But she would no longer do that. She no longer loved him. How could she love him when he was no longer there?

All she felt right now was empty.

She stepped out of her red and white slip ons. The water from the puddle wrapped around her feet and lapped at her soles like a loyal dog. He had been anything but loyal. He had thought he could wake up one day and tell her he did not love her. Didn’t he know love was eternal? Love was not supposed to end! You cannot ‘stop’ loving someone. You either love someone or you don’t. Which would then mean he had lied to her about loving her at all.

She hated liars.

She took in a deep breath and opened her closed fist. The heavy knife slipped from her fingers and splashed into the puddle. It clattered with a muffled groan and landed a few inches away from her. The raindrops dutifully dropped on its glittering blade and started making splashed in the deep red edged along the bald. She watched unfeelingly as the red mixed with the water to turn a faint pink and finally dissolve into nothingness. Just like his love had. Just like her love had. Leaving behind nothing, but this feeling of emptiness. Emptiness felt hollow. It was like a space which was waiting to be filled. She did not like waiting. She did not like feeling empty. Another small smile tugged at her lips. She could hear very faint traces of people talking behind her. They must have arrived, either the paramedics or the police. She had called both, hadn’t she? It would have to be one of them.

She spread her hands like an eagle about to take flight and took in a deep breath. She could still smell him. His spicey after shave. It filled the emptiness within her like a hungry fire. Every part of her was suddenly alive with him. It was like he wasn’t gone, but he was right there with her. Inside her. This was true love! She thought. She lifted her feet off the ground and let her body react to gravity. She did not open her eyes on her flight twenty three stories down. It took a little more than a couple of seconds. A couple of seconds which would immortalize a love which was larger than life.

Or so she thought.

Pretty Petty

2010-05-03T01:55:00.000-07:00

“But it will be so perfect!” She insisted as she waved the copy Dogs&Pups under his nose. Once again. Once again he wriggled his nose and scowled with disgust as if it was a pair of smelly socks instead of a harmless magazine with cute puppy pictures on it.

“It will be a pain!” He huffed.

“Imagine that feeling of bliss when you muzzle him and run your hands through his silky fur. Imagine coming home to this absolutely wonderful feeling of being loved unconditionally for who you are! How can you not be moved by the intensity of such feelings?” She pleaded with soulful eyes.

He groaned inwardly and pulled her onto his lap. He playfully nuzzled her neck and nibbled at her ear. “You do all that for me, baby. I like petting you and running my fingers through your hair. I love coming home to the feeling of being completely loved by you! You, sweetheart, are my pet!”

She sprang to her feet and glared at him, “Did you, in that roundabout way of yours, just call me a bitch?”

“Sorry?”

“How could you compare me to a dog?” She demanded.

“I did not compare you to a dog!” He replied helplessly.

“Didn’t you just tell me I made you feel like the owner of a dog?” She challenged.

“It’s not the same!”

“I like petting you and running my fingers through your hair. I love coming home to the feeling of being completely loved by you! You, sweetheart, are my pet!” she mimicked him. “Did you or not say that!”

“Yes, but I meant it differently!”

“What’s the difference? That I don’t bark and wag my tail!”

“No, you don’t bark,” he placated.

“So it is my fault that I don’t bark!”

“I don’t want you to bark!”

“So can we got a dog which barks then?” She asked simply.

“I don’t want a dog which barks!”
“Yeah you want a bitch you does not!’ she huffed.

“I did not call you a bitch!”

“A female dog!”

“I called you a pet!”

“So what would you rather I was? A hyena?”

“You’re impossible!” He threw his hands in the air. “What’s the point?”

“I want a dog who wags his tail and barks!”

“Fine!”

“Really?”

“Will that convince you that I did not call you a bitch?”

“Totally!”

“Fine then.”

She laughed and threw her arms around. She rubbed her nose against his and smiled into his eyes. “You know, I sort of like that you love coming home to me.”

Birthday Wishlist

2010-04-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

Remember how you helped me make my first birthday wish list when I was going to turn three? Add thirty more years to that number and what do you get? An expert birthday wish list writer! With three growing children and their wishes to cater too, I hardly find time to think about what I want. A week before my birthday, however, I think of all that I really crave and very obediently pen it down on paper and send it to you. Because ma, nobody has ever really cared about what I want more than you.

Here goes the list:

1. Golden Pixie Dust: We both know how incomplete my life is without it! I wish I had some golden pixie dust which I could sprinkle all around me and things would magically set themselves right. Golden pixie dust; which would enable me to fly high towards the skies and kiss the rainbow and stretch out and lie down on the white fluffy clouds. Even if just for a while. And then when I run out of all the magical dust, I wish I had some more!

2. A chocolate house: Imagine all the cooking it would save me! And it had better be in a cool place, where the chocolate does not melt. I don’t want to spend all my time cleaning up the mess left behind by molten chocolate. And the chocolate had better be the good nutritious kinds. I know my kids are going to never tire of licking those kind of walls. And let the topping please be primarily strawberry. I like the heady smell of strawberry and cocoa. Oh and in Anshika’s room, please have a gem plastered wall. That girl is crazy about gems. Oh and I don’t mind a cocoa bath. My masseur tells me its heaven for the skin! Do we have to pay a house tax for chocolate houses?

3. Glass Slippers: The kinds which Cinderella had? I wish I had a pair of those. A pair which would fit only me and no one else. And when I put them on I want to be transformed into this beautiful princess. They would cover my cracked heels and make my feet look like straight out of a shoe advert. And then I wish I misplace one of those and Ravi pulls heaven and earth together to find it for me.

4. Mice Friends: The ones who would scamper around and gather things for me! When I am exhausted and fall dead on the bed, they would clean and cook, just to surprise me! And they would sit and hear me dole out my woes and come up with imaginative fairy tale solutions. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Oh please ensure plague free mice. I just cant handle any medical expense at this point! And think about the children??!

They seem like such simple wishes, don’t they ma?

I wish you were here with me. Anshika tells me one of her fairy tales explains that when a special human being dies, he or she goes to heaven to become God’s special fairy.

You are very special ma. So when I come to heaven I am going to look around for the most beautiful fairy and in her arms I know I will find all my wishes come true.

Till then its back to baking scones for a girly tea party!

Miss you.

- Me

Confusion

2010-04-07T01:08:00.000-07:00

Once a woman turns thirty it is quite catastrophical. The world suddenly jumps and starts spinning on a different axis. There are a whole new set of expectations to live up to and the ones that you have gotten used to delivering don’t count anymore.

At least in the mind of the woman who has just turned thirty.

She turned thirty today and she felt the brunt of being thirty. She felt old, jaded and unappealing. Thirty years of her life had passed by in a blur and all she had to show for it was her office id announcing her as the Assistant Manager of her firm. Oh and the big fat gold band which rested on her ring finger.

Romance in her life was dead. Buried under five years of planning, scrounging and some more planning. She sighed and tapped her mouse aimlessly. Why did romance walk out on relationships?

“Hey dreaming glory!” Rekha demanded her attention. “Look what just came in for you!”

She turned around to face the perfect crimson-kissed velvet bouquet she had ever seen. About a hundred roses, molded from romeo’s bleeding heart, arranged themselves cheek to cheek to cheek. Enchanting dew shivered delicately on the wine drenched petals.

“Oh my god!” she whispered. Words could never describe the strange sensation pulsating through her.

“Beautiful right?” Rekha smiled wistfully. She nodded.

“Are you sure its for me?” She asked unable to take her eyes off the bouquet.

Rekha flipped the tiny card hanging from the delicate satin binding the bouquet. “Happy Birthday Tarangana!” She read from the card. “Yep its for you!” She announced grinning.

Tarangana snatched the card from her and read it again. “It does not say who it is from,” she noted.

“Who cares?” Rekha grinned. “For a bouquet like that, I am ready to turn thirty for every single day of the rest of my life!”

Tarangana grinned too. “But its curious, who would send me a bouquet?”

“Your husband?”

“The last time he gave me a flower was…. Wait! He has never given me flowers! He think they are a complete waste of money. Why spend on something which withers away in three days. There is no investment value…”

“Stop!” Rekha pleaded dramatically. “Don’t stab the romance out of this heartbreaking beauty! Ok! I get it! Your husband did not send you the bouquet.”

“Who then?”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer in office!” Rekha offered excitedly. They did a quick sweep of the office, then looked at each other and shook their heads. Nobody in office was either romantic or creative. “Maybe its someone you met online.”

Tarangana chewed on her lower lip and thought about it. Had she shared her office details with any of her online acquaintances? Was she close enough to someone, for them to have taken the effort to remember her birthday and send her flowers? She thought for a couple of seconds and then shrugged. No one came to mind.

“You know you cant take the flowers home,” Rekha said wisely, still eyeing the bouquet.

“Why not?”

“What are you going to tell you husband? That someone gifted you a hundred red roses, but you don’t know who? Yeah I can very much see him believe that!”

Tarangana scowled.

“He will just think you are cheating on him and insulting his intelligence by feeding him foolish lines like ‘I don’t know who gifted me a hundred roses!’ Think woman. Think! It does not take much for a man to be jealous. Do you want to ruffle feathers, when you don’t even know who sent you the roses! Yours will be the first marriage rocked by an anonymous!”

“You’re right,” Tarangana sighed. “its wise not to take the roses home.”

***
“Isnt it Tarangana’s birthday today?” Lokesh asked as he downed his beer. He nodded and took a swig from his own mug. “Then why are we sitting on the bar stools of a rather empty bar, guzzling beer? Shouldn’t we be out with her?”

“We fought,” he spat.

“Why?”

“For the past five years, all she has done is nagged me for being unromantic!” He complained.

“So do something romantic then!”

“I did.”
“What?”

“I sent her a hundred red roses!”

“What?!” Lokesh was completely baffled. “Dude, don’t you ever get romantic again. Please. You are raising the bar for the rest of us married guys!”

“What’s the point?”

“What do you mean by ‘what’s the point’?”

“She did not even acknowledge it. Not once! Not even a thank you!” He thumped his empty beer mug loudly on the table. The bartender hastened to refill it.

“That’s impossible!” Lokesh claimed. “Maybe she didn’t receive it.”

“That’s what I first thought. So I checked with the delivery boy. He assured me it was delivered.”

“Then why?”

“Beats me,” he mumbled. “I thought maybe she was waiting to thank me personally. You know, have a kinky surprise waiting for me when I got home?”

Lokesh waited patiently for him to continue.

“When I got home, she told me there were still people in the world who believed turning thirty was not the end of a romantic phase of someone’s life and that I was the most unromantic man she had ever met!”

Lokesh shook his head and patted him on the shoulder.

“I did not want to stand there and fight with her on her birthday,” he continued. “So I walked out!”

Beautiful

2010-03-28T22:49:00.000-07:00

“They are going to be here in like fifteen minutes,” he hissed at her. “How can you still be in the kitchen!”

“I have had to cook for a gathering of twenty on the short notice of six hours,” she gritted through her teeth. “We did not order in, because you didn’t want to spend money on futile stuff like that, remember?”

“You are not even dressed to greet them!” He scolded. “How come Natasha manages everything with such flair?

“Because Natasha has two cooks and a manservant,” She almost shouted. “Not to mention at least two days of advance notice.” And a husband who loves her, she added silently.

“Never mind,” he mumbled as he headed out of the kitchen. “I suppose even they are used to you appearing unkempt and froppy. And frankly, its not like it would make a world of difference even if you decided to put in that effort to look good.”

Her dishrag dangling from her half-forgotten hands, she watched as slapped his feet on the linoleum flooring and headed to the hall. Where had she gone wrong? She gave herself a mental shake and hastened to finish mopping the granite. She really had less than fifteen minutes to get ready.

She eyed herself critically in the mirror. The red and blue saree, complimented her dusky complexion. Did she look presentable? She wasn’t vain or stupid enough to think she looked beautiful. She had not felt beautiful in a long time. But there was a time when she really believed she could be beautiful.

He made her believe she was beautiful.

She often recollected glimpses of time spent with him. Like that time, when they were sitting behind tall glasses of chocolate fringed cold coffee – he had said something which had made her laugh.

“You could create a traffic jam when you laugh like that,” he smiled at her. She rolled her eyes. “No. Seriously. Your eyes get that unique hint of sparkle and your cheeks get tinged with this faint pink blush… it’s mesmerizing!”

Or that time when she had dragged him shopping with her and had asked his opinion on the red and black stilettos she was trying out. “I am blushing,” he said with a straight face.

“They are that good?” she asked eyeing the stilettos dubiously in the mirror.

“Your ankles are sexy,” she rolled her eyes again. “No. Honest,” he continued. “You should stay away from guys with foot fetishes. One look at those and they’ll begin stalking you!”

Her favorite one was when they had gone to the disc together. She was eyeing the crowd wearily. She hated being pushed against strange bodies. Maybe coming here was not a good idea after all. But the music was good and she was in a mood to dance.

“I don’t like crowds,” she confessed. “And the dance floor looks crowded multiplied by two.”

“Dressed like that,” he looked her up and down. “All you have to do is step on the dance floor and the crowds will part for you!”

She had felt beautiful.

She needed to feel beautiful now. She needed that bit of confidence to face her husband’s office crowd downstairs. And him. He would be there too. Did he think of her as often as she thought of him? Did he know she thought of him that often? How could he? Nobody could even guess what she thought! She had successfully pulled off the farce of a happy marriage for two years. She had to continue doing that for the next couple of decades.

She saw him the minute she stepped into the hall. Their eyes met and for a brief second, she felt incapable of looking away. She then nodded her head acknowledging his presence and smiled briefly at him. She shifted her gaze to seek her husband.

It wasn’t difficult to spot him, considering he was heading her way.

“You are late!” he hissed as he wrapped his fingers around her arm and almost dragged her to meet the guests. After a couple of perfunctory smiles and handshakes and ‘how do you dos’ she found herself alone with her husband.

“You should have tied your hair,” he instructed through the fake smile plastered on his face. He wasn’t even looking at her. “You look so silly with your hair let down like that. For once, you could have put your heart into looking close to presentable.”

She swallowed the lump of tears, forcing its way up her throat.

“Hey,” he smiled at her and then shook hands with her husband. She smiled at him and looked around for something to occupy her attention. If she looked at him, she would definitely cry – for everything that could have been and everything that wasn’t.

“What?” her husband fooled around with him, “No gorgeous model is clinging to your very available arm?”

“Didn’t want her ego to take a bruising,” he laughed.

Her husband smiled and looked around, “I don’t see much of a competition here,” he winked at him.

“Maybe you’ve gotten used to it,” he said.

“I don’t get you,” her husband frowned.

“The only way you haven’t noticed how stunning your wife looks in that particular shade of blue, is because you have gotten used to seeing such beauty everyday,” he smiled.

She wanted to throw her arms around him and laugh, and cry. “It is very unbecoming of you to flirt with a married woman,” she told him instead.

cheat sheet

2010-03-15T06:03:00.000-07:00

She had been up all night. He could see the faint circles the shadows of the dark had etched around her eyes. She dragged the wicker chair further away from the table and plopped on it. Her pink lips opened in a delicious O as she sucked in a yawn.

“You need some sleep,” he observed uselessly.

In response, she put her feet up on the table and slid further down in the chair. Her eyes were fixed on her unpainted toe nails. She wriggled them and then seemingly satisfied with their response, crossed one ankle over the other and closed her eyes.

“Thankfully we can afford a bed,” he smiled as he settled in his chair and flapped the creases of his newspaper. She did not grace him with a response. The breeze ruffled his newspaper. He ignored it. Annoyed, it moved on to flirt with her hair, lifting them off her shoulders and splashing them across her serene face. The sun giggled, struggling hard to balance its delicate position between the elegant V of the soft green leaves.

A couple of birds chattered about politics high up there.

“Honey,” she mumbled without opening her eyes, “what if I cheated on you?”

“Are you?” he asked without looking up from his paper.

“Am I what?”

“Cheating on me?”

“Would you believe me if I said I am?

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because if you were cheating on me, you would not tell me.”

“Why would I not tell you?”

“Because if you told me and did it, how does it qualify as cheating?”

She snapped her eyes open and smiled, “I never thought of it that way!” She grinned.

“So, to successfully cheat on you, all I would have to do is tell you. Because that way though I would be cheating on you, you would never believe it! It’s brilliant!” She said excitedly.

“This is by far one of the most enlightening Sunday morning conversations,” he drawled.

She stood up, knocking her chair off balance. “You bet!”

“Why did you want to know?” He peeped over the newspaper.

“Know what?”

“All about this cheating business?”

“Oh! Needed some help with new story I am working on!”

“You know you could drive any sane man up the wall,” he mumbled as he returned to his news.

“You are still sitting quite cozy on your ass!” She pointed out affectionately.

“The day I married you, I was declared insane!”

Dream Realities

2010-03-11T00:31:00.000-08:00

Sweat trickled down her bare back. She flicked a tongue over her dried lips. Her panic stricken eyes darted left and right. She tucked a stray strand of disheveled black behind her ear. She limped to a halt. Her bosom heaved with the effort of breathing. She gulped once, twice and then parted her dried lips to pull in more air. With one hand she shielded her eyes from the brazen onslaught of the sun.

He could not help but notice how beautiful she was.

Her pink and black saree hugged her slender frame like a lover lost in the throes of passion. The silken material curved sensuously around her thigh and disappeared amidst the folds, where her hand crumpled the fabric in a death grip. The fair skin of her waist looked like it was sprinkled with diamonds of the afternoon soon. It shivered deliciously with every painstaking breath. The saree molded itself beautifully around the curve of her perfect breast and moved rhythmically to the melody of life within her.

The very life he was about to take. He did not want to kill her, but he would have to. It was who he was. She had known that and despite the knowledge, she had taken the risk of being with him. Stupidity always had a price to pay.

She must have sensed him, because with a quick flick of her elegant neck, those panic leaden brown eyes were boring straight into him. She took a step backwards. She tripped and struggled to regain her balance. Her eyes never left him. A spatter of blood marked the spot where her bare feet had been just seconds ago.

“Don’t do this!” She pleaded brokenly, as tears mixed with the sweat on her face.

“You asked for it,” he replied as he took a step towards her.

“You love me!” She gasped.

“I loved you,” he corrected, “Till you cheated on me!”

“I did not cheat on you!” she sobbed.

“You are lying,” he shook his head as he drew the knife out of its sheath. He stared at the gleaming edge of the steel he was holding. Soon a shade of deep crimson would steal its shine. Soon crimson would cover the beauty of being alive.

She started to run again, but he grabbed her by her arm and spun her around to face him. He plunged the knife in her heart and with a wicked gleam looked into those brown eyes. Shocked. Disbelieving. And he realized he was the one who had lied. He still loved her.

He wedged the knife out of her heart and tried to stem the fountain of blooding forcing the life out of her. “Don’t leave me!” He sobbed. “I forgive you!”

“Karan?” Her voice floated to him. He felt her cool fingers on his cheek and smiled. “Karan?” She called worriedly. He was shaking. It must be all that silent sobbing. “Karan?” She called again. He was still shaking. Somebody was shaking him. His vision began to blur as the shaking got more intense. Her voice seemed to calling from far away. He was slipping into a welcoming darkness. He closed his eyes and for a second everything went blank.

A splash of cold, had him snapping his eyes open. He blinked tightly and then blinked again.

“Are you alright?” She asked. He looked at her with confusion. She was right there beside him draped in her pale blue night gown. She was kneeling on the bed beside him, her hands caressing his cheek, her brown eyes looking at him with concern. He looked around. He was in his bedroom, sprawled on his bed, his clothes were slightly damp with perspiration.

“Bad dream?” She asked as she stroked his forehead. He let out a deep sigh. That’s all that it had been.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked apologetically. She smiled. She spread out beside him and rested her cheek on his chest.

“You heart’s still working over time,” she said with a smile. He smiled and turned off the bed lamp. He ran his hand lovingly through her hair. He then gathered her to him and closed his eyes. What an insane dream it had been!

Hours later when the sun was once again conquering the blue spotless skies, she lay on the same bed as last night. She remembered his violent reactions to the dream he was having and shivered. He pulled the sheet tighter around their naked bodies. “You ok?” he asked.

She looked at him and smiled. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. “Do you think Karan knows about us?” She asked after a while.

“Not a chance,” he confirmed, as he stroked her back. “Its been two years and he hasn’t had a clue. Why do you ask?”

She looked at him with confusion clouding her beautiful eyes, “He said the strangest things in his dreams last night. He said – don’t leave me. I forgive you.”

Sherlock recapped

2010-02-12T08:35:00.000-08:00

2:54 PM
The Sage: hey
Beauty and the BEast: hey!! wasssup??

The Sage: nothin much... just back from office...
what about you??

Beauty and the BEast: just finished reading the script for a movie called The Princess Bride!
ever seen it?

The Sage: nopes...

Beauty and the BEast: you should...
I should..
I must see if I can get it...
saw sherlock holmes btw
did u see it??

The Sage: yup...
dint like it though...

Beauty and the BEast: I think robert downey jr deserves to come to my living room

The Sage: lol

Beauty and the BEast: I liked it.. amd I totally loved him.. sigh
the brit accent ... uff
sigh

The Sage: he he

Beauty and the BEast: *all dreamy*

The Sage: pfaah

Beauty and the BEast: common
it IS like a turn on of sorts
...

The Sage: it was a stupid movie...

Beauty and the BEast: who cares??
all u had to do was see him and hear him

The Sage: the characters were entirely twisted... ac doyle would have been rolling in his grave...

Beauty and the BEast: worth the money I tell you..
oh yeah that I agree

The Sage: though the irene adler woman was good looking

Beauty and the BEast: I kept telling these guys it was a neo james bond take on poor ole holmes

The Sage :LOL! hahaahahahahahah

Beauty and the BEast : yep hardly noticed her though :P

The Sage : but she wasn't there on the screen nearly

Beauty and the BEast: thank GOD!! :P :P :P

The Sage: the only thing which could have saved the movie from the depths of utter boredom was her

Beauty and the BEast: nope... HIM

The Sage: guy richtie is mad... and this was more than a confirmation

Beauty and the BEast: I could watch him for another three days at a stretch without getting bored
who cares?? the casting director did a good job basis the script

The Sage: but the actual director should have kept irene on the screne much longer...
in fact, throughout the movie...

Beauty and the BEast: wud have been a major bore in that event ...

The Sage: not at all...
i could hardly keep my eyes open in the theatre last night...
that would not have been the case had she been kept on the screen more..

Beauty and the BEast: ah thats because u were tired and not because.. of whatever else..

The Sage: no no...

Beauty and the BEast: oh puhleez she was quite ordinary

The Sage: i was resting through the day...

Beauty and the BEast: I think they cud have used someone with more oomph and stuff

The Sage: and rd jr was way below ordinary

Beauty and the BEast: considering they were using Jude Law as watson

The Sage: violet smith was a major turn off, though

Beauty and the BEast: given in - he is the latest ooomph factor swamping the female minds

The Sage: *violet

Beauty and the BEast: Who the F*** is violet?

The Sage: the female who was watson's interest

Beauty and the BEast: ah she was quite weird I give in

Midnight Masquerade

2010-01-06T23:54:00.000-08:00

She was beautiful. And she was a little high on champagne. They were not celebrating anything particular; except perhaps their new found love for each other. They had dined at the ‘Casablanca’. A very expensive retro restaurant with the food as outdated as the décor. Yet, those who moved in circles similar to those of hers, frequented this place. The champagne though, had been good. She had wanted to drink some more, “I am high on life!” She had announced on a bubbly giggle.

He had stopped her. He didn’t want her drunk. He wanted her happy and alive and very aware of everything that was happening to her. He wanted her to glow with the happiness he was bringing her way. He told her as much. Her smile had wavered and then vanished. A fresh sheen of tears had appeared in her heavily made up almond eyes. “I don’t believe anybody can love me so much!” She whispered brokenly. She had then leaned across the table and kissed him.
He had been embarrassed. He didn’t like being the center of attention. He particularly hated the thought that a kiss, in a place as public as the celebrity-frequented ‘Casablanca’ could easily become tomorrow’s headlines. But he didn’t tell her that. He smiled into her eyes and watched as she settled herself on the white couch again. Her red skirt, rode a little higher up her thigh. She followed his gaze and then smiled mischievously.

He told her he stayed close by, so they decided to ditch the taxi and walk through the park which separated the two blocks. The black carpeted sky was smudged by a cloudy silver moon. The white light made her pale skin glow . She looked almost angelic. But even the moonlit sky could not soften the toughness within her. Her firm mouth, slightly wrinkled at the corners from all the smiling and her strong nose which highlighted her determined stance, looked tough always. He liked the strength in her more than the softness which defined her feminity.

She walked two steps ahead of him, her face turned skywards, soaking in the rays of the moon. Her hands were neatly folded behind her back. Even in that moment, away from the world, just with him, she could be nothing but perfect. He followed her, her red jacket draped on his arm. Her silk shirt was transparent thin and he could trace the outlines of her bra with naked eyes. He felt himself go hard with need. But he maintained his distance.

They stepped out from the shadows of the trees. The marble girl who held the fountain, looked funny as she just stood there shouldering nothing but thin air. He found himself turned on enough to trace the curves of the stone girl as well. He was so lost in looking at the lifeless form that he didn’t notice she had stopped, till he bumped into her. He mumbled his apology and stepped back.

She smiled at him and stepped closer. “Have you ever kissed in moonlight?” She asked him huskily, bringing her mouth closer to his. “I have always wanted to…” she planted her lips on his.

***

Her skin was perfect to touch. Soft, like unused velvet. She was kissing him with the abandon which only one secure in love can display. He returned her kiss with practiced expertise. He wanted her to moan in pleasure. He wanted her to be really happy. He wanted to take her to dizzying heights of ecstasy, so that all she would ever remember was him. She would always remember him anyway.

He laid her flat on the concrete bed of the fountain and began stripping her clothes. The park was quite and the only whispers were of the wind rustled trees. Emboldened by the alcohol in her blood stream and excited by the thought of making out in the open, she matched his passionate pace. He removed his shirt and used it to tie her hands behind her back. She struggled against the knot, dying to put her hands on his skin. She was writhing with pleasure and he was getting more and more excited.

Finally he stripped his trousers. He was hard and erect. She wanted to touch him. She made an attempt to get up, but he pushed her back. He began stroking himself and watched her eyes droop with desire.

“Take me in your mouth?” He asked huskily.

“Oh yes!” She pleaded.

He just continued stroking himself refusing to give in to her pleas. He was enjoying her longing. He wanted her to long for him. She was strong, yet now she was weak with a need for him. Adrenaline surged through his body at this feeling of power. He started stroking himself faster. He was panting with pleasure. This was no longer about her it was about him.

“Take me now!” he commanded as he pointed his penis towards her.

For the first time, her eyes snapped open. He watched as fear crept slowly into them. She tried to free her hands again. She tried to move her legs, but they too were firmly pinned under the weight of his. He dug into her hair and snapped her head back. She winced her eyes in pain.
“Stop!” She screamed. He used that chance to thrust his penis into her mouth.

Her eyes widened in horror. He smiled into her eyes. A very malicious smile. He thrust himself further. He could feel her throat make way for him. And then she began to gag. Her eyes began to water. The look of fear turned into plea. She tried to shake her head. But his hand held her firmly in place.

He thrust deeper. Her throat revolted and he could feel her spit enveloping his penis. He threw his head back and groaned in pleasure. He continued pushing. She made gurgling noises. He drowned them with his moans.

And suddenly there was just him. Her body went limp; her mouth still around him. Her flailing feet stopped. She stopped struggling with her knots. Her eyes were still wide open and staring at him. He watched as her black irises stared at him and then slowly ascended to hide under her open eyelids.

And then he had an orgasm.

***

He was sitting on the concrete slab beside the fountain. The ACP had been right. He had retched. He was now nursing coffe from a plastic cup, trying in vain to banish images from his mind. The forensic team had taken the body, or the head or whatever you could call it away and was now gathering possible clues.

He knew they would be a dead end. Just like Kirti Shah’s case had been. That was like two cases in a row. Everybody knew this ought to be a serial killer. But only three murders could classify a case as a serial killer. They would have to wait for one more. Would that be another seven months?

He took a sip of his still hot coffee. He remembered seeing photographs of Shivani Mehta in newspapers. She was beautiful. But somehow that was not how he would remember her. He would always remember the head.

It was clean shaven. The job of a perfectionist. Her head had been stripped off all hair. Her unseeing eyes were wide open. The tear path down her face had been traced by a black marker. Her lips had been painted red and sticking through her mouth was a brown dildo. It was about ten inches long and deep inside her. White liquid had crystallized around her mouth, making it appear like semen spurting from the dildo.

The white marks ascended down to her neck to merge with the red of the blood. And that was all there was. There was no body. Just a head severed from its body. A hunt of the park had revealed no body.

Where was the body?

In the same place at the body of Kirti Shah.

And nobody had a damned clue as to where that was!

Following a Dream

2010-01-05T02:56:00.000-08:00

She pressed down on the horn and forced her car to scream at the high horsepower vehicles screeching to a snail’s pace. She hated the early morning traffic almost as much as she hated being bothered by inconsequential dreams. Why had he popped in her dreams out of the blue? When had she last seen him? Twelve years ago? If she thought about him now, she could still see him as that awkward, bespectacled geek who glared angrily at her from across the class.

She allowed herself a tiny smile. Egos flared higher than the New Year eve fireworks those days. He had expected her to apologize for ruining his concentration by whispering non-stop during the science class and she had asked him to go fish! They had never quite mended that rift.

Which is why it unsettled her to see him float across her dream last night. He was no longer a kid. He was still thin, his cheeks drawn, his spectacles perched over his long nose, his face unsmiling. But it was his eyes which spoke to her. They had not been glaring at her. In fact he was not even looking at her. He was looking away from her at something she could not see. Suddenly he turned to look at her.

His eyes were vacant. The emptiness eclipsed the hope in his eyes and pushed their sparkle to an almost invisible existence. He looked at her and recognition dawned. She watched transfixed as the fast slithering hope suddenly gathered force and fought for a space in the hollow of his dimmed eyes. The struggle was brief and lasted only for a few seconds. From behind the fingerprinted glass of his over-used spectacles, his eyes shone with a radiance which would put the best of solitaires to shame.

But that’s where the transformation ended. He had not moved, even his lips were set in a rigid line as if determined not to smile. His lips quivered and she realized he was trying to say something. She leaned in closer to hear better. He let out a loud piercing, painful scream.

She woke up with a start.

She darted angrily between two cars and stepped on the gas pedal. Why had he figured in her dreams? She had not met any old friends to relive school memories, she hadn’t looked through old photographs, she hadn’t even thought about school. So why had her sub-conscious dredged him out of some buried grave and retouched his existence in her dream?

She passed the old school gates like everyday. The school had changed locations. They needed bigger buildings and larger playgrounds. The small space she remembered as school was not big enough to accommodate the increasing demands of an educated world. Weeds had sprung all over the playground. The building itself cracked at the walls and sported wayward branches of wild trees. She was tempted to pull to a halt and visit her childhood just once again.

There was a meeting scheduled for nine to review the progress on the Birla project. There was interview scheduled for ten. She really did not have the time to stop and pander over the past. But she was tempted.

“What the hell!” she thought as she eased her car to a halt near the curb. Everyday was loaded with meetings and things to do. It would be alright if she got late one day. She had so buried herself in her corporate climb that she had never found time to get together with who she was or who she had once been. Now seemed like a good time.

She crept through the half open gate and gently found her way around the twigs and grass to where she remembered her classroom to be. Her heart thudded so loudly that it threatened to shatter the early morning peace of this deserted space. What was she so excited about.

She emerged in a small clearing and was surprised to find that she was not alone. The blue dupatta fluttered carelessly in the breeze as her unidentified companion continued staring ahead. A twig snapped beneath her three inch heels and the girl with the dupatta turned to see who it was.

The two women smiled at each other. Their differences apparent in their common circumstantial existence.

“Jigyasa,” she smiled, as she introduced herself.

“Tamanna,” she smiled back.

“Did you study here?” Jigyasa asked, tempted to linger on in her childhood just for a minute longer.

Tamanna shook her head and pointed ahead, “My husband did!”

Jigyasa followed her finger to see a man sitting some distance away on the stairs of the main hall. She could not see his face. She watched Tamanna lovingly watch her husband who seemed lost in a world of his own in this private space.

“He must’ve loved school!” Jigyasa smiled.

“No,” Tamanna laughed, “He hated it! The only memories he had of school were of being bullied.”

“Oh!” Jigyasa frowned.

“I know,” Tamanna said, “ beats me too. Yet for the past two days he insisted he had to come here. He would not tell me why. Said he could not explain the reason in words. He just had to. So here we are!”

“That’s sweet of you to accompany him on his flight of fantasy,” Jigyasa joked.

“It didn’t feel like a flight of fancy,” Tamanna said seriously without looking at her. “You see, my husband has lukaemia. Everything has been tried and tested. Nothing seems to work. We are left with one option. A bone marrow transplant. Yet, it is not an option at all! Nobody can seem to be the donor. Everybody, brother, sister, cousins, aunts…. The most remotest of friends have had their blood tested. The bone marrow is just not the same!”

Tamanna’s voice cracked as she struggled to control her tears. Jigyasa just stood there unable to move and yet with no idea of what she ought to say.

“He said he hadn’t lost hope yet,” Tamanna continued, “ he said, if he came here, he would know just what to do.”

That moment the man looked up.

Jigyasa stood frozen in her dream. She watched transfixed as he looked at her with the same intensity of her dream. She watched as his lips quivered with the effort to say something which would match the renewed hope in his eyes.

She gasped and took a step backward. Tamanna frowned and looked at her. She followed her stare to meet the hopeful look in her husband’s eyes. She looked from Jigyasa to her husband and back. She could feel the air stir with some undefined emotion.

Jigyasa turned on her heel and fled. She jumped into her car and zoomed towards work. Her mind was a crazy riot of thoughts. She didn’t want to sort them, she couldn’t. She wished she could stop the million questions from choking the sanity out of her mind.

She pulled in the parking lot of the hospital. There could be only one supernatural explanation for everything. She walked to the reception and asked for him. Tamanna was waiting for her.

“I think we should get my blood tested,” Jigyasa announced.

Three weeks later Tamanna called Jigyasa to let her know the transplant had been successful.

“Why did you come there that day?” Jigyasa asked

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Tamanna sighed.

“Let me guess,” Jigyasa said seriously, “ You followed a dream.”

Friends

2009-12-30T00:47:00.000-08:00

He: Big bash at Ivo’s, wanna come?

She: Sorry?

He: Thursday?? New years eve? Ring a bell??

She : oh! Yes! I mean no! As in yes of course 31st night and blah, but no thanks- for the Ivo’s bit…

He: it’ll be fun! Karen’s gonna be there

She: Karen who?

He: Karen? The item number queen? She’s the star attraction

She: good for you!

He: And that useless dud of mass Akshay

She: wow! Some star studded event!

He: Tempted?

She: got other plans

He: really?

She: yeah. A private bonfire party at a friend’s. Lotsa booze, sad men. Should be fun.

He: Great! Happy New Year! wont call. Networks are jammed anyways

She: lol! You too!

He signed of the chat window and stared at the monitor. He shook his head and smiled. He touched the couple entry pass to Ivo lying in his breast pocket. His smile widened. Getting a pass to the new years bas at Ivo’s was no small deal. There were limited passes meant for the who’s who of the star city. Being at Ivo’s guaranteed a page three appearance. “I am partying at Ivo’s, what are you doing?” should ideally be his facebook status.

“You want a pass to Ivo’s” his boss had remarked without looking at him. “I have one, but I am not going. Wife wants to take the kids to Jamaica!”

His heart beat so fast that, he could imagine his shirt flutter with its vibrations. “The party does not begin the nine thirty,” his boss was saying. “ The Japanese delegates arrive at noon. I obviously wont be here, so you take care of the meeting?”
He gulped. A meeting with the Japanese delegates meant wining and dining them too. Could he really wrap all of that before nine thirty?

“Besides,” his boss continued, “ since I am taking the week off, I wont be able to work on the presentation. You wouldn’t mind taking care of that too, would you?”

His heart plummeted. He would be stuck in office till midnight till the thirtieth! Did a pass to Ivo’s really mean that much to him? He could always take off to Goa with his friends like every other year.

It would mean something to her. It would mean everything to her. How many times had she raved about celebrating, at least once, at Ivo’s? He had lost count. He even knew that she wanted the black dress from Giovanni’s to wear to the new year bash. Besides, after all that she had been through the past couple of months, she deserved to have at least one dream come true!

So he had gulped and agreed.

And she had equally politely and sweetly turned him down in favour of a bonfire at friend’s!

“Atish!” his colleague called from the other room. “ Dude you had better look at these statistics, they somehow don’t fit!”

He fished the pass from his breast pocket and headed towards the conference room. He poured over the presentation with his colleague and modified some figures. After another grueling two hours, they were ready to call it off. He glanced at his wrist watch. It was two in the morning.

“Joel!” he called to his departing colleague. “You have really messed up some nights working for this, haven’t you?”

Joel shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I think you deserve this,” he announced as he slipped the pass into Joel’s shirt pocket.

***
She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. What was he doing right now? Was he thinking of her, like she was of him? Was he busy waltzing with that other woman at some private party? Maybe he was spending some ‘alone time’ with her at his holiday home in the mountains?

Why was she thinking of him? She should have just gone with Atish to Ivo’s. Hadn’t she always wanted to go there? Hadn’t he always promised her that’s where he would take her this new year eve? It would have been so easy for him! Just a call to one of his connections and they would be dancing past the bouncers! Yet it was not him, but Atish who had called with the pass! Why had she refused to go with Atish?

Suddenly she did not like Ivo’s. Overnight she seemed to have developed a distaste for parties and loud music and anything that had ever been common between him and her. All those cocktail evenings which had once held a fascination and which had once introduced her to him, seemed like such a sham. She should have always known that her homemade aloo parathas and her grandmother’s hand-me-down recipe for mirchi ka achaar would be just a refreshing break from his caviars and jalapenos.

Why was she sitting here and sulking about him? She should have really gone somewhere! Anywhere! But she could not bear the thought of bumping into any of his friends and she could not tolerate their sympathetic looks. Hot shot places like Ivo’s was definitely out.

Yet, she was discovering that being alone on her secluded rooftop, with a bottle of fine wine and a small burning candle was turning out to be quite boring. She heard soft footfalls and turned in time to see Atish jump over the small wall which separated her terrace from the neighbour’s.

“What are you doing here?” She asked flabbergasted.

“Well,” he set settling down beside her. “There’s the bonfire,” he laughed pointing to the flickering flame of the burnt out candle, “here’s the booze,” he said picking up the bottle of wine, “all you needed to complete this party was a friend!”

He grinned at her, “Here I am!”

Night Queen

2009-12-03T22:03:00.000-08:00

She pulled the shawl tighter around her slender shoulders. Had the temperatures really dropped by a couple of degrees within the past hour? She ought to get up and join the party downstairs. The guests had allegedly come to meet her. Uncanny; how none of them seemed to notice the absence of their hostess.

A tiny star twinkled in the diamond lit sky. She winked back at the mischievous imp and smiled. It felt good to smile. She let her eyes wander aimlessly along the black cloak of magical twilight. If they had not missed her for this long, it was highly unlikely anybody was going to miss her now. She could afford to stay here for a little while longer.

The breeze lifted strands of velvety black hair off her shoulders and merged them with the inky blackness of the night. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the gentle caresses of her unseen friend. Promptly, the night chill planted feathered kisses on her upturned face.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

Startled she turned in the direction of his voice. How long had he been watching her?

“Excuse me?” She blurted.

“Beautiful,” he explained taking a step closer towards her, “You are beautiful.”

She did not move. Her eyes traced the outlines of his square face. He was not classically handsome, but there was something very compelling about those smoky gray eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile.

“What are you doing here by yourself?” he asked

“I am married!” she said wriggling her ring finger defensively. He laughed. The sound was deep and rich and it floated over enveloping her in its mirth. It sounded like he laughed a lot.

“Congratulations!” he said finally. “Does being married qualify you to stand on the thirtieth floor all by yourself?”

“Sorry?”

“If that’s the qualification criteria, then I confess I am a gate-crasher!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am single. Happily unmarried, actually. Does that mean I can’t linger on a beautiful night, on a beautiful terrace, with a beautiful albeit married lady?”

“You can do what you please!” she said and wedged her feet into her discarded heels. Closer, he was much taller than her. She was not intimidated, she was excited about meeting this stranger. That itself was a scary conclusion. She craved the added inches her heel would provide.

“Leaving?” he asked, his eyes never quite leaving her.

She just shrugged, unsure of whether she really wanted to leave. He watched her as she fastened the straps of her heels around her elegant ankles. Would she leave? She squared her shoulders and looked over her back at the artificially lit cityscape.

She stood there for a long undecided moment and then smiled tightly at the stranger before heading for the doors. He watched as she glided through the magical night and disappeared out of sight.

Her heels echoed in the empty stairway as she clambered towards her apartment. Nobody had missed her. Music struggled to make its presence felt above the rising decibels of human conversation. People had wandered off in groups and were having random conversations of their own. Her eyes sought her husband.

He was standing near the balcony, his arm lazily draped over the shoulders of his friend’s wife. She said something and he threw his head back and laughed. Their eyes met. He straightened up and then raised his half-filled glass to her in a toast.

She nodded and headed straight out of the apartment. The stranger was leaning on the short wall of the rooftop and staring into the night. He must’ve heard her arrive for he turned towards her. He leaned back on his elbows and smiled lazily.

“Welcome back,” he teased her

CROSSWORD

2009-11-08T22:32:00.000-08:00

He streteched his legs and rested them on the wall of the balcony. A golden winter dust filtered through the dense foliage of the old tree and formed an elegant pattern on his black track pants. He squinted at the pattern. His eyes focused on the tiny specks of illuminated dust while his mind sought to sort out the various thoughts raging inside his mind.

It did not feel like a Sunday.

He felt as tired as on any regular day. Last night had barely brought him any sleep. His mind felt battered and worn out. He seemed unable to shake off the cruel shackles of work. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He did not want to think about work.

He missed her.

He missed her nonsensical chatter. He missed the way her lips would curl in a mischievous smile. He missed the way she would rest her elbows on the pillow and narrate yet another wonderful brainstorm, passion lighting her eyes with an excited glow. He missed the way she would feel in his arms; seeking comfort in his protective embrace and parting a calm of her own. It was so very easy to forget all about stress and strain and drown himself in her magical world.

He shook his head in attempt to shake off the despair which hung heavy about him. His ears picked up the muffled footsteps of his household help as he ushered in tray loaded with warm tea and breakfast onto the balcony. He watched in amazement as the boy lifted a steaming mug of coffee and placed it beside his chai.

"Coffee?" he asked frowning.

"Madam arrived last night," the boy informed him. "She did not want to disturb you so she slept in the guest room. She said she would have breakfast with you."

She was here?!

As if on cue she appeared in the doorway. He smiled at her. He loved the way she looked in the mornings. Her tossled curls framed her face in an adroable disarray. She wriggled her toes and lifted one elegant hand to rub the sleep off her eyes. She leafed through the scattered newspapers and picked up the page she was looking for.

She sat on his lap and snuggled into his chest. All despairing thoughts scattered into the faint cold breeze and floated away to some far away place. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on her forehead. She spread the paper before her and picked up a pen from the table.

He sat there, content to be staring at her while she frowned at the paper and chewed on the back of her pen. She looked up confusion clouding her intoxicating eyes.

"A three letter word for perfect?"

"YOU"

The Holy Grail

2009-10-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

"And thus, we conclude that the hyperbolic cosine of the angle subtended by an arc on the center of a sphere is directly proportional to..."droned the professor in his typical monotonous drawl.

The boy, however, was least interested in spheres and the trigonometrical properties of their arcs. His thoughts were, as the intelligent reader would have correctly assumed, were somewhere far removed from the world of SL Loney and Co.

They, which is used here to refer to his thoughts, were on a piece of paper. A particular piece of paper, to be precise. To be more precise, the piece of paper he had found perched on his desk when he, regular as Swiss clockwork, walked into the classroom before any other of his colleagues.

The boy was honest to himself and so he admitted, again to himself, that he was surprised. The reason for his initial surprise was clear as the beaming sunshine to him. He could think of no one else in his class who could have taken effort enough to come to the class before him. But that was the least of his surprises.

He was surprised that someone could take so much effort as to put on paper those alphabets, those symbols which he had been pining for, so long a time now. But most of all, he was surprised that someone could do such a thing (referring again to the particular piece of paper mentioned earlier) inspite of his somewhat consciously self created image as the biggest snob ever seen this side of outer space. He was surprised to see that in spite of not even acknowledging even the existence of anyone outside his select coterie of so-called friends, there would be someone who would actually care for him so much, who would like him so much as to send him this particular piece of paper.

If the intelligent reader gets the impression that the boy was surprised, he is correct. That is the precise impression intended to be conveyed.

However, coming back to this piece of paper. As he caressed it and felt its surface, matted and rough on one side and smooth and shiny on the other, he felt a strange tingle of excitement run down his spines. You see, he was not used to tingles, and certainly not used to ones running down the particular portion of his anatomy called spine. So, it was a sensation he had never felt before. For the n th time, as he glanced at the paper, he saw the answer to his unrelenting quest for the preceding two years.

He could not help but smile inwardly as he found on the paper the solution to the only problem in organic chemistry he had not been able to solve: Benzene Chloride, when treated with iodine pentafluoride in alkaline medium at 90 deg centigrade, yields benzene fluoride.

PS: An experimental post. Criticism welcome.

Spring Cleaning

2009-10-09T02:03:00.000-07:00

Women are supposed to be genetically endowed with the magical genes of impeccable housekeeping. Or at least the women of her family were thus blessed. She marveled at the way they hustled about their homes all day putting things right. She often wondered where they got these never ending spurts of energy from.

She was always too tired to work at home. She hated dusting the furniture, she hated putting things in their right place and she positively detested spring cleaning. What was the point of digging out years and years of stowed away crap, dusting it and rearranging it? She was not the one to live with memories. She had a life to look forward to for crying out loud!

But yet, here she was, as sure as she knew she would be, dusting off the proverbial dust from photo albums, frames, books which were at least more than a decade old. She sighed as she placed yet another clean album on the increasing pile next to her feet. Why could she not let this be? Being a working wife was taxing enough; did she really have to do this unfailingly year after year? It was as if she expected her dead grandmother to haunt her every night till she cleaned her attic at least once.

She blew the dust off an old square book. Memories of her grandmother always made her smile. She squinted at the cover of the book she was holding. It couldn’t be? Could it? She hurriedly relieved the book of the layers of dust. Sprawled across the cover was her barely legible handwriting declaring ‘Private and Confidential’. She had even solemnly signed off her name in the same scrawny handwriting. How old had she been? Four? Five?

Smiling she flipped the book open. She paused at a picture of her crooked teeth. Scrawled below the picture were her angry words; “I hate my crooked teeth!”

She remembered that day so very well. Sid did not want her to play with him and the rest of the boys. But she wanted to play with Sid. Sid was her best friend, her playmate. If he played; she did. They had fought childishly about it. Vexed Sid had screamed, “You just cannot play ok?”

“Why?” she petulantly demanded

“Because,” Sid thought for a moment, “ You have crooked teeth!”

Dumbfounded she watched him as he bounded off with the rest of the boys. Hurt she had scrambled into her favorite corner pulled out her book and written those angry words.

She ran her hand lovingly over the picture. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Twenty five years later she still had crooked teeth. She laughed softly and flipped the pages.

She paused at “ Everything about me is so wrong!” written under a picture of her wearing spectacles. She sighed.
She had been the first girl in her class to done on the hated glasses. She looked at her younger self staring at her from the faded picture. She was in her seventh grade. She could still see the dirt trail made by her tears.

All her classmates had mocked her. She hated going to school. Once during lunch when everybody was mocking her, she decided she had enough. She stood up and announced, “You are jealous because you don’t have glasses! I think they are pretty cool!”

She turned her back on the entire lot and was ready to stomp her way out of the laughter which was bound to erupt when Sid said, “ I think they are pretty cool too!”

She had scrawled ‘Sid is my bestestestestestestestest friend EVER!’ in a blue crayon in the bottom right of the same page.

That day she had thought they didn’t make friends better than Sid.

Lovingly she flipped further. “I hate my hair!”

Oh she remembered this one only too well. They were in junior college and Sid was dating Thelma. She had been hurt. Not because she was in love with Sid or something, but because now most of Sid’s time was taken up by Thelma.

After months Sid and she had decided to catch a movie together. Thelma tagged along. She was furious. It was supposed to be Sid and her time together! How could he invite Thelma? She had been so furious that she had picked a fight with Sid right in front of Thelma.

“You will understand this better when you have a boyfriend,” Sid explained patiently.

“With hair like that, who would date her?” Thelma had scoffed.

She shut the book with a bang. How she hated that boobolicious bitch! Thank heavens Sid had found the sense to let go of her! He would be living a nightmare right now otherwise!

Was she really still affected that strongly by something which had happened about a decade ago? She smiled and reopened the book.

“My first Date” Of course it was a reaction to Thelma’s outburst.

Kushal. Sweet. Simple. Handsome. Kushal.

They had gone to the new year eve bash together. All of them Thelma, Kushal, Sid and her. Sid had taken the protective brother stance and for once ignored Thelma some.

“Are you sure you like this bloke?” Sid had asked her. She had just shrugged her shoulders. Sid did some shrugging of his own.

Kushal. They were still very good friends. Kushal was the kind of guy you could count on. Ten years and going strong; that said something about their friendship. She wondered if Kushal remembered this day?

“Beautiful Me”

This one was during graduation. She was wearing her usual blue denims and a faded pink tee. Her hair was tied up in a pony tail and her bag hung lazily over one shoulder. She had been fretting all day wondering why she hadn’t been asked to the dance party yet.

“Must be because I am ugly,” she confessed as he watched Sid dribble the ball.

“Rubbish!” Sid declared as he basketed the ball.

“Right,” she responded as she scrambled to her feet. Sid let go off the ball and fidgeted within his bag.

“Will you go to the dance with me?” He asked. She turned to look at him and he clicked this picture.

“Don’t you already have a date?” she asked

“Not yet,” he said as he headed towards her, “ But if you turn me down, I will have to try hard to get one.” Sid had never had to try to get a date.

“You are just being a great friend, thanks,” she replied dejectedly.

He put an arm around her shoulder and forced her to look at the screen of the digital camera he was holding, “Look! Have you really seen something as beautiful as her? I think the most handsome guy in the college deserves to take the most beautiful girl in this world to the dance!”

That’s Sid for you, she thought. He could brighten your world in seconds.

She heard feet scrambling. Seconds later, her husband was squeezing himself through the small attic door.

“How’s the mood?” he asked, knowing how much she hated the task

“Rather good, surprisingly,” she smiled at him fondly.

“What?” he asked confused. “You are supposed to be in a foul mood, all upset at having to do this dreaded chore. And then I surprise with the wine in the fridge and the food ordered in from Jughead’s and you that’s when you think I am the best husband in the entire wide world. Where is my plan going wrong? Oh yes! You are not in a bad mood!”

She snuggled to him and said, “But you are still the best husband in the entire wide world!”

He hugged her to him, “Boy! This is why I married you!” he whispered against her year.

“I thought,” she mumbled hugging her scrapbook a little tighter, “you married me because the most handsome guy in all of India had to marry the most beautiful girl in the world!”

His laughter rumbled beneath her palm which rested on his chest.

“Sid?”

“hmmm”

“Imagine if you were married to Thelma!”

Happy Birthday

2009-09-21T23:13:00.000-07:00

She peered at the black sky, piercing its inky nothingness with her tear-rimmed stare. Nothing. No star twinkled, no moon stretched its silver beams, nothing budged the suffocating black. A tear rolled silently down her soft cheek and splattered noiselessly on the back of her hand.

There were going to be no surprises this year. No midnight calls to wish her a ‘happy’ birthday. She could not bear it. She was not happy and she could not pretend to be either. So, she had just switched off her cell phone and shut out the world. She would enjoy the birthday gift Vishal had given her.

An aching heart and a lifetime filled with empty moments.

She sniffed. The cool night breeze tickled her nose. She allowed herself a tiny smile. Maybe she was not as lonely as she felt. Maybe, like the silent breeze caressing her skin, she had company she just hadn’t taken time to notice. What was the point of moping at her window night after night anyway?

She sighed. She seemed to like moping. It was as if every moment that might have been a happy one, she determinedly squashed its essence. Vishal meant the will to breathe life into every dream. Vishal meant the zest to live every second to its fullest. Vishal meant the birth of new ideas and the sweet joy of celebrating their success.

Vishal meant marriage and kids.

Just not hers. He was married! How could he lie to her about it? Why had he lied to her about it? How could she have been so foolish to love him? How could she be foolish enough to love him even now? For if she didn’t love him, there was no reason for the unbearable ache, was there?

She could feel a fresh surge of tears, threatening to overwhelm her. She pushed back from the window. She turned her back on the darkness outside and squinted in the golden yellow light of bedside lamp. Any second now, the clock would strike twelve.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Happy Birthday Idiot!” she whispered brokenly to herself.
She jumped with a start when she heard the doorbell. She frowned hard at the door. Had she not specifically told everybody to not disturb her tonight? What was with people and their urge to ignore her wishes?

Well, she would just not open the door. They could wait at her doorstep all night if they wanted.

She climbed into her bed and pulled the duvet over her. She did not sleep though. She rested against the pillows and frowned. The doorbell pealed again. She pouted and frowned at the door again. She was more curious than annoyed.

She did not move however. She was determined not to have her peace shattered by anybody. She stared blankly at a crimson petal painted on the duvet cover. The bell rang loud in the silence. She looked towards the door.

Should she check?

She huffed and crossed her hands over chest. Would it be Vishal?

She almost got out of bed. If it was Vishal, then he deserved to spend the night on her doorstep. There was no way she was going to let Vishal in her house or her life ever again.

There it was again. That was the fourth doorbell.

Unable to contain her curiosity and thinking of a million retorts depending on the person on the other side of the door, she shuffled out of bed.

She swung the door open, before the bell could ring for a fifth time. A delivery boy stood there with a bunch of mixed flowers. Frowning, she accepted them and shut the door. They were not the conventional roses. The roses were orange and there were red tulips, with pink carnations and white daffodils!

She smiled. It was difficult not to be pleased with the colorful array of beauty. She fingered the lace delicately woven between the flowers. They were beautiful! Her finger touched something. An enveloped lay cuddled amidst the edelweiss. Edelweiss!! How pretty!

She picked the envelope and nudged it open. A white folded paper floated to the floor.

Curious she unfolded it:

Impatient Imp!

I knew you would open the door before the fifth bell! You always did!

If you are done wallowing over your married boyfriend, wear that blue dress you look so breathtaking in. I hope you still fit into it after all the depressive eating you have indulged in. But, trust me, you will look breathtaking nevertheless.

While you might be content with spending your life pining after some jerk who never deserved you in the first place, I have better plans with mine. I plan to spend the rest of my life, beginning now, with the one woman I have loved for as long as I can remember. It has taken me twenty five years to write this note.

I loved you when you decided to call your first Barbie ‘Bar – bee’, I loved you when you hated doing math, I loved you when you fell off your cycle and scraped your knee, I loved you when you thought you looked fat in your first cocktail dress! I loved you when you clicked your heels into every male’s heart and I loved you when you chose my best friend as your first date.

I loved you when you loved Vishal.

I love you now, when you don’t love Vishal.

And if you keep reading this note without opening the door, I am going to freeze on your doorstep, because this delivery boy uniform is not really warm!

From me to you!

She laughed and raced back to the door. The delivery boy was standing there leaning against the door frame.

“Happy Birthday!” he smiled lazily at her.

“Incorrigible!” she said with a smile. “Of course you expect me to go weak in the knees and run right into your arms!” she added sarcastically.

He straightened up and frowned, “That sounds perfect!” he said finally.

Haunted

2009-09-04T05:18:00.000-07:00

He could see her running. He was gasping for air. His lungs were bursting with the pressure to perform. But he could not give up. He would never give up. He tried to call her name, but all he managed to do was whisper.

Run!

He told himself, though he was already running as fast as he could. She was always a little faster. She was heading towards the cliff. He could hear the angry waters wage a war against the rocks embedded in their midst. She would either drown or hit her against the dead stones. Could she not see the futility of it all?

Did she not care that he was chasing her to stop her?

She stopped then. She turned around to face him. Her eyes widened with surprise as she recognized him. She took a tentative step in his direction. A watery smile split across her face. He smiled back. All would be fine now. Even the ceaseless rains did would not stop him now.

She raised her pale shaking hand towards him to hold. Her eyes grew round with terror, as her cold fingers breezed against his outstretched palm. She looked horrified towards her feet. He followed her gaze. The soft mud beneath her feet was crumbling fast.

With a whoosh, she swept downwards towards the waiting waters.

No! He screamed.

As usual he was alone. Sweat tricked down his forehead into his eyes. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then he let out a long breath.

He had been dreaming again.

It was the same dream for the past five years. Five years of a morbid life without her. It had started a month after her funeral. At first it had seemed so real, that every time he opened his eyes, he almost expected to see her in front of him. By now the dream was a comfort. He sought the dream every single time he collapsed exhausted on his bed.

He missed her so much.

He loved her so much.

His friends and family alike had given up on trying to make him come alive once again. It was as if, when she left, she took him with her, leaving his soulless body in the wake of a nightmare. He did what was expected of him. He went to work, he came back home, he ate, he drank, he slept. He coveted his nightmare. He wept.
If he could feel so much of pain, he had to be alive, right? Then why did people think otherwise?

He turned a picked up the framed photograph of her. He ran a loving finger down the cold glass and then hugged it to his chest and closed his eyes. In his nightmare, he would see her again. He would lose her again. But that agony was worth it, if he got to see her smile that one last time.

Her cold fingers brushed past his. He knew any minute now she would tumble towards the waters and there would be nothing he could do about it. But he would have to try. Maybe if he tried a little harder, things would be different. He ran towards her. His feet slipped on the wet mud and he careened towards the very edge she had toppled off from. He tried to stop his slide.

Did he really want to?

He was almost off the cliff, when a gentle tug stopped him. Curious he looked up. She had beautiful brown eyes; like those velvety ones of a newborn mule. Her face was not beautiful, but attractive. She was smiling at him and holding on to his hand with all her strength. She was trying to haul him back.

He wanted to be hauled back.

Her black hair clung to her heart shaped face, drenched from the very rain, which pattered down his body. He scrambled to his feet. She let go off his hand. He turned to thank her.

But she was gone.

The alarm woke him up. He shook his head, annoyed. This was not what he had been expecting. He loved his old nightmare. Did he know the new girl in his dream? He frowned hard in thought. He could remember her every feature with startling clarity, yet he was certain he had never met her.

He shrugged his shoulder and headed to dress up. Anuj’s sister was getting married and as his childhood friend, he could not disappoint the entire family by not showing up.

The sun was nice and bright. He squinted skywards, but there was not even a hint of rain. So no part of the nightmare was going to come true today. He sighed.

In minutes he was embraced in the noise of celebration. It was noise. Nothing pleasant about it. He hated crowds and he hated attention and hated the sympathy which he saw in the eyes around him the most. He was content the way he was, why could people not let him be?

He headed to the verandah’s to grab some fresh air. He saw her then. She was in the garden with some other people, discussing something. She was exactly the way she had looked in his dream.

Was he hallucinating?

He could not take his eyes off her. Once again he tried to place her. Once again he failed. She shook her head in confusion and looked around. Her eyes alighted upon him. She had the same velvet brown eyes. Her eyes widened fractionally, as if she recognized him. She smiled tentatively, then shook her head and looked away. Did she recognize him?

Anuj caught up with him.

“Who is she?” He asked Anuj.

“Gaurav’s wife,” Anuj replied, “beautiful isn’t she?”

Thick drops of rain pelted from a clear sky, casting a brilliant rainbow against the pale blue.

Yes, beautiful.

Drenched

2009-07-15T12:27:00.000-07:00

Was there a point in carrying the umbrella? Her damp saree clung to her body, in a desperate attempt to avoid the pattering drops. Wet tendrils of brown black hair kissed her neck and forehead. She squinted skywards seeking the elusive sun, knowing she wouldn’t find him there. Her feet, comfortably ensconced in her practical footwear, beat splashes of water in the puddles as she hurried homewards. Once again her eyes skirted the periphery for the remotest signs of an auto.

Her gaze collided with jet black ones. Before she acknowledged him, her heart skipped a beat. Time slithered to a complete halt as memories flooded back to recreate a new moment. She wanted to say something; a million things all together. But words just tripped over themselves inside her head. The torrential rains veiled them from each other, but their eyes did not need the help of vision to know what lay on the other side. Just a blink and all would be lost. She knew that, he knew that.

A pearly droplet landed on her long eyelashes, blurring her vision. But she did not blink.

Somewhere in those recesses of her mind, which were beyond her own reach, she wanted this moment to last forever. She stared as the traffic buzzed in between them, unaware of the storm brewing on the opposite sides of the street. She watched him as he stared back at her.

Her cell phone rang. Without taking his eyes off him, she reached for her phone.

“Mamma?” the three year old crooned. “Gods are really angry, they sent the rains to scare me. When are you coming home?”

She looked away from him and stared at the phone. She looked back to where he was standing. He was still watching her.

“Mamma?”

Which of them were real? She stared from her phone to him and back. A tiny tear mixed with the rain and beat a hot path down her cheek. She put the phone back to her ear.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes baby!” she consoled her frightened daughter.

On cue an auto stopped right in front of her. She hurried into the backseat, lest she be tempted to glance back and be captured by that black gaze forever. She threw her head back and let the silent tears cascade down her cheeks. How she missed him!!!

She had missed him all these years. Yet, she had never known how to find her way back to him. What was he doing in her town? Why had he come after all these years to ruffle her peace. He would have to know how it would affect her. Was it his way of exacting revenge?

How could he affect her after all these years? She had married the man she loved, hadn’t she? And her husband loved her back with a crazy passion? Why on earth then, did that rainy moment threaten to haunt her in the days to come?

The auto screeched to a halt in front of the gate. She walked in and hugged her three year old daughter, deriving comfort from her warm body. She was not only married, she was also a mother. She had no business letting a stranger disrupt her life. Only, he wasn’t a stranger. If she closed her eyes, she would in a flash recreate everything about him, as she had known him.

But that was five years ago.

Time did strange things to people. She had changed in these five years. Drastically. They say, marriage does that you. Yet, in that one moment when their eyes had met, his black eyes had cut right through her defenses and stared straight at her soul.

Two dots and a curve

2009-07-04T02:26:00.000-07:00

Gtalk conversations:

HE: c’mon its just a matter of 2 days!
Sent at 1:50pm on Friday

SHE: I cant stand him for 2 hrs, let alone 2 days
Sent at 1:51pm on Friday

HE: But I promised!
Sent at 1:53pm on Friday

SHE: You didn’t ask me b’fore you promised!
Sent at 1:54pm on Friday

He: C’mon honey just this one time, please ?
Sent at 2:01pm on Friday

SHE: You mean till you goof up the next time?
Sent at 2:02pm on Friday

HE: :* you know that’s why I love you! So he can come?
Sent at 2:03pm on Friday

SHE::)
Sent at 2:26pm on Friday

He thinks: man! So much ado just to have a good ole bud over! But all’s well, she did smile in the end, didn’t she?
She thinks: You will never understand, will you? I bet you thought that smiley meant I was smiling! Men!

SMS saga

From : Him
Date : 03.07.2009
Time : 18:00
Hon, b late. Imp meeting. Fuckin boss. Pls pik him up

From : Her
Date : 03.07.2009
Time: 18:11
Pic hoo?

From : Him
Date : 03.07.2009
Time :18:12
Akash? He comin over, u agreed dis aft remember? Wont b able to pik him up myself. Imp meeting

From : Her
Date : 03.07.2009
Time: 18:14
He really coming? And now I have to pic him? Wt fuk?!

From : Him
Date: 03.07.2009
Time: 18:17
Hon pls. promise wil make it up 2 u. shoppin morrow? My treat!

From : Her
Date : 03.07.2009
Time : 18:30
:)

He thinks: phew! That wasn’t so difficult was it? Maybe just a bit heavy on the pocket tomorrow but what the heck…
She thinks: such an arrogant prick?! Now he wants me to go chauffeuring his buds! Shopping tomorrow? What’s he thinking? Buy me some pink candy? Gawd! Men!!!

Email Bonanza

Date: 04.07.2009
Time : 10:05 am
From : him@rediffmail.com
Subject: Thank you ma love

Hey gorgeous!
You know I hate waking up without you next to me. Do you really have to work today?
Mmmmmuwah! Thanks for being a sport yesterday
- Me

Date: 04.07.2009
Time :10:12 am
From: her @gmail.com
Subject: Re: Thank you ma love
You slept next to Akash last night, how would you wake up beside me?
Yes, I really need to work today.
---
>Hey gorgeous!
>You know I hate waking up without you next to me. Do you really have to work today?
>Mmmmmuwah! Thanks for being a sport yesterday
- Me

Date: 04.07.2009
Time: 10:43 am
From: him@ rediffmail.com
Subject: RE: re: Thank you ma love!
Come on! You know I was just trying be a lil romantic here! Cut this guy some slack! Besides its sexy weather and ma babes not even on gtalk? What if I flirt with someone else?
---
>You slept next to Akash last night, how would you wake up beside me?
>Yes, I really need to work today.
---
>Hey gorgeous!
>You know I hate waking up without you next to me. Do you really have to work today?
>Mmmmmuwah! Thanks for being a sport yesterday
- Me

Date: 04.07.2009
Time: 11:03 am
From : her @gmail.com
Subject: re: re: re: Thanks ma love!
:)
--
>Come on! You know I was just trying be a lil romantic here! Cut this guy some slack! Besides its sexy
>weather and ma babes not even on gtalk? What if I flirt with someone else?
---
>You slept next to Akash last night, how would you wake up beside me?
>Yes, I really need to work today.
---
>Hey gorgeous!
>You know I hate waking up without you next to me. Do you really have to work today?
>Mmmmmuwah! Thanks for being a sport yesterday
- Me

He thinks : Crap! Say hello to another ‘wooing Saturday’! What’s with women really?
She thinks: Flirt with other women? Really? See if I care?!

Why?

2009-06-25T00:51:00.001-07:00

“ … Why, is such an inconsequential question! Why would a parent do something like this? Why do bad things happen? Why are children across the globe being mistreated? You want me to make a list of Whys? It would run so long, it could guarantee a draught hit continent as life-time supply of toilet rolls!” He took a much-needed pause. He looked down into his folded hands, shook his head to erase the troubled frown creasing his handsome forehead, took in a deep breath as if breathing in fresh thoughts and continued, “This is not another movie, aiming to shred block-buster charts. It is a movie which will rip your soul from your body, slam it around till it’s battered, and shove it right where it belongs. So if you are not looking for that moment, which will turn your life upside down, if you are not looking for that moment, beyond which life can never be the same again, then you had better sit at home and twiddle your fingers across the remote control, flicking through brainless emotions, which register but don’t matter.”

“Papa!” Kayla said pointing one finger at the screen and cuddling closer to her. She smiled at her nine year old daughter and kissed her mop of unruly black hair. “Yes, sweetheart, Papa!” she assured.

She pulled her daughter on to her lap and shifted focus back to the screen. Joshua had been very passionately involved in the making of this film. It was a film about a small girl, who tries to escape from her abusive father and how society and circumstances keep pushing her back to him. When he had told her the script, she had cried. She had tiptoed to Kayla’s room and kissed her fragile sleeping form. The world was a brutal place to bring the child in.

“Who is she?” Kayla asked pointing to the star kid of the film.

“She is acting in Papa’s film,” she explained to her daughter.

“Do you think she is pretty?” Kayla asked a small frown appearing on her baby forehead.

She laughed, “Yes, I think she is very pretty! But not as pretty as you!”

“Does daddy find her pretty?” She asked looking straight into her eyes. She senses the jealousy underlying this question of her nine-year old. She smiled worriedly. She had heard daughters being possessive about their fathers. But something about the way Kayla asked the question, was making her very uncomfortable.

“I don’t know,” she said, “Maybe you can ask Papa when he comes back?”

This seemed to satisfy Kayla for the moment. She leaned back into her and continued watching the interview. She switched off the television and told Kayla it was time for bed. After tucking her neatly in, she kissed her goodnight.

“Will Papa come to kiss me goodnight?” Kayla asked as she made to leave.

“Of course, sweetheart he will!” she answered as she moved to turn off the light.
“Mommy…” she asked hesitantly, “does Papa kiss you goodnight too?”

She laughed and hugged her daughter to her. “Sometimes,” she answered as honestly as she could.

“Do you like it?” Kayla asked.

She frowned and pulled back and looked questioningly at Kayla. Kayla snuggled under her blanket and pulled her bunny close to her in a tight hug.

“I sometimes don’t like it when he kisses me goodnight,” she whispered. “It hurts.”

With her heart thudding like an avalanche coursing through it, she ran a gentle finger down her daughter’s cheek, “What hurts, honey?”

Kayla said nothing for a moment. Then as if making up her mind, she peeled off the blanket and raised her night shirt to reveal a redness between her thighs.

She stopped breathing. Her eyes welled with tears, but she did not dare to think. “What happened baby?” she asked as she ran a soothing hand over the sore spot.

“When Papa comes to kiss goodnight, he hurts me, he says it’s all a part of the goodnight kiss. He told me at first it hurts, but later on you get used to it. “ Kayla said self-consciously pulling her night shirt down.

She clasped one hand to her mouth. She didn’t want to sob in front of Kayla. She tucked the blanket around Kayla, willing the tears back into her eyes.

“It’s ok baby,” she whispered, “Papa wont kiss you goodnight after tonight. He wont hurt you.”

“Promise?” she asked innocently pulling her bunny close to her once again.

“Promise!” She whispered brokenly.

She turned off the lights and headed downstairs. She heard his car as it rumbled up the driveway. She walked into the living room.

He saw her sitting by the fireplace, waiting his arrival. It had been a terrific interview! The audience was waiting for their hearts to weep. His performance had moved even a couple of the journalists to tears! Now that was acting.

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. She had been crying too.

“Was it the interview?” he asked. She nodded. He knew it had been a terrific interview.

“Kayla slept?” he asked pouring himself some whiskey from the decanter.

She nodded again. He gulped his drink in one swig and poured out some more.

“The movie is going to be a roaring success!” he told her with glee. “the audience is hugging their children closer to them, to scared to trust their own partners! That’s the power of flawless acting. Mistrust has crept into every relation…”

He cleared his throat, something was irritating him. The room began to spin in front of his eyes. He shook his head to clear it. Was he going too fast with the drinks? He coughed and sputtered some blood. He looked at her for help.

She remained seated by the fireplace staring at him. He began to grasp for air. She remain unmoved. Through the thickening haze, he saw with startling clarity that she had poisoned his drink.

As he cluttered to the floor all he managed to get past his lips was a choked… “Why?”

Coffee

2009-06-17T03:00:00.000-07:00

She put the book down on her lap and leaned he forehead against the cool rain-washed window. Rivulets of crystal blue water criss-crossed on the glassy panes, forming a million dreamy patterns. She pulled the baby blue blanket further up and tucked it below her chin. Rains, she thought, were incomplete without coffee. As if reading her thoughts, a rain-mixed coffee smell drifted to her nostrils. She smiled. She remembered a conversation etched long ago in the golden folds of unforgettable memories.

He was sitting facing her, fidgeting with the paper napkins on the table. She watched his tanned hands strike a contrast against the snowy white tissues. She watched his strong fingers first fold, then unfold those tissues. Was he nervous? She wondered. Or maybe he found her boring enough to kill time folding tissues…

The waiter arrived with their coffees. She watched the frothy bubbles of her latte pop soundlessly in the white barista cup. She leaned in a bit closer and smelled the coffee and wriggled her nose.

“I take it, you don’t like the barista coffee much,” he said amusement lurking in his brown-black eyes.

“No! Its not that!” she hastened to assure him, lest he terminate this date prematurely.

He smiled and raised on brow in question. Oh he could simply melt her insides with the simplest of gestures, couldn’t he?

She sighed and confessed, “Its more like the on-the-move coffee, you know.. something you pick up in a hurry to get the caffeine kick?”

“Ok,” he said at length, clearly lost with her explanation. “And you don’t drink coffee for the caffeine kick?”

“Not always….” She admitted. “You see there are moments which demand the savory-coffee. You know? Moments like these? When you want everything to be just perfect! The perfect moment, the perfect atmosphere, the perfect guy on a perfect date..” she blushed feeling hot at being so blatant.

He smiled, blushing a little himself.

“You see?” she continued with her explanations, “moments like these deserve the perfect coffee. The perfect blend, which makes you go mmmmmm in response. The perfect proportions… unfortunately, you must make the perfect coffee yourself…”

She smiled at the memory as she watched the rain. This was one of those perfect moments which oh-so called for the perfect coffee. But she didn’t want to get up and make some herself.

“Coffee?” he said as he handed over a mug brimming with the hot beverage.

Startled, she looked up at him and smiled. She folded her hands around the coffee mug, drinking in its warmth and sniffed the wafting vapors.

mmmmmmm…. Perfect!

He lifted the book off her lap, tucked the blanket beneath her feet and sat himself opposite her. Together they stared out at the rains.

mmmmmmmm… Perfect!

lonesome tonight

2009-06-13T01:25:00.000-07:00

It wasn’t yet night, nor did it have the lustrous charm of a sensuous evening. It was that time of the day when you feel at odds with yourself. Afloat in the vast confusions of complex relationships, you desperately search for an anchor. He hated this time of the day. He hated being alone.

He sighed and threw his head back. People always told him solutions were always directly proportional to the complexity of the problem. It is just that blinded by trouble on tends to lose focus and the solution blurs out. He loosened his tie and leaned his elbows on his knees. He watched the lush green carpet run in deep green lines under the bed. Why does one feel lonely?
He should just pick up the phone and dial a couple of numbers. In no time he would be heading out to a spirit enriched late night fiasco. But he did not want to go. He just wanted to sit here and feel lonely. He rubbed his temples with his fingers.

“Hey,” she whispered, “Long day huh?” She sat on the bed beside him and draped her arms around his neck. He smiled at her. She smiled back and rested her head on his shoulder.

Why did he never hear her arrive? It was almost as if she always tiptoed on him, sneaking upon him, surprising him, spying on his private thoughts. He wanted to undo her clasp on his neck and put some distance between their bodies. He watched her slender thighs, snug in her denims touching his trouser clad one. At one point, this sight would have led to different thoughts and a totally different outcome. Now he just felt repulsed.

What had changed?

Had he?

Had she?

“Coffee?” She asked sitting up straight and stretching her slender frame.

“Sure!” he said grasping the first excuse to put some distance between them.

“Great! So you make some while I freshen up a bit, “ she said as she rose. She took two steps away from him, stopped and looked back. Then she threw her head back and laughed. Once upon a time he would want to sell himself to be able to keep that laugh there forever. Today he just wanted her to shut up.

She walked back to him, snuggled on his lap and kissed his nose. “Kidding! Why don’t you freshen up while I get the coffee going?”

He looked at her and nodded. This was the loving domesticity he had craved for all his life. All his life he had wanted to come home to love. Yet now when his dream was staring him in his face, all he felt was… empty.

She kissed his nose once again. He wriggled it, as if trying to shake her kiss away. She giggled at the gesture and the slid of his lap. He breathed a little easier. He watched her retreating back and then made an attempt to get off the bed himself.

His cell phone buzzed. He looked at and looked at the door through which his wife had just disappeared. He answered the phone. He smiled. It was her.

“Miss you,” she said.

“Hmmm”

“Why cant you come home to me?” she asked

“Hmmm” he replied

“I am wearing only a red tie,” she teased. He smiled wider.

“Do you want some sandwich to go with the coffee” his wife’s muffled question floated in through the door.

Before he could answer, she whispered through the earpiece, “Bunk the coffee and sandwiches you can have champagne and me instead.”

“Hullo?” His wife called out again.

“Sandwich is fine!” he screamed back irritated.

“Why don’t I call you back in a bit?” he whispered into the phone.

“Sure,” she said, “enjoy the coffee.”

He hung up and stared at the phone. He had no idea how long he had been staring. His reverie was interrupted by his wife. She was sneaking on him again.

Lonely. That’s how he felt right now. Very very lonely.

Same Time. Same Place.

2009-05-28T01:41:00.000-07:00

Heavy gray clouds blanketed the pink summer skies, but they could not steal the warm tingling feeling which the rays left in their wake. A strong wind blew swirls of dust into the eyes of the disillusioned pedestrians, making them quicken their pace. A storm was brewing, and true to their instincts, no wise human being wanted any part of it.

He stopped at the glass door and turned his back on the wind blown chaos. Once inside, he would have to weather a different kind of storm. A storm he both feared and welcomed. It would be the same as it would have been for the last fifteen years.

She would sit at the same table; she would sip the same brand of wine. She would wear yet another shade of blue and once again she would sit there without uttering a single word, till it was time to get up and leave.

Like he had for the past fifteen years, he would sit right behind her, three tables away. He would watch her elegant fingers wrap and unwrap around the stem of her glass. He remembered that gesture so well. She would always do that when she was mad at him and was struggling hard to reign in her ebbing temper.

“It’s safer for the world, if only one of us were angry at a time,” she would kid him; hours after their fights had blown over.

He missed her so much, it was unbearable. Yet, he would bear it through the four seasons spread across the three hundred and sixty four days, to endure the sweet torture of just watching her from this sacred distance, today. Once again, he would toy with the idea of approaching her, for a million times in every second. Once again echoes of the past would chain him to his chair.

Her screams would deafen him to the voice of the speaker. Memories once again clouded his vision as he traveled fifteen years back in time.

“He is not answering the phone!” she half screamed at him. He understood she was not really screaming at him. She was annoyed about feeling helpless.

“Its ok, honey,” he reasoned with her, “look his breathing is stable. We don’t want to jump the gun and raise false alarms, do we?”

“False alarms?” She hissed at him, hen took a deep breath and ran a trembling hand through her ruffled hair. She sat next to their four month old baby and placed a gentle hand on his chest. Tears flooded her eyes and she looked away.

“His temperature is still rising,” she whispered, still not looking at him. “Please call the doctor, he’s your friend after all!”

“Ok,” he said, “ Let’s check his temperature once again. If its high, I promise I will shake the doc out of his sleep. But if all’s well, we meet him in the morning, ok?”

When she still seemed reluctant he pointed out, “ Morning’s only four hours away!”

They recorded his temperature to be a decent ninety nine. While it was not normal, it was not something to panic about. He breathed a sigh of relief. Both of them had not slept in three days. Doctor’s could not figure out what was wrong with their four month old baby, but they promised they were trying their best. She would not last an hour without her son and he would not last a second without her. He would kill himself before he let anything happen to their son.

“He is shivering!” she tugged at his arm in an alarmed whisper.

That was it. He rushed her and their baby to the car and headed to the hospital. While she hugged their son to her and sniffed soothing words in his deaf ears, he called doctor after doctor telling them he would be at the hospital in five minutes.

They were five minutes too late.

For a week after that she did not speak a word. The mourners had come and gone. The house loomed large like an over decked cemetery. There were no signs of life. Two dead bodies, he and her, floated endlessly between the walls.

On the eighth day, she was standing outside the door, with her packed bags stashed in the boot of the waiting taxi.

“You killed my baby,” she said and closed the door upon him.

Today, after fifteen years, those doors still remained shut. He watched her as she stood up and walked towards the exit; the ghosts of a painful past embracing her graceful gait.

“See you soon,” he whispered and raised a silent toast in the direction of the doorway she had just departed from. “same time, same place… next year.”

*****

She shook her head in an attempt to shake away the pain. It was futile.

She knew he was there. Like always she had sensed his presence the minute he had walked in. She knew he sat somewhere behind her. She was always afraid to look.

Would he be alone?

Would he be with someone?

God! If he was with someone, she would never be able to bear it. She still loved with him with every aching memory.

She regretted every word of what she had said that fateful morning. She wished she knew how to say sorry. She wished he didnt hate her. But he had to. Else why would he come here, year after year, and not talk to her. Not once, in the past fifteen years.

She squared her shoulders. She would not think about it. She was grateful to him that he loved their son enough to come once every year to attend the annual meet of the charity organization, they had put together in his honour. It was something she had always respected and loved about him – his sense of responsibility.

She watched as the gray clouds parted without a hint of rain. Dots of crimson colored a pale sky. Soon it would be sunny and unbearably hot. But right now? Right now everything was just perfect.

She would be with him again. Soon. Same time. Same place. Next year.

Wedding invitation

2009-05-26T02:02:00.000-07:00

“I am sorry, but if he is not coming, then I am not getting married,” she said her arms crossed over her chest and her face sporting her most indignant expression. Her mother opened her mouth to counter this decision but was silenced with, “The decision’s final. I am hearing nothing more about it.”

“This is ridiculous!” her father fumed and hurled the newspaper on the floor. “What do you mean by there is no wedding without him? You get married in two days! What’s the point of this tantrum? Look around! You are not four anymore!”

“Exactly Pa!” She said her stance getting more defiant. “I am not four. And this is my wedding. So I get a say in who’s invited and who’s not!”

“Invited?!” her father repeated disbelievingly. “Of course he is not ‘invited.’ He is not even welcome.”

When she did not react to his statement, he prodded, “You hear me girl?”

“Loud and clear,” she said with controlled fury. “Then I am not getting married. Simple” She countered looking him straight in the eye.

“What rubbish? What utter rubbish? Do you want marry Kunal or Veeru?” her father blasted.

“Why don’t we all calm down,” her mother interrupted afraid what her daughter might throw as an answer.

“Why don’t you call Kunal and speak to him?” She asked her daughter, “see what he has to say?”

“Its not his decision to make!” She said flinging her hands in the air. She could not understand why her parents were being so adamant about something they knew meant so much to her.

“Call him! You are about to get married to him! For heaven’s sake at least know what he has to say!” Her father said settling down on the couch once again, secure in the knowledge that he would have his future son-in-law’s unconditional support.

“Fine” she said looking from her father to her mother and back to her father. “But what he has to say, changes nothing about how I feel about all of this. I want Veeru here.”

She fetched her cell phone from her denim pocket and dialed Kunal’s number.

“Hey gorgeous!” Kunal screamed in her ear. “Can I call you in fifteen?”

She could hear massive chaos in the background, almost fifteen people seemed to be hushing each other at one time.

“Where are you?” she asked curiosity momentarily winning over the ‘veeru battle’.

“Oh…err.. ummm…,” she heard a lot of prodding at the back and knew she wasn’t going to get a truthful answer, “Out with friends, you know?” he laughed nervously.

There was more background noise. Scampering feet, ‘idiot’ being hissed from clenched teeth, ‘ouch’ and ‘aws’ and ‘hang the fuck up!’

“Honey, cant I really call you in fifteen?” Kunal almost pleaded.

“Actually not.” She said extremely curious about what her future husband was currently up to. “I need one question answered now.”

“Put the phone on speaker!” her father said from over her shoulder. She was first startled and then rolled her eyes at him. She punched the loudspeaker button.

The room was filled with weird sounds, mixed with muttered curses.

“Sweety,” Kunal’s voice echoed in the hall, “do we really have to do this now?”

“Yeah,” she shouted at the phone. She wanted to be sure that Kunal heard every word, “Is Veeru invited to the wedding or not?”

“Veeru what?” Kunal asked in a half-distracted voice. “Why do you want to invite Veeru? Ah hell!! Crap!! Beautiful I have to call you back. Bye.”

Just like that he cut the phone.

“Why do you want to invite Veeru?” her father repeated. “That does not sound like – Oh sure, let Veeru come! I have no objections!”

She slid the phone back into her pocket with a frown. How could Kunal do this? He of all the people understood what having Veeru at the wedding meant to her. How could he then let her down like this? Was marrying him going to turn out to be a mistake after all.

Her father returned to his newspaper with a smile, quite content to accept his daughter’s silence as an acceptance of Veeru’s absence at the wedding.

Her mother looked at her retreating back, as she headed for the stairs leading to her room. She understood, but she would never argue with her father.

The doorbell rang loud in the silence.

Her mother rushed to open it.

“Veeru!” she screamed with pure glee and rushed with open arms towards the door.

“Woof!” he barked with equal glee and rushed towards her, slobbering her with his happy tongue. She put her arms around the massive dog and hugged him tight.

“Surprise!” said Kunal from the door.

She left the dog and hurled her arms around him.

“But you said we don’t need to invite Veeru to the wedding..” she said looking into his eyes with half gratitude and half joy.

“You don’t invite family!” he said tucking a wayward lock behind her ear.

Marrying him wasn’t going to be a mistake after all!

SMS Frenzy

2009-04-15T00:04:00.000-07:00

From : Major Rathore
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 05:30 am
The book is out. Buy. Spread the news

From: Capt. Shivendra Pratap Singh
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 05:31 am
Yes Sir.

From: Capt. Shivendra Pratap Singh
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 05:34 am
Major Rathore’s wife’s book is out. Instructions: Buy and spread d word

From: Capt. Raghavan Reddy
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 05:36 am
Mrs. Major’s book is out. Buy. Ask ever1 to buy.

From: Cdt. Shivkumar Sharma
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 05:47 am
Major’s wife’s book out. Buy one copy for me too.

From: Rohit
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 5:55am
WTF?! Why r u msging at 6 in the morn! Hit the bed dude!

From: Cdt. Shivkumar Sharma
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 05:58 am
Just spread d news yaar

From: Naina
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 06:07 am
Up so early? Sure will check the book out. What’s it called?

From : Rohit
Date:14.04.2009
Time: 06:15 am
Abbey saale book ka nam toh bataa

From: Cdt. Shivkumar Sharma
Date: 15.04.2009
Time: 06:20 am
Wat’s da nam of da book sir

From: Capt. Raghavan Reddy
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 06:23 am
Sun book ka naam pata hai kya?

From: Capt. Shivendra Pratap Singh
Date: 14.04.2009
Time: 06:25 am
Beg your pardon sir, didn’t catch the name of the book.

From: Major Rathore
Date:14.04.2008
Time: 06:30 am
You took an hour to realize you didn’t know the name of the book, captain?

Excerpts from Knots and No Crosses

2009-04-10T00:31:00.000-07:00

Chapter 4 : Flowers and More

....

...As he stood at the florist, eyeing the array of bright flowers, his confusion multiplied. Out of habit, he headed towards the crimson roses. Almost all the women in his life, who had mostly been single, had invariably been flattered when he had presented them with a bouquet of red roses interspersed with a sprinkling of white nameless dots of flowers. They could not stop gushing over the thoughtfulness behind the gesture and always felt a little overwhelmed by this romantic streak in him.

The old lady who owned the store recognised him and stooped to arrange the bouquet he had favoured all along.

“Nein, Danke!” he stopped her with his no thanks.

“Nicht diesesmal!”

Not this time.

He remembered a long discussion he had with Max about a year ago, when he had just met Nati. They had been discussing why red roses were considered as a gesture of undying love or a tribute to romance. Both of them were convinced that it had to do with the colour red, which signified a burning desire or passion or the thrill of an adventure which brings along with it, a sense of danger. It had however nothing to do with the rose itself. They were convinced that there were flowers prettier than the rose, flocking the florists these days. But it had to be red roses, because Shakespeare or Napoleon Bonaparte had created historical romances using a red rose. So for the joy of a romance rich with history, girls still craved red roses, hoping their mere presence, would add a touch of mystical magic to their very urban romances.

After discussing at length and establishing the unshakeable position of red roses as the symbol of romance, it would be churlish to present them to his wife. He was positive, Nati being herself, would swoon over the flowers, but he did not want to offend Max, who would be doing a mental revision of the very same discussion, which had just crossed Akkie’s mind.

Roses were definitely out.

So if not roses, then what? The Red Dahlias looked very pretty sitting there inviting to be picked. While they were not as romantic as the roses, they were also not as expensive. He was visiting them with a very expensive bottle of wine. He really could not team them up with not-so-expensive Dahlias! Though Max would never notice the difference, Nati would sure point it out to him in a post-dinner cosy conversation.

She would snuggle up to him and say, “I don’t know, I don’t think Akkie really has good taste in flowers! Or maybe he was just trying to balance out his pockets!” And she would giggle as if it did not matter.

Akkie could still live with the knowledge that Nati thought he had no sense with flowers, but he could not live thinking that she had classified him as some stingy Indian.

Dahlias wouldn’t do.

He once again included Roses in his thoughts. Maybe Red Roses were out, but he could see a sprinkling of beautiful pink roses. He also noticed that two people had walked in after him, given him curious looks as he stood there eyeing the flowers, made their decisions, had their flowers wrapped and walked out. What did pink roses signify?

Nothing.

Of course, he could make up a million things right there on the spot. But how would he explain them to Nati or Max? And in the absence of his explanations, pink roses looked like a thoughtless act. Like something he picked in a rush to get to their place and hadn’t paused to give much thought to. And he didn’t want to offend the new bride with a thoughtless gift.

Pink roses were out.

He put his hands on his hips and exhaled loudly, causing some of the blossoms closer to him to stir in their long vases. He looked around seeking help, not knowing who would actually be able to help him with this dilemma.

“Need help?” she asked

He turned around to face a complete stranger. Her rosy complexion complemented her jet black eyes, highlighting her Indian origins. Her hair was slightly wind blown and hung in careless curls around her shoulders. She was smiling at him, an open smile which said she genuinely wanted to help.

He glanced quickly at his watch, he didn’t want to be late for dinner, Max was very keen on punctuality. But he didn’t want to miss out on a chance with a conversation with this seemingly beautiful Indian in the strange city of Munich.

“Getting late?” she enquired still with a smile, noting his gesture.

“I need to pick flowers for a two-week-old bride. A good friend’s wife actually,” he said welcoming both her conversation and her help.

“Ah! And red roses are too romantic, yellow a little confused, pink insignificant, dahlias and gerberas look inexpensive, carnations don’t quite make the mark…” she paused in her speech, cocked her head and looked at him, “How am I doing so far?”

He laughed. Not because he was expected to, but because she really made him laugh.

“I am not sure I know so many flowers,” he confessed, “But you are spot on, on the confusion bit of it.”

She walked him to a section of the store and began plucking some flowers from the vase and grouping them together.

“Pick orchids,” she suggested, “They are beautiful. They are a sign of respect. They say I admire you because you stand out from the rest, just like me. They say I know you are tough, just like me. They say you don’t deserve a mere rose or a lily or something fancy, you deserve something more, something which shows a strength of character. You deserve me.”

She stopped and handed him a very elegant bouquet of blue orchids, laced with a spattering of green and yellow tiny flowers. They did look beautiful. He was mesmerised. He looked from the flowers to her; she was looking at him with an expectant smile.

“They are perfect!” he exclaimed and walked to the counter to have them wrapped. She loitered near the counter, picking some perfectly white lilies and bright orange carnations.

“Do the orchids really signify all that?” He asked still enveloped by the magic of her words.

She laughed, “To me they do. Every flower speaks something to the woman you gift it to. So no matter which flower you pick, it all depends on the woman…”

She moved further away to gather some button roses to add to her collection. On an impulse he picked up a purple orchid from a vase nearby and paid for it. On his way out, he stopped by her side and tapped her shoulder.

Offering that single bulb of purple orchid to her, he said, “This one’s for you!”

Breaking the Silence

2009-04-05T23:59:00.000-07:00

It's not me to be silent, especially for this length of time. Unless and until I have completely and wholeheartedly agreed to say goodbye to blogsville for good. But I could never do that! I could never say goodbye to blogging. I could never say farewell to writing!

So what then, has kept me away from the one thing that I love doing the most?Why, the thing I love doing the most, of course! Sounds a little mad I know. But these past months I have been writing. Actually I have been editing what I had already written in the earlier months. And editing, requires devoted attention.

Why was I editing, you ask?

Because, I am getting my first ever book published!

Yes! You heard me right! Besides being an avid blogger, I am now going to be a published author too!! Isnt that sweet?

And if you have liked what you have been reading here, you must read the book, which hits the stands end of next week!

Does this mean I wont write here anymore?

Of course not!

It means now that I have enough of time on my hands all over again, I am going to be back to writing like always before!

What's the book called? - Knots and No Crosses

Why? - Read the book and you'll know

What's the book about?

The wave of ‘feminism’ has swept over the world and empowered women to shout out from rooftops. They are forever harnessing attention by drawing the mind towards a range of problems starting with PMS, labour pains and now the marital market. The marital market is unfair on the women of today!

Every single time I have read a book about a thirty something single woman warring with the pressures of an Indian prejudiced marital mind set, I have wanted to scream, “STOP!” The marital expectations of an Indian society do not limit themselves to the gender. A thirty four year old male.could also be labeled a ‘thirty something single man’ vexed with his family for goading him into marrying.

So I decided to write about it. I decided to write about, how when it comes to relationships and weddings, life really isn’t all that simple for anybody, male or female. I decided to start with writing about a wedding.

Sneak Peek

"The woman he had no intentions of loving, but who he did love, hopelessly. The woman he had no intentions of dating, but had ended up committing himself to. The woman who had always been four years older than him, but realized it only when she was about to hit London for a PG course.
The woman who had gotten into the car without looking back once, as he stood there on the empty streets outside the institute nursing a broken heart.
Patty, the woman who was today married to some investment banker and a mother of a four year old, who had somehow heard of his wedding and had decided to message him.
She sure deserved an invite."

Akkie’s relationships have followed a trial and error pattern. He finally meets the one woman who completes him. They both plan their ‘dream wedding’, only, the wedding turns out to be anything but a dream! As Akkie, tries to placate his agitated bride three days before their wedding, his past catches up with him, spelling disaster after disaster. The crunching blow, comes when the son of his first ever girlfriend calls Akkie ‘Papa’ in front of a room filled to capacity with the Bride’s family. The wedding gets called off. But Akkie knows, there is no one else for him, but her…

Hope you enjoy reading the book, much more than I enjoyed writing it!

The Other Side of Lies

2009-01-14T22:27:00.001-08:00

Plop!

Another empty pint bottle hit the water and gently sunk to the depths. Chirag opened another one and quietly handed it to Pradeep. It was the last of the half dozen they picked up on the way to the bridge. It had been a long time since they last came up here. They sat on the edge, legs dangling over the edge, watching the sun set over the river.

"You know", Pradeep started, "getting married was my idea. I don't even know if she really wanted to marry me. I mean apart from just getting married which all of them want to do."

"when they reach that particular age," interjected Chirag.

"At that particular age, precisely, I just don't know if she wanted to get married to me in particular. There was Duleep also. They are still friends you know. I think she spends more time talking to him than me!"

"Well you have been busy…"

"Only because we want to move in to a pent house! I am glad where we are. Of course everybody wants to live in a bigger space but it's not like I really want to, it's her" Pradeep moaned. The chill in the air combined with the beer was taking effect.

"And then there is the… thingy," Chirag carefully approached.

"yeah… The thingy. It's not like it's bad. It's good, not great, but good. Of course after the baby and all, I don't really expect it to be like the old days. Phew! We had some crazy… thingy those days. Of course we have special days that we plan."

"you have scheduled… thingy?"

"Don't smirk. One day you will be married and god bless you if she will honour the schedule."

"ok ok, calm down now" Chirag laughed.

The sun slipped gently down the horizon. The remaining light was slowly draining out, the sky awash in hues of purple and reds. Soon they will get up and head back home. It was time to broach the topic before darkness fell.

"So you cheated on her?" said Chirag, staring intently at the water. A slight hiss betrayed his friend, he wasn't expecting the hit.

"Did she tell you?"

"No"

"I don't know why I did it. Yeah, it was sex. But that just wasn't it."

A silence separated them. A man weighted down by his deeds and the other with a emptiness within. They sat there with the darkness enveloping them. From somewhere the sounds of traffic drifted up.

"So now what?" said Chirag.

"I don't know. I wish she would forgive me. I wish she will take me back."

"No wishing you hadn't done it?"

"Oh yeah that too" Pradeep added. "But how did you find out about this?"

"I slept with Kirti last night" said Chirag, "I overheard her speaking to Kash in the morning."

"Finally it happened, didn't I tell you she wanted you! So how was it?"

"Fantastic! It was the best sex I ever had."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you?" said Chirag.

The Origin of all lies

2009-01-08T03:37:00.000-08:00

She was sitting at the breakfast table absent-mindedly stirring her coffee. She was still clad in her jeans from last night. Her black pullover dangled dangerously from the backrest of her chair. Her white shirt was slightly crumpled after a heavy night. Kriti walked in groggily and sat herself on the opposite chair. She grabbed the cereal packet and dumped it in her bowl.

“That bad?!” She asked when Kash still hadnt stopped stirring.

“It all boils down to sex!” She declared vehemently. “I mean if it wasn’t for sex, a couple would not need to lie to each other!” She said hotly.

“Sssh!!” Kriti sushed her. “I got company home last night!” She said poiting towards her bedroom door.

Kash eyed the door, then looked at Kriti and finally took a swig from her coffee mug. Kriti crunched on some of the Muesli and waited for to Kash to resume.

“Think about it.” Kash said shifting her butt on the chair. “If a man, or a woman for that matter, didn’t crave for sex beyond the bed he lies in, he wouldn’t have to lie!”

“Ssssssshhhhhhhh!” Kriti said half rising from her chair. “I got company woman!” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“Ok.” She said calming down. “But last night, Shristi is crying torrents and torrents when Pradeep walks in. Why? She screams at him. Why did you this? Was one bed not good enough for you? And I was like duh! What do you want him to say? Yes, I need like a couple of beds to keep me satified??”

“Hmm” Kriti said crunching thoughtfully.

“And to think,” Kash said getting vexed all over again, “They have been married for five years!”

“Sssssssssssh” Kriti said dropping her spoon on the bed of cereals. “For heaven’s sake woman! I got company!”

“Ok ok!” Kash said cupping her mug in her hands. “But did it take five long years for Pradeep to figure out that Shrishti was as active as a doormat in bed? I mean, I had that figured out when she announced that after her first baby, she would rather not have sex! Ever!”

“Woman!” Kriti hissed dangerously. “if you don’t shut up, I will gag you and you will have to write on paper all that you’ve got say! I got company for crying out loud!”

“Sorry,” Kash said in a much calmer tone. “When she asks Pradeep, what have you been upto with her? What does she want him to say? Playing patty cakes?! Arrgh! Dumb woman! “

Kriti was back to munching Muesli. “Are you defending Pradeep?”

“No!” Kash screamed. Kriti glared at her . “ok” she whispered. “No I am not defending Pradeep. I am just saying he lied to her because of sex!”

“Does that justify his lying?” Kriti asked through a crunching mouthful

“No!” She shouted again. “No!” She whispered in response to Kriti’s raised fist. “I am saying had it not been for sex all marriages would be peaceful and there would be no break-ups! Think about it. I mean after a very passionate session, the guy leans back content in bed and has this cat-who-stole-the-cream expression on his face and asks, honey, was I good? What do you want the girl to say? I was actually thinking about the hunky neighbour just so that I wouldn’t get turned off? Or had you lasted five minutes longer I wouldn’t have to fake an orgasm? So what does she do? She lies! She coos and says yes sweety you are the hottest man alive! And imagine, five years later when the hottest man alive gets no action from this woman he has so obviously pleasured, he is confused!”

“Ssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh” Kriti said squeezing her own eyes shut for emphasis. “Ok,” She whispered, “I get it! A night with an about-to-be-divorced couple and you are the latest Sex Guru. But for Pete’s sake be quiet! I got company!”

“What company?” Kash retorted annoyed at being sushed everytime. “Fine! So you guys had a rocking time last night. Now get up and get going!”

“It wasn’t all that rocking!” Kriti said still on a whisper. “But he does not need to know that! So will you quiten down? Please?”

Lemon Demon

2009-01-07T02:13:00.000-08:00

Cafe Coffee Day had never really been a hot favourite for him. Well, never since he had been to the cosy confines of Barista or Costa. But now, having been to the Mochas and the Costas, the CCD had lost its place of eminence in his eyes... Inspite of this, he decided to take her to the CCD rather than stay at Barista.

Maybe because they needed a place where the sound outside could mask the furious quiet between them, waiting to implode on the slightest pretext. A place where there would be some din, to form a curtain between the world working to its clockwork routine and the two of them sitting holding hands, after taking a day off from their offices. Words were a pretense, a formality they were not interested in- the hands could feel the thoughts of the other person louder than any megaphone could convey... Not that there was much to tax the thought process, either.. For all he could think of, was her... Her presence, her hand holding his, her eyes boring their way into his heart, and the look of ultimate contentment in her eyes... And similar was the case with her too....

The one thing he thought of, apart from her was, eerily enough, the theory of relativity... If only they could start running at the speed of light, so that time would stop and they would savour the moment forever... But if they would be running, how woul;d they savour this time? In the midst of this paradox, it was almost a welcome intrusion into that intensely private moment when a diffident staff boy nervously coughed and said, "May I take the orders, sir?"

Waving the proffered menu aside she almost automatically replied, "Masala chai" as he made a pretense of studying a menu he knew almost backwards. "One for me too", he intoned.

"That would be two masala chai, sir.. Anything to eat along with this?" "No!" she sounded exasperted. "Sir let me repeat your order. You have ordered two masala chai." "Yes!!!" she said, really at the end of her calm. "No! wait." Came the interruption from him, "Make it one masala chai for the lady and pone lemon demon for me."

A World of Our Own

2008-12-27T05:21:00.000-08:00

It had been a long, hard day. I always feel days are long and hard when the day begins before sunrise and ends after sunset. But as the day was coming to an end, I was barely able to conceal my excitement. Because I was so looking forward to this, well... , session.

As I walked into the cosy room, the aroma that wafted in made me go week in my knees. Somehow I managed to stagger into the couch... And I instinctively closed my eyes, the eyelids quivering in anticipation of the future.

And then it happened. The touch of those fingers!! It was surreal... Those fingers were magical, and their touch heavenly. The path traced by then on my skin was lit with ecstasy. Now going through my hair, now tracing my spinal cord. And of course, when they got to work on my shoulder blades, the rest of the world ceased to exist... And then something unexpected happened.

In fact I smelt it before I actually felt it... Another aroma, much more spicy in nature but still soothing to the nerves, made its way to my olfactory senses as I realised that a thin trickle of oil is falling on my skin.. This just about took me over the top... As the fingers played around, sometimes teasing and sometimes soothing, I found myself drifting into some other world which was so very calm and serene...

All this ended when I was rudely jolted back to the real world as I heard the voice saying, "Would the massage be all sir, or do you want a shave too?"

Tribute to my EX

2008-12-13T01:33:00.000-08:00

He was a fantastic guy! ('was' because I no longer claim to know him the way I used to and not

because he does not exist anymore. Hence, also the 'tribute.') Well, at least I thought he was fantastic until he spurted this orgasmic conscience and decided to prove me wrong in favour of highlighting for me that which was right. (I owe him one for this. Not one sexual favour. But one moment of intense truth. I retain the right to choose this moment.)

So right about the time when I had convinced myself that the male species could never get better than the worse I had, things began to change. Dramatically. While I scoured the cosmo for *tips* on keeping the man in my life happy, he was busy gaining an hands-on experience of the same. Experience, he debated, made things better. Experience, I argued, gave one sexually transmitted diseases. I was right. He was wrong.

But then, he argued later(when we were breaking up), I was 'always right' wasn't I? What can I say? He was a late learner. Perhaps even in bed.

Maybe I should consult his teachers of 'experience' and write a book about his learning habits. Would perhaps help some fellow man to learn his bit a bit quicker. In fact, I am quite certain he would be more than thrilled to encourage this venture of mine. He always had a deep sense of respect for the entire male species. And even deeper sense of adherence to their bits of 'suggestions'. And if I insisted I didnt like something. He stressed, "But you are supposed to like it! My friends say so!"

His friends also told me that they would be glad to hook up with me should I ever break up with
him. Of course they were joking. I lost all their phone numbers. He has a memory for numbers. So still remembers the numbers of some female friends of mine, but has forgotten mine. A small
slip of memory is permitted every now and then. Now for all the nice things he has done for me
(like made me see that every man possibly does think from between his legs) I should possibly do something nice for him too. So I decided that I ought to help his current girlfriend (I am sure he has one, though he claimed during the break up that he would love me for the rest of his life, its his libido you see, its not really his fault) well, anyway, so I decided that I ought to leave his
current girlfriend with some useful tips.

1. He gets embarrassed to tell you that his room which you probably love, is all done up by me. So dont ask him about it. He hates lying. But he would lie to you. Not because he does not have a pine. But because he does not want to hurt you. Is there a difference between the two? I don't want to steal the joy of figuring that out from you!

2. That blue shirt which makes him look positively hot? Oh well its got a little story to it. You see we went for a drive in the rain and got naughty ( you can ask him for the details, it really turns him on talking about it). He didnt but that shirt. He really does not like to spend on himself. Neither did I gift him that one. Nor did his mother or sister or some far off cousin. Some Indian sounding canadian gifted it to him after he gave her a time of his life. He does not like talking about it. (He hates to admit that she gave him much a better time than you ever will and he wont be able to explain a turn off in the middle of an animalistic passion. But memories can do that, you know) But though that shirt is a little faded and perhaps torn by now. Please dont throw it. Its sentimental.

3. Dont ask about exes. Not just me. But any of the others. He is a bad story teller. And he would
not be able to tell the truth. And he would hate to torture you with half lies. So you will fight. Best let it be.

4. He loves committments and marriages. He just does not know how to handle them. So I suggest that though I gave him the better part of half a decade to come to terms with it, you reserve another half a decade to get him to understand this (I told you he was a slow learner). And then be prepared to understand that he might not have learnt much after all.

After all has been said and done. I dont want to say something bad about him. And because there really isnt much to say besides that I will have to abruptly terminate this tribute here. But who knows as memory returns I might just find time to contribute some more!

PS NOTHING PERSONAL ABOUT IT ;)

Dawn and Dreams

2008-12-09T07:55:00.000-08:00

She loved happy endings. She hated it when the ending just invited more speculation. If it invited more speculation, then it could hardly be the end, or could it? She patted the book in appreciation and snuggled into the welcoming warmth of her blue blanket. She ought to sleep now. But she was wide awake.

She watched the dark shadows of the night make way for the whispers of a new dawn. Her mind was rampant with vivid images painted by the subtle words of the book she had just finished reading. She could feel the warmth of the embrace as the protagonist finally hugged the woman he loved.

He turned in the bed beside her. She smiled at him. Not that he would notice how pretty her smile looked in the faint gold of an early morn. But she smiled nevertheless. He was the protagonist of the novel which forever sprinkled words on the pages in her head. He was not perfect. He was real.

She moved closer to him and plated one cold hand on his still warm cheek. He frowned at the mild disturbance and opened his eyes to tiny sleepy slits. She smiled into his eyes. He captured her hand on his cheek and then turned to plant a kiss on the inside of her palm.

"You are so cold," he said and stretched his arms towards her. She willingly snuggled in the warmth he was offering. He hugged her close to him. She could feel his heart beat rhythmically in his chest. He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes once again. His hand lazily stroked her cold forearms in a futile attempt to warm them.

She smiled into his chest.

Somewhere the first morning bird fluttered her feathers and began to chirp gaily with the warm rays. The world was slowly waking up. His soft snores ruffled her hair. It would still be time before the world fully woke up. Till then she could spend time like this captured in this dream.

The Blue Dolphin

2008-11-26T22:33:00.000-08:00

Wrapped in love, they wandered through the aisles of the mall, experiencing togetherness. Like the lovelorn couple in the eighties, who would wander aimlessly through shopping streets, admiring, giggling and in general having fun.

While he looked to the right, where electronics flaunted themselves with the pseudo promise of a hassle free life, she looked left. Arranged in delightful rows were soft toys of all colours, shapes and kinds. So far content with holding his hand, she now let it go, to momentarily pamper the child in her.

She picked up quite a shapeless blue dolphin and rubbed her cheek against the soft fur. It felt so wonderful. She eyed the dolphin with longing and was reluctant to let go of it.

“Charming the dolphins are you?” he said coming up behind her.

She smiled at him. Secretly she wished he would sense the unspoken desire to possess the dolphin. But moments ticked by and her desire threatened to remain a ‘forever’ secret.

It was the 21st century after all and a more direct approach best suited the situation. She nudged him playfully and said, “He is so cute, ain’t he?”

He had picked up a brown teddy bear from a nearby rack and was eyeing it with the curiosity mowgli had reserved for Radha. He put the bear down and shrugged his shoulders, “What do you find so cute about balls of cotton wrapped in Turkish towels? Beats me!”

That definitely did end the discussion. There was no way he was ever going to gift her a soft toy. She sighed inaudibly and put the dolphin down with a last pat. Wines and chocolate he definitely had a taste for, but soft toys? That would have to be another story altogether.

--

She had woken up that morning feeling out of focus and in a mood to war with the entire world. She had snapped at the maid, her early morning conversation with her mother had spiraled hopelessly out of control and she had lost her temper there too. When he had wanted to hug her good morning, she had cold shouldered him and walked away.

She had been snapping at his heel, right till the moment he exited for work. He hadn’t said one word. She had had a sleepless night and he had claimed he understood. But that didn’t make things alright. They just made them worse. For now she felt like the worst woman under the sun.

She plonked on the chair and willed her pain to go away. Finally, she burst into tears for she had done what she hated doing the most. She had hurt the very people who were trying to show they cared. She cried some more, without knowing why. But it felt nice to feel the tears on her cheeks.
The doorbell pealed. Given her state of mind her first reaction was to get irked at the unwanted interference. She mentally berated herself and went to answer the door. A prettily wrapped colourful package awaited her.

There was no sender mentioned. Curiously she picked it up and even as she walked back in, her finger tugged at the wrappings. She looked at her gift and was overwhelmed. Unknowingly, the tears cascaded down once again.

For hours she lay cuddled in bed, hugging her gift to her heart. The Blue Dolphin.

Nine Years

2008-11-19T23:21:00.000-08:00

Nine years is a really long time. But she hadn’t changed. Of course she had put on a little more weight, her curves more visible now. But that’s because she had grown from a child to a woman. Even her lips were fuller, more sensuous, more inviting. He was mesmerized by their movement as they chased each other to form words.

But nothing about her had changed. Though he had traveled the world over, though he had visited his family in the bricked structure called home, this is where he felt he belonged. Right here, hidden in the shadows of the tree, watching her from this comfortable distance, this is where he belonged.

She was just eighteen and he wanted to marry her. He was certain if he had asked her then, she would willingly have agreed to. But how much did an eighteen year old know about being married? How much did anyone really ever know about being married? Sounds of her infectious laughter floated to his hears.

He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair; as he had wanted to do those nine years ago when her hair was short, just above her ears. He always felt that they would be like soft dawn, light and soft. But he would never know, because he would never get close enough to her to touch them. He saw the man beside her turn around with a smile on his face.

Had he made her laugh?

He watched as the other man’s eyes lingered on her laughter filled face. She was still laughing as she rested her head on his shoulder. His arm circled her shoulders and caressed her arms. Still, smiling he kissed her forehead. She looked at him with laughter filled eyes.

In the shadows, he moved. He knew what that look could make you feel. It made you feel like for that one moment, you would conquer a million worlds. Something twisted in his heart, but he did not notice it. He had gotten used to that feeling. Every time he had seen a couple in love, he had thought of her and something in his heart had twisted. It had hurt in the beginning, but now it felt perfect. Almost welcome.

He kissed his fingertips and blew that kiss her way. Would the breeze really carry it to her?

She stirred from his embrace as if something bothered her. The breeze blew a wisp of hair off her cheek. She frowned in confusion and looked towards the shadow. Her beautiful eyes squinted to discern what lay there. He slinkered further into the dark. He did not want to be noticed.

The man by her side rubbed her shoulders and frowned down at her with concern. She shook her head, to clear some imaginary confusion and smiled prettily at him. He watched as love wrapped itself once again around her, like it always had. He turned his back on her and left.

Maybe he could see her again after another nine years.

Is this the end?

2008-11-12T02:03:00.000-08:00

Despite the many pitfalls which make the journey called life a little uncomfortable at times, we still keep going. Why? It’s definitely not for want of choices. Perhaps, it is because along with pitfalls it also has some really refreshing and surprising pit stops. If at one point life estranges someone who had once been a very important part of your world, at one corner it introduces you to a stranger who will soon become the very reason for your existence.

If life showers a torrent of tears, it perhaps has already planned for someone to wipe them with silken handkerchiefs. And if it brutally tears up your dreams into a million shreds, it also gives you the strength to hope. Such is life.

And equally obvious is the fact that in the early hours of a lazy morning, to a sleep deprived mind, overworked with rampant thoughts; the above statements sound profound and drawn from the depths of philosophy. They become larger than life. As they were doing right now with Shikha. She had no idea why or how these thoughts had made their way to her mind and neither did she know why they were busy cat walking down the ramps of her excited mind.

The internet had revealed that Shaina Singh and Shaina Kulshreshtha were indeed one and the same. There was no mention of Shaina Kulshreshtha, but Shaina insisted she was Shaina Kulshreshtha. And there really was no reason to not believe her. Lav and Chris insisted there was no Shaina Kulshreshtha. And then the mysterious Akshay Singh was indeed married to Shaina too! Was it legal in London to have two husbands?

Was it really possible to love two entirely different men, equally much? Did one man compensate for the shortcomings of the other? And what if both of them still didn’t quite live up to the requisites? Then do you go ahead and love a third? She shook her head to clear it off all the cobwebs of unnecessary thought.

Her entire pondering over the Lav-Shaina-Akshay-Chris complexity was unnecessary, a tiny voice nagged her. But try as she might she could not let them be. For some reason, on which she could not quite place a finger; she knew she wanted the truth. And for the same reason she knew that the truth mattered.

Confrontation, she had learned from experience was a double edged sword. You could either draw someone into a confession or push him further away into some dark recessed where reaching out to him would be almost impossible. But given the intricacies of the current predicament, she decided she was running out of the choice of a proper course. Confrontation, it would have to be.

She once again toyed with her cell phone, as if giving herself that one last opportunity to back out. She would be treated like the proverbial plague, thanks to this one phone call. People would run at the mere mention of her name and all her calls would be returned unanswered. Were the answers to her never-ending questions worth all this?

In response, she dialed Lav’s number. It was five in the morning. As the phone threatened to not be answered, she found her mind wandering once again. Would he be with Shaina right now? Is that why he was not answering the phone? Would he be asleep from a drunken night? Where was he?

“Shikha?” He asked, startling her.

“Hey!” She said feeling stupid now that the call had finally connected.

“You do realize its like five in the morning and anybody would consider this to be an indecent time for a casual call?” He said not sounding one bit sleepy and every bit irritated.

“Whatever makes you think my call is casual?” She retorted. She heard him laugh that rich laugh once again and almost felt the tension dissipate through the invisible phone lines. “It is about Shaina,” she hurried wanting to make the most of his good mood.

“What about her?” He mumbled and she could picture him trying to light a cigarette, while talking to her.

“Well, I have been playing the detective. I met her for lunch and then well, she said she was married to you. But then on the internet she exists as Shaina Singh, Akshay Singh’s wife! So I am all a little confused.” She said all this without the slightest trace of any emotion lacing her voice.

He was silent for a while. Perhaps blowing out contemplative smoke. “Ok,” he finally said, “ I will satiate your curiosity, if you answer one of my questions very honestly. Deal?”

She did not believe he was making this so easy for her. “Deal!” she breathed on an excited whisper.

“Why?” he asked, “are all these questions, which have nothing to do with you, keeping you awake all night?”

It was her turn to be silent. How long had she been avoiding this very question? Did she really know the answer even now? “I don’t know.” She finally said.

“I asked for an honest answer Shikha,” he replied. “If you really want honest answers to all your questions, you need to be honest with your answer to my question.”

“OK,” she said vaguely forming an answer in her mind. “ About a couple of years ago, I thought they didn’t make men better than you. Then suddenly you mysteriously married Shaina. I was there at the wedding. Perhaps I was a little heartbroken too. You know how it is. And then you show up as a prospective match for Raina, about a year later. Well, its all a little confusing. You see, then it means you did not marry Shaina that night after all! Which could mean… well…. A million things!”

He was silent once again. Shikha wanted to kick herself for choosing this moment to do some deep soul confession to herself. She was preparing some sort of an apology when she heard him mumble something.

“Sorry?” she pardoned herself.

“I said,” he said a little above a whisper, “ Shaina is married to me, but only in her mind. This one is a little complicated. Akshay and Shaina were married. Are married. Their car was involved in the crazy car accident. Both of them were hurt. Akshay spent three months in the ICU. But Shaina, suffered a blow to the head and she sort of lost her memory. She did not remember being married to Akshay. But she remembered the three of us hanging out together. Seeing me the first person by her hospital bed, when she opened her eyes and seeing her wedding ring, she concluded that she was married to me. The doctors said her condition was still critical and they were not sure how well she could or would handle a shock. It was healthier to let her believe what she did. Akshay meanwhile recovered and now we are trying to jog her memories by doing things Akshay and she normally did when they were together. Like getting married. Like dining out. The idea is that something triggers her sleeping memory and when she turns to seek the familiar Akshay and finds me instead. Voila! Mission accomplished!”

Shikha was dumbstruck. She would have never guessed the magnanimity of the situation. She had completely misunderstood the ties which bound these four individuals as friends. She was touched by the extent of sacrifice they were willing to make, just to set things right .

“So,” said Lav in a trance like voice, “do you still think they don’t make men better than me?’

“What?”

“Well, just trying my luck! Because I think they definitely do not make women any more exasperating, cumbersome or loveable than you Ms. Shikha!” He laughed. A deep rumble which made her toes tingle. “Sleep well!”

Mysterious Existences

2008-10-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

The wavering lights of a very busy city made abstract patterns on the inky black velvet of the night sky. She stood at her window, her thoughts as muddled as the streaking gold of the headlights in motion. Why was she making the Lav- Chris-Shaina-Akshay confusion her concern?

Why is that one is curious about something that has nothing to do with them? Maybe it was all a part about being human. Like unwanted rains on a sunny day, curiosity was flooding her otherwise sunny existence with its unwelcome presence. She just could not rest without getting to the bottom of this mystery.

She needed to speak to Chris. Why was he lying to her? They had been good friends for over two years. They might not have revealed their most intimate secrets to one another, but they definitely had not resorted to the feeble support of pretenses yet. So why or what was he covering up by lying so poorly?

She was tempted to call Shaina again, but one lunch with her had distressed Shaina enough. Besides, she didn’t seem to be any better a situation than Shikha, though she did have much more to lose by unearthing the mystery. Maybe that is why she wasn’t trying too hard to unravel it all.

The next quest was to unearth Akshay, if he wasn’t a figment of Chris and Lav’s over-active imaginations. She didn’t have a last name, so she could not possibly google him up. Asking either Chris or Lav was so definitely out of question, primarily because they now answered her calls with equal amounts of dread and exasperation. She could hear their minds weaving crazy stories even as she posed her questions to them. How then could she look up Akshay?

She hurried back to her bed, pulled her laptop towards her and typed ‘Lav Kulshrestha, Akshay’ in the google search window. There were pages and pages on Lav and some twenty odd pages on Lav Kulshrestha. Mostly the pages dealt with his keen sense of business and his flair for building enterprises which became sure shot successes. He even had a fan club which listed his achievements with great fanfare. But surprisingly as she clicked on link after link, she discovered that he had no visible personal footprints in the web-world. So far there seemed to be no mention whatsoever of any kind of Akshay. Considering that Akshay and Lav were best friends, would there not be a remote mention of his existence at least in the smiling interview articles published online of Lav Kulshreshtha?

She was about to give up on the maddening search, when she caught Chris’ name mentioned in the description below one of the links. The page opened to reveal a blog written some years ago, by someone called ‘Shades of passion.’ The blog narrated incidents from graduation days of a group of five boys, which Lav and Chris were a part of. She read through hilarious escapades and the many girl chases which went wrong. Much to her consternation she discovered that she enjoyed reading the blog and was smiling despite her will.

The mysterious writer had stopped writing a little over a year ago. Sometime before Lav and Shaina got married, the writer seemed to have packed his bags and disappeared. Could this mysterious writer have been Lav? But no seen Lav was mentioned in the blog posts, it had to be someone other than him. Could this writer then have been Akshay?

She went to the alumni page of the college mentioned in the blog. There were three Akshay’s mentioned in the same batch as Lav and Chris. Which one of them could have been ‘Shades of Passion’? She couldn’t possible randomly call all three and ask “Hey were you the one who was best friends with Lav?”?

Having come this close to the elusive Akshay, she didn’t want to give up. The tiny digital clock on the screen of her laptop told her it was two in the morning. She knew it was an unearthly hour and she ought not to call anybody. But not doing anything was killing her. She sat there drumming the table with her fingernails pondering what to do next.

She hadn’t been much of a blogger. She wouldn’t know anything about other bloggers. But she knew someone who would. Raina. Raina had been blogging for the past eight years. She said it was her personal online diary which she shared with the world. If it was personal why was she sharing it with the world? But Raina, was the one person she needed to talk to right now.

Raina’s sleepy, “Hello?” gave her an ounce of satisfaction. It was pay-back for all those post midnight calls which had kept her awake all this while.

“Hey! I need help!” she said.

“Are you ok?” Raina said, concern startling her from her sleep.

“Yes, I am fine! I need to find the identity of a blogger. How do I do it?” She asked.

“You called me at two in the morning for this?” Raina almost screamed. “Let me guess. You are still obsessing over Lav Kulshreshtha’s life and love! Why?”

Shikha didn’t know how to answer that, so she just kept quite.

“Ok fine.” Raina said accepting her silence. “I wouldn’t know how to find the real identity of a blogger. But who is it anyway?”

“Someone called the ‘Shades of passion’” Shikha said thankful that Raina wasn’t pressing her curiosity further.

“Shades of passion? That would have to be Akshay!” Raina stated in a matter-of-fact way.

Shikha couldn’t believe her ears. All along Raina had known Akshay? Why oh why had she not confided in Raina?

“Akshay who?” She asked.

“Akshay Singh!”

A google search of Akshay Singh passed out in 2001, sketched him to be the HR head of a lead telecommunications company called Carbon in Edinburgh. He was married for four years and a father of a one year old girl called Preeti. There were no pictures of his wife, but she was mentioned as Mrs. Shaina Singh.

Heart Break

2008-10-06T07:57:00.000-07:00

When the heart breaks, it does so with a noiseless crash and the invisible splinters scatter in the tears and flow away, leaving behind a hollow emptiness in their wake. Everything after a heart-break then seems relatively painless or unimportant, because the vacuum which sits in the place of the heart is incapable of emotion.

But that is all about a heart-break. She was not suffering from a heart break; she was suffering from the acid burns of betrayal. She had first been woven a story by Lav and then Chris had fabricated a whole new twist to the oh-so-enigmatic presence of the horribly handsome Lav Kulshreshtha. And the truth had been bared open by the skimpily clad Shaina, who might not even know that she had been married to Akshay; twice by two different people.

She had spent an entire night running millions of possibilities through her mind. She had painted vivid pictures of re-acquainting herself with Lav. All the while, she kept convincing herself that she was harbouring no romantic notions whatsoever. So what if she pictured walking down the gaudy lobby of her office and casually bumping into him and striking a very captivating conversation right then and there. They would talk for fifteen minutes, till some corny colleague, would pass some equally corny line and Lav would blush gorgeously. She would excuse herself with grace, turn around and smile and say oh-so-casually, “Oh by and by sorry about the other time. Mistakes happen you know.” And he would watch her till she disappeared from view. Not romantic at all. She was just thinking of ways to apologize to a perfectly romantic guy, that’s all.

And after last night, she had spent time till the wee hours of dawn, fuming over her naiveté at accepting Chris’ tale on face value. Why had Chris lied to her? There was no way Shaina was married to Akshay. There was nothing platonic about the way Lav had been caressing her shoulder. She had almost smacked his hand off her shoulder, out of pure irritation.

So why had Chris lied to her? What was is it about the entire Lav-Shaina-Akshay triangle that needed to be hidden under so many layers of deceit? And why did she need and seek answers to these questions?

The answer to the last question was quite simple – because she was a woman!

There was no real reason as to why she had picked up the phone and dialed Shaina’s number. There was no explanation as to why Shaina had accepted her invitation to lunch. And no rational basis whatsoever as to why she had spent an hour dressing up for a lunch with Shaina.

But as she walked in through the glass door of Benny’s she was glad she had taken that bit of extra time. Seated at one of the expensive window tables, Shaina looked elegant in her simple black dress. She was browsing the massive menu and didn’t seem to notice that Shikha had arrived. She risked a look at her reflection in the ceiling to floor mirrors on the right hand side wall. Her muddy pink dress with a white high waist belt, didn’t look as demure as Shaina’s black dress, but it didn’t look shabby either.

Sensing Shikha’s presence, Shaina looked up and smiled a genuine and warm smile. After settling down with their drinks, Shaina turned her expectant eyes to Shikha.

“I know this is so strange,” Shikha plunged into her conversation, “But I sort of remember attending ‘your’ wedding...to Lav.” She was sounding successfully confused and perplexed. Shaina kept smiling as if Shikha had said not one word out place.

Now genuinely perplexed, Shikha continued, “But I met Chris the other day and he told me you were not married to Lav!”

Shaina’s elegant brows creased into a frown, but her lips still smiled. Not sure how far she had gone, Shikha now kept mum. She had dealt her cards and now it was up to Shaina to clear her confusion.

“Chris told you I was not married to Lav?” She asked gently, sounding a little hurt.

Shikha nodded, feeling suddenly very very uneasy. Shaina leaned back in her chair and fidgeted with the silver spoon. She did not seem very offended by this remark, but she did not seem very calm either.

“Its funny,” she finally said. She looked at her then. There were tears forming in her eyes, but she was too brave to let them flow. “ But Lav keeps telling me that I am not married to him either!”

Shikha didn’t know what to say. Shaina leaned forward, laid the spoon back where it belonged and began talking very animatedly, “ But I know I am married to him! I remember marrying him! And,” she blushed sensationally here, “ I remember a whole lot of ‘other’ things!”

Shikha nodded and hoped her nod was encouraging enough for Shaina to go on. But at this point Shaina needed no encouragement. “And then suddenly for the past three months, Lav has been trying to convince me we are not married! Its absurd. I have never met many of his friends, except for the wedding. And the only friend we ever go out with is Chris. And when we are with Chris, he does behave like the perfect husband! And now there is you! After you left yesterday, both Chris and Lav were very disturbed. We hurried back home. Which is why I so wanted to meet you!”

A few tears had managed to sneak out and were rolling down her pale cheeks. Shikha was confused and didn’t know how to react. She was hoping Shaina would be able to clear her confusion. But Shaina was hoping Shikha would provide some answers. What were Lav and Chris up to?

She was in no mood to converse with Lav. But after lunch she did get Chris on the phone.

“You liar!” she hissed.
“You moron!” he yelled

“You lied to me!” she shouted

“Yeah! So? Sue me!” he challenged

“Why?” she asked baffled, “Why did you lie to me?”

“ Because the truth has got nothing to do with you!” he exclaimed

“I met Shaina for lunch” she confessed.

“WHAT?” Chris screamed. “What did you say to her?” he asked more calmly

“That I wanted to know what was happening,” she said that uneasy feeling creep over her again.

“Did you mention Akshay?” he wanted to know

“No.”

“Good.” He relaxed. “Now listen, don’t mention Akshay to Shaina! Ever! In fact I don’t think you should meet Shaina yourself”

“But I thought she was married to Akshay!” Shikha was getting angry

“Was, shikha, was..” he suddenly sounded very tired, “ look do me a favour and please stay out of this?”

War with faith

2008-09-29T20:55:00.000-07:00

Doubts are the invisible darts which burst your bubbles of hope. And all the dreams within that bubble come gushing out in one massive torrent , to scatter aimlessly in the wind. Sometimes you end up spending an entire lifetime just chasing those very dreams.

But while her hopes, hung dangerously close to being scattered, she hadn’t given up on hope yet. Chris’ tale though very romantic had sounded too pat, to convince her as being true. But it didn’t ring totally false either. And maybe Chris was not such a good story-teller after all!

One thing she was convinced of, though, was that Lav was, and most probably still is, strongly in love with Shaina. She couldn’t help but envy Shaina. There was the gorgeous, handsome, mouth-watering Lav ready to do absolutely anything for her and there was also Akshay. Though Shaina had never met Akshay, she could only imagine the depth of his love, if all he could think after snapping out of a coma, was to do the right thing by her and marry her.

In the thick romance novels, which kept you awake way beyond sane hours at night, the once heart-broken hero, would begin to believe in the magic of love once again, thanks to the dew-eyed heroine. Could she really be Lav’s dew-eyed heroine? She had also guessed that Lav was as tempted by the thought of marriage as a hydrophobic would be by a swimming pool.

She mentally condemned herself for letting her thoughts run away with her. She had just argued that Chris’ tale was punched with loopholes and she was already piecing those shreds of hope together to repaint her own love story. She strapped her heels firmly in place and appraised herself critically in the full-length mirror. She did not like her soft curls, in a period when straight dead hair seemed to be in trend. She was wearing a dark peacock blue halter, when the rest of the women would be dressed in blacks, reds and maroons. She sighed, but she did love bright colours and she just couldn’t get herself to wear boring blacks.

She heard the blaring of a horn and knew Raina had come to pick her up. She grabbed her purse and rushed downstairs. Raina was looking gorgeous in a black satin mini skirt which was really really short yet long enough to not qualify as indecent and a bold black chiffon top, tied at the back with just a string. She sighed inwardly again. With such illustrious female friends for company, it was no wonder she never guaranteed a second look.

It was Saturday night and by the time they reached, the disc already seemed to be bursting to its seams with a frenzied crowd. She wouldn’t have been here, were they not celebrating Sunil’s, who was incidentally Farah’s boyfriend, promotion party. He was one of the few Indians, she knew who had managed to beat the English intellect in their very own land and achieve managerial positions, they much deserved. The other one was Chris and then of course, there was Lav.

Two Cuba Libras later, she started getting bored of the current conversation, which was about a take on the current political scenario in India and started looking around, drinking in the variety of the crowd. In a sea of white people, she could easily spot one or two Indians. She smiled as she recognized the blackish-brown colours so characteristic of Chris.

She excused herself and threaded her way through the maze of bodies. As she neared Chris, he bent down to pick up something and that’s when she froze in mid-step. Chris’ companion who was making him throw his head back and laugh his famously infectious laugh, was none other than the controversial, Shaina! On an impulse she scanned the crowds once again.

Sure enough, making his way from the bar towards the duo, with a glass of what looked like a cosmopolitan in one hand and scotch with ice in the other. She watched transfixed as he handed Shaina her drink and draped his arm around her bare shoulder. She waited for some time on the sides of the dance floor, her eyes trained on the trio. There was nothing ‘friendly’ in the way Lav’s strong fingers kept caressing Shaina’s shoulder. Chris, who had woven, the now unbelievable love story, didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable by this shared intimacy.

She was furious. She was mad at herself for giving Lav the benefit of doubt. She was angry with herself for putting so much of faith in Chris, who hadn’t batted an eyelash while spinning her a cock and bull story about Lav. It was almost as if she had ‘gullible’ stamped on her face!

She had been eyeing the three of them for the better half of an hour and so far she had still not spotted the mysterious, and convincingly fictitious, Akshay. Another five minutes and she was sauntering up to them with a simpering rage.

“Hello!” she said, her voice husky from the booze.

“Hey…?” said Shaina, obviously not recognizing her.

“Shikha!” blurted an astounded but totally flummoxed Chris

“Not you again!” muttered Lav on a groan.

Ignoring the two men, she extended an hand to Shaina, “Hi! You must be Shaina! I am Shikha!” Shaina gave a confused smile and shook the proffered hand.

“I attended your wedding!” she said getting straight to the point.

“Shikha…” Chris warned.

“You don’t really have to talk to her,” Lav said physically turning her away.

But Shaina was intrigued now and she smiled at Shaina, “You did? I am so sorry but I don’t remember meeting you!”

“Of course not! I did not meet you, I was there to just hand Chris his invitation.” She said by way of explanation, “But you looked absolutely dazzling in your pink and blue wedding dress!”

“Thank you!” Shaina crooned. “I had to wait for an entire month till the tailor had finished working on it!”

“Really? Was he the same tailor who stitched Lav’s grey suit too?” She asked innocently.

“Don’t answer that!” Lav warned

“Shikha really…” Chris said intervening

“No silly!” Shaina said warming to the topic of fashion, “ He got his suit from Almack’s! They do make the best suits you know!”

“No wonder he made such a handsome groom!” she said watching Shaina from over the rim of her glass.

Shaina, twined an arm through Lav’s and stared at him with blatant adoration as she said, “the best!”

Cobwebs

2008-09-19T03:34:00.000-07:00

Friends are like moonbeams on a starlit night. No matter how bright the rest of the stars shine, the silver streak is still the one who holds the promise of hope.

After a heated discussion with Lav, who was quite adamant that Shaina was married to Akshay, the discussion ended with him banging the phone on, “I don’t need to explain myself to anybody and definitely not to a nobody! So think what you fancy!”

So well, back to the coffee shop, back to stirring thick latte foams with sparkling silver spoons and back to brooding, albeit not alone. Chris was stirring his own mug of coffee.

Putting her spoon down, she took in a deep breath, as if she were about to pose a question of paramount importance. But the question was of paramount importance.. to her! Though, as to why it was so important, she had no clue.

“You remember Lav?” She finally asked.

Chris continued stirring his coffee, “The one I feel for the woman, while I am making out with her or the emotional pfaff romance novels talk about!”

Momentarily baffled she frowned. Then realizing he was talking about ‘love’ and ‘Lav’ she let out an exasperated breath.

“When you are making out with a woman its lust not love,” she corrected him. When he looked all eager to debate this point further, she raised a palm to silence him. “I am not talking of the romance novels either! I am talking about a person! Who you happen to be friends with… or.. .used to be.. Lav Kulshreshtha!?”

Chris hid his smile behind a sip of coffee. The putting the cup down he grinned a more broad and idiotic grin at her.

“You mean the one you thought had a cute butt?” he asked grinning.

“I thought no such thing!” she retorted colouring furiously.

“Oh come on!” he said adding to her embarrassment, “The entire office knows about it! Everybody noticed how you ogled his back till he disappeared from sight!”

“What?” she asked totally mortified. He just chuckled further.

“Ok! Calm down! Maybe I was the only one who noticed!” he said sobering up. Then quite seriously he added, “ So why the renewed interest in god’s gift to woman kind?”

“Well,” she said fidgeting with the paper napkin, “ you remember how you had forgotten his wedding invite and asked me to pick it up for you?”

“uhuh!” he nodded his assent.
“Well, it was for his wedding right?” She asked, her heart beating faster with every moment.

“Uhuh!” Chris acknowledged in affirmative again.

She leaned back in her chair a sadly victorious grin on her face and whispered, “What a jerk?”

“Why?” asked Chris totally at a loss for what was happening, “For inviting me to his wedding?”

“No!” she exclaimed leaning close to talk to him again, “because he has the gall, to claim to be unmarried and meet sweet unpretentious women and fool them into marrying him!”

“Whoa! Hold it there!” Chris said holding his hands up as if surrendering himself, but in fact attempting to stop her flow of monologue. “Lav is unmarried!”

Totally taken aback by this, she scowled at Chris. Either Chris was fiercely loyal to Lav and had hence decided to sacrifice their friendship. Or there was something really wrong here.

“You did attend his wedding that night, didn’t you?” She asked clearing her cobwebs one by one.

“Yes I did!” Chris stated.

“And he married Shaina?” She asked taking the next step

“Yes he did!”

“Then how on earth is he unmarried!?” She asked completely foxed by his last statement.

“You see Lav married Shaina because Shaina was pregnant with Akshay’s kid. But Akshay was in the ICU due to a major car crash. She was four months pregnant and there was no way out but to have the baby. Nobody knew when Akshay would snap out of the coma. So Lav married Shaina. Seven days later, Akshay snapped out of the coma. Fortunately the namesake marriage, which had taken place more for the society, had not yet been legalized. So three weeks later, Akshay and Shaina were legally pronounced huband and wife by some court in Mumbai!”

Silence.

“Then why all the secrecy around it?” She asked bewildered and awed.

“Not many people know that Lav had married Shaina. It was just close friends and family. When Shaina married Akshay, it was decided that the Lav-Shaina wedding should die a natural death. Lav didn’t want to put Shaina through the agony of explaining her fickle minded nature while choosing husbands or justifying her pre-marital pregnancy. Whoever mention the Lav-Shaina wedding are just told that they made a mistake about the groom.” Chris explained.

“He must have loved her!” She exclaimed on a whisper

“Completely. He still does. There is no place for another woman in his life.” Chris explained.

Mysterious Wedding

2008-09-15T03:40:00.000-07:00

Half-knowledge is like a particularly annoying itch, which surfaces bang in the middle of a boisterous party, where for the first time you have managed to grab the spotlight. You are dying to reach out and scratch your crotch, but you just can’t! No spotlight hero gives in to his ancestral inclinations.

In a somewhat similar predicament, she sat at the dining table, twirling her snazzy cell phone on the smooth glass surface, seeking solace in its whirring motions. Some distance to her right, lay Lav’s visiting card face down on the table. She knew he was at the wedding, as surely as she knew it was he and Shaina on the lush lawns of Moor Manor. She was almost sure, that he was the groom, after all she did attend the wedding!

On an impulse she got up and started pulling the drawers of the filing cabinet. She knew she had stashed the wedding invite somewhere. She remembered it was a brick red card, with gold trimmings. She remembered sitting with the card cuddled in bed and dampening the golden ink with tears, she didn’t know she was shedding. How teenager-ish, she thought as she ruffled some more papers in search of that vile card. And how teenager-ish of her to have kept that card as a romantic memory of a painful heartbreak.

But how intelligent of her too! For now that card would prove to her and to Raina, whose head was ringing with pseudo wedding bells, that Lav Kulshreshtha was a liar! That he did get married at Hutchinson Gardens and to Shaina! Yes, he could steal your breath away with one smile and his voice poured over your cold heart like hot chocolate, but he had married and that was the bitter truth. She rummaged further fervently praying for the card to find its way under her seeking fingers.

Forty long minutes later her prayers were answered. With a heart thumping as wildly as dyslexic workers with sledge hammers, she opened the card:

A marriage is a promise,
Like so many promises,
We might fail to keep this one,
Or like some others we might see it through…
Who can predict what the future holds?
But we have set our hearts
To honestly attempt
Sculpting our lives
Into one magnificent wonder
We want to inaugurate this promise
In the presence of friends
Who made us believe
In the magic of such promises
So please be there..

Lav and Shaina

There! There were those words again, which had moved her to tears then, as they moved her to tears now. The confused promised of two hearts in love, willing the world to be a little easier on them. She squinted at the card again, yes, it was signed Lav and Shaina and not love, Shaina. He could not fool her with that, at least. So he did get married to Shaina! Of all the rotten things to do! Not that marrying Shaina was a rotten thing to do. Hiding the fact, that he was married, was a rotten thing to do.

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that he had indeed meant his wedding to Shaina be a buried secret! The wedding at Hutchinson Garden was more like a select dinner for invitees only. There was even an uniformed guard at the entrance checking if you were carrying an invite. She wouldn’t have gotten an invitation either. It was just fate and coincidence indulging in one of their favourite games, which had landed the invitation in her lap. She barely knew Lav. She had always just admired him from a distance and listened to tales of his wondrous deeds from the many colleagues who had a crush on him as well. And she definitely didn’t know Shaina.

But Chris did. Chris knew Lav , as a competitor and a potential rival in the race for promotions. Besides, Chris and Lav were legendary friends. And Chris and she were friends. Not legendary, but close friends, who could occasionally share a drink, get drunk, abuse the world, let down their masks and not hold it against each other the next day. So, when he had forgotten his invite to this hush-hush wedding, he had called her and pleaded her to fetch it for him. Lav having seen him at the entrance had ensured his invitation-less wedding.

So when she stood at the entrance with an invitation, not meant for her, and the guard had bowed her in, she quite naturally walked in!

So ok, she had been a gate-crasher wedding! Lav didn’t know that. She had had an invite. Maybe he had thought her to be a friend of Shaina’s!

But all that was the past. What was the present was the existence of the wedding invite and the glaring fact that Lav had lied. Her itch of half-knowledge was turning into a full blown rash! She picked up the card and studied his number as if it were a complicated mathematical equation demanding the fullest of concentration.

She picked up the phone and dialed his number.

“Hello?” he said in the melting chocolate voice and she did almost melt.

“Lav?” she felt she ought to confirm his identity.

He laughed, that rich laugh which kept you warm at nights. “I sure hope you are referring to my name and little else…”

She blushed. Knowing there was no way he could see her, she still blushed under hi seasy flirting.

“This is Shikha, Raina’s friend?” she said revealing her identity.

“Oh yes! I do remember! The one who got her grooms confused!” he said the smile still lingering in his voice. “What can I do for you? Clear some more cobwebs?”

“Actually,” she said her temper beginning to rise, “ I called to tell you , that your cobwebs need a broom taken to them, and you perhaps need to jog your memory and that you have the groom confused at your own wedding!”

“I told you, Shaina is married to my best friend Akshay. Not me.” He said beginning ot sound exasperated.

“Then why am I staring at a wedding invite signed Lav and Shaina?”

Curiosity

2008-09-03T02:12:00.000-07:00

Curiosity is like an ageing woman with a warped sense of humor. She keeps nagging you with a million possibilities, of what possibly could be, until you shut her up with a dose of facts. I remember this one incident, where my dog had run away and this old neighbour of mine, painted with vivid words possibilities such as being frisked away to the dog pounds; trampled under a fast moving car driven by a crazy young man, who didn’t even pause and look at the crushed dog; tied to a tree by the street kids and beaten into whining. Thankfully my dog had just run to the backyard, in search of a new place to pee and came faithfully back.

So as she sat at the coffee shop with Raina, waiting for Lav Kulshreshtha to show up, the old lady called curiosity played havoc with her mind. Concentrate! She told herself. If on nothing else then do concentrate on the rich aroma of the frothing latte and meditate in its sensuous pleasure. But Raina couldn’t let it be. She was going on and on about how mr. perfect ought actually to have some flaws and how she, her trusted friend, was ‘entrusted’ with the responsibility of finding flaws in him. Nagged beyond endurance by Raina on one hand and curiosity on the other, she blurted, “Isnt being married, flaw enough?”

Raina looked like Tom (from Tom and Jerry), who had actually finally caught a mouse and couldn’t believe his own luck! She stared at her, with her huge eyes widening into perfect circles and she breathed on a whisper, as if speaking out loud will undo the fact, “He is married?”

She just shrugged her shoulders and continued walking her spoon in aimless circles through the thick froth in her cup. Raina’s hand flew to her open mouth in a very theatrical move. She clutched her wrist, with her free hand, putting a stop to the growing whirlwind of coffee, “How do you know?”

“Because I attended his wedding!” she said finally letting go of the spoon and unwrapping Raina’s hand from her wrist.

“What?” she screamed loud enough to turn heads. Then looking around to assess the damage she had caused, she leaned in further and asked, “When and why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, about a year ago!” she confessed, “I didn’t tell you because, if you have heard about him from your parents, he obviously somehow managed.. to.. get unmarried!”

“That’s impossible!” Raina exclaimed, “You cant get divorced till after a year of being married! What a b******!! What is he going to do with his first wife?”

“Maybe she died!” she said behaving quite like curiosity herself. “Maybe he is a widower. Which would explain why he needs a wife again!”

“Bull shit!” Raina said shaking the contents of a sugar sachet into her sweetened coffee. “I am sure he murdered her! How vile is it to keep a first marriage a secret?” she picked up her spoon with renewed energy and noisily stirred the melting sugar.

“You know what?” Raina added squinting into some far off image. “ It shows lack of character. It shows the need to hide behind secrets. And I am telling you,” she said pointing a coffee dripping spoon at her, “ I am marrying no such widower!!”

She could see that Raina had worked herself up into quite a state with this piece of information. She was digging inside her preoccupied mind to come up with something soothing to say, when the doors of the café swung open and in stepped Lav Kulshrestha!!

The past year had done absolutely nothing to him. His black hair still curled adorably behind his ear, his jaw still had that firm look, his eyes could still melt rock hard hearts. As he scanned the café, his eyes alighted on hers and glinted with a faint recognition. He walked towards their table.

Raina had her back to him. So when he whispered, “Raina?” she almost jumped out of her chair.

“Yes?” she frowned at him.

“Lav,” he said, waiting to be invited to join the table.

Raina frowned at him as if he were same alien. It was evident her mind was elsewhere. Slowly the frown gave way to the dawning of his identity and she hastily urged him to join them for coffee.

Leaning towards her she whispered, “ If the widower is this handsome, even I am bound to make some concessions!” Saying this Raina turned her prettiest smiling face to Lav.

She was fuming. Raina, didn’t even know that Lav was a widower! It was just abstract hypothesis! But just because he was heart-breakingly handsome, she was about to overlook the fact that he was married.

“And wont you introduce me to your friend?” he asked, ever the gentleman. “In fact, I think we have met before… I just cant seem to remember where!”

She was seething by then. The coffee had set her insides on fire and the pseudo smiles were grating on her nerves. Before Raina could say anything, she looked straight in his eyes and said, “ Of course we have met before! At your wedding? Or don’t you remember being married?”

Raina kicked her hard under the table and scowled at her. Lav just let out a rich laughter that turned more than one female heads.

“My wedding?” He asked reigning in his laughter, “ You met me at my wedding?”

Completely shocked by his callous pretense and overwhelmed with the idea of defending her friend against the deceptive clutches of this handsome criminal, she added, “ Hutchinston gardens? October 2007? Rings a bell?”

He sobered up quicker than a bucket of cold water on fire. “Yes, in fact it does! Shaina’s wedding?”

The way he said it, confused her, “yes.. shaina’s wedding.. to you…”

This time he frowned, a very unpleasant emotion flickered in his black eyes, “ If this is a joke, its in horrid taste. I am equally un-keen on getting married as probably you girls are. I am here to just indulge my folks. Does not mean I have to take character slights from anybody!”

“ No.. no.. “ Raina was hastily plunging into conciliatory explanations.

“You didn’t marry Shaina?” She asked confusion evident in every pore of her face.

“No!” he declared, “ Shaina married my best friend Akshay!”

She turned a deep red and looked down into her coffee. There was silence around her. She looked up and she said, “ Sorry! I so apologise! I so thought it was your wedding I was attending!”

Damn! There she had just put her foot in her own mouth. She gave him a panic-stricken look and was already working up excuses to flee.

“And you thought so because?” he almost demanded.

“A week ago I saw you in the lawns of the Moor Manor, on a nice romantic moonlit night.. with.. well.. Shaina!” She said thinking he had a right to know.

Raina gasped audibly. He said nothing. Silence stretched. Raina cleared her throat drawing two lost attentions back to the table, “So now that we know that you are not married, and definitely single…”

Full Circle

2008-09-01T01:17:00.000-07:00

Sleep was like the golden strands of dawn, slipping away even before one could notice their subtle presence. Almost anything could steal her sleep away from her, even the soft footfalls of the approaching breeze. So when her phone screamed shrilly into the silent drunkenness of the night, it startled her sleep into disappearing. She rubbed her eyes once again and checked the display on her cell phone, it was three am.

“Hullo?” she answered sounding wide awake. The last vestiges of fatigue beat a hasty retreat out of her body as she stretched into a sitting position.

“Did I wake you up?” she asked. Why is it that people ask the most obvious questions when they wake others up at alarming hours?

“No! Not at all,” she said tapping her foot on the cold floor in search of her slippers. “ I was just lying awake thinking of sleep!”

“Heeheeehee,” she giggled nervously. Her voice was heavy, which could only mean two things; either she had been drinking heavily or she had been crying. Either ways, the phone line was booked till the early hours of a restless morning.

“Mom had called from India,” she informed.

She stopped mid-way through the act of sinking her feet in her puppy brown slippers and asked, “Everything Ok?”

“NO! Everything’s not OK!” she bawled. Hearing her bawl, she hurriedly grabbed her dressing gown and donned it over her pyjamas.

“Hush! Calm down! What happened?” She asked heading towards the kitchen. Coffee always buffered a shock.

“Its ma,” she sniffed at the other end. “She has finally found the perfect guy to marry me off to!”

She banged the coffee kettle so hard on the platform, that she almost cracked the glass bottom, “this is the tragedy?! Raina!! You are calling me at three in the morning to bawl over an occurrence which takes place at least thrice a week.. Unfailingly!”

“No!” Raina hastened into the conversation, “No! It’s serious this time. It’s a son of a friend of Dad’s Elder Brother!”

Realizing that she had no choice but to hear this out, she reached for the coffee beans and spooned them into the coffee maker.

“So?” she asked switching the coffee-maker on.

“So.. he has apparently done his law from Harvard and has a successful practice in London. He wines and dines the who’s who of London and has opened a sister concern in India. Within six months the Indian sister concern has apparently made it to the top list of India’s who’s who and so how could this guy be any wrong?”

Point to be noted. How could such a guy be any wrong for ANY girl? “So.. why is he still single?” she asked peeping into the fridge to see if she could manage a midnight snack.

“See?? Exactly my question! I am sure he has a defunct testicle!” Raina sniffed again

She rolled her eyes to an unseeing audience and pushed the bowl of fruits aside to reach for the peanut butter. Fattening and highly comforting.

“Oh wait! And he has a name!” Raina was saying

“Of course he has a name!” she said balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear and slicing the bread into thick slices.

Raina laughed, “ he is called love!”

“What?” she said laughter shaking her voice, as she cut the banana into thin slices.

“Yeah I know, so totally weird!” Raina confirmed, “Love Kuru.. Kul.. shesta or something like that…”

“Lav Kulshrestha?” She asked holding her breath.

“Yes! That’s it!” Raina celebrated. “Wait! Do you know him?” she asked

“Umm..heard of him,” she agreed and then, “ you know what girl? Let me just call you back in five? I really gotta go…”

“Pee break?” Raina wanted to know

“What else” she laughed and hung up.

But no it was not a pee break that had made her run. It was the topic of their conversation – Lav Kulshrestha. It cant be, it couldn’t be! Could it? But he was married. He had married last year.

She still remembered the wedding. It was a spectacular affair, of ribbons and roses and the perfect band, playing the perfect music, for the perfect couple. Yes, the perfect couple. She still remembered them standing in the garden, drenched in the moonlight as conscious of each other as two forlorn teenagers, yet each brimming with love for the other.

Her heart still ached with a raw pain, as if somebody had mercilessly pulled the bandages off a healing wound and ripped it further open in the process. Her heart had been torn into a million shreds as she had watched her love crumble on that moonlit night. She had somehow made it to the wedding, but she remembered nothing of it. All that the name brought back to her were crushing emotions.

So what was he doing out on the marriage market again?

Serendipity

2008-08-29T23:07:00.000-07:00

When had the equation changed? When had she become this sloppy, tired-of-life woman, who rushed from one day to another, without time to look at her gradually bloating self? And when had Sim become, this chic urban woman, who clicked her heels in perfect rhythm, matched her designer bags to the expensive labels of her clothing, even sighed with the right balance of elegance and grace?

There is one truth about the existence of women in this competitive world. They scrutinize objects of their own species, with much more attention and critical detail than they observe the specimens of the opposite sex. She squirmed in her seat, equipped with the knowledge that Sim had definitely noticed the thin layer of soft flab around her waist, through the thick cotton of her pink kurta.

Who wears a kurta to a lunch at mainland china anyway? Sim was sitting elegantly across her, one leg draped stylishly over the other, manicured fingernails skimming through the extensive menu. Under the pretext of studying her own menu, she was actually studying Sim’s profile. Were those swarovski’s dangling from her ears? Unconsciously her hands reached out to touch the silver rings adorning her own ears. Did Sim think they were a cheap stunt at appearing chic?

Why was she suddenly so self-conscious? In her daily run, she didn’t have time to care what people were thinking about her. So why should today be any different? She knew she did not exactly look ‘unpresentable’ at any given point. So why was she letting Sim’s very prim and proper presence unnerve her to this extent?

“Don’t look now,” Sim said leaning forward, eyes still on the menu and whispering conspiratorially. Anybody would have thought she was discussing something on the menu with her. “Two handsome guys and potential dates just walked in through the door and are seated three tables behind you.”

Saying this she leaned back in her chair, hunched her shoulders slightly such that without quite appearing to do so, she was displaying her cleavage to a very tempting advantage. Don’t look now! She would never look, not today, when she was feeling her lowest best. Anyway she was here to tell Sim that she had found someone and was quite happy to be with him, so how did the presence of those two guys matter.

Sim would no doubt laugh at her and sympathise with her boyfriend, saying what on earth did he find in a slob like her, etc. All these thoughts were running through her head a she feigned interest in the menu, of which she still had to read one single word.

“Ok!” Sim said smiling at the menu, as if she had decided what to order, “Those guys have looked at our table like five times in the past five minutes!” She informed; unable to keep her increasing excitement out of her voice.

Obviously all those showers of attention were for Sim. Those guys couldn’t even see her, as she had her back to them. She just smiled a polite acknowledgement and sank further into her baseless depression.

She was quite startled, when the waiter suddenly appeared at their table with two flutes of white wine.

“But we didn’t order any?” Sim protested.

The waiter bowed his head, politely and smiled, “With compliments from the gentlemen,” he said signaling with his head in the direction behind her. As he set the glasses on the table he added, “For the beautiful lady in pink!”

Completely taken aback, she whirled around. Sure enough there were two gentlemen seated three tables behind her. Both dressed in crisp shirts and elegant ties with well-fitting suits, looking handsome. One of them, raised his own wine glass at her in a silent toast across the room and smiled a devilish smile.

She smiled, picked her own glass and returned the toast. She turned back to a startled Sim and leaned back in her chair with a smug smile. God bless boyfriends! She suddenly did feel like the prettiest woman alive…

Seven Years

2008-08-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

She stepped out into the torrential showers, holding her umbrella tightly, so that the strong winds didn’t carry it off with them. She had waited all of forty five minutes for the raging gray clouds to calm down. But today, they had an agenda of their own. The sun was there behind them somewhere, had to be, it was just noon. But it was evidently fighting a losing battle against the thickening storm.

Clutching at the pleats of her crimson saree, to prevent the lapping muddy waters from devouring them, she waded in her strapped heels through ankle high flowing waters. A squint through the silver slashes of raindrops, revealed no taxis or rickshaws in sight. She sighed inwardly and kept plunging on. The cold winds wrapped the thin fabric of her saree more tightly around her, highlighting her curves to a tempting advantage and the occasional lightning made her look like an ethereal beauty struggling for sustenance.

Giving up, she finally climbed onto the slippery pavement and pushed open the doors of the nearest café. The already crowded café had no empty table to offer her. She took another glance outside, they rains were still stingy with mercy. Her shoulders slumped in despair. She cast one final glance at the people seated and that’s when she saw him. She had almost not recognized him. He looked different.

Yet he was the same.

She almost fled right out into the rain, when he turned and looked straight into her eyes. Confusion paved way for recognition right within his eyes. She stood rooted to the spot. He gestured with his hand, asking her to join him on his table. She moved of her own accord. She seated herself on the hard wooden chair opposite him. She gave a tentative self-conscious smile.

He had always known her to be a self-confident, charismatic woman. So this new shyness surprised him. The pull was still there though. She could still draw you to her without quite intending too. Her black eyes were sporting a sheen of tears, or maybe it was rain-water. Her damp her fell in soft tendrils on the nape of her neck, striking an erotic ebony and ivory contrast at her throat. Seven years later, she still made his heart skip a beat.

“Coffee?” he asked initiating a conversation.

“Thanks. Latte without sugar, please?” she almost whispered.

What was with the thanks and please? Seven years ago, they had been closer than close, seven years later they were sitting across a coffee table, thrown together by chance, strangers once again! Was there anything left to say? She was married, wasn’t she? She had left him for some other guy, hadn’t she? He was just being as civil to her, as he would have been to any other woman under similar circumstances.

And she was aware of that. She was aware that she was no more than another woman to him right now. Seven years later, it shouldn’t hurt, but it did. She didn’t no why, she didn’t want to know why. She was cold and his cool attitude chilled her further. She had left him all those years ago, so he was justified in his demeanor, but she still felt cold. She shivered.

And he could feel his hackles rise. He could sense her chill and something inside him wanted to do something about it. Offer her the blazer of his suit perhaps? Anything! But he just sat there and stared outside at the pouring rain. She was rubbing a hand against her bare forearm; a minute attempt to ward of the chill. She was not looking at him. She was looking out of the window.

Their eyes met once again, in the shaky reflection of the dark, rain-washed windows. For eternity neither could pull away. The arrival of their coffees snapped them out of the trance. She averted her gaze first. Something inside her coffee mug seemed to captivate her interest more than he did.

“Bad rains,” he said trying another attempt at conversation.

“Hmm.” She agreed, wrapping her cold fingers around her mug, stealing the warmth form the coffee.

He wanted to ask her a million questions, seven years ago. Seven years he still sought answers to those questions.

She didn’t have answers to his questions. Not yesterday, not today. She prayed he wouldn’t ask. But she could sense his glare on her, silently probing, burning with a desire to bring forth all things left unsaid.

The absence of words was made up by chatter from the tables around. She refused to look at him and nothing else around him was interesting enough to look at… but for her. Some equations never changed, seven years ago, he was trying too hard to hold her to him, seven years later he was still willing her to look at him and she was still looking for a place to run.

She looked up then and was startled to stare right into his brown eyes. She looked out of the window, the rain had mellowed to an active drizzle.

“I should be going,” she said reaching for her umbrella.

He wanted to say something to stop her, he just watched her collect her umbrella and head to the door. She paused there, turned looked at him and smiled a watery smile. She then stepped into the drizzle of a lazy afternoon, the gentle breeze lifting her hair off her face. She looked beautiful.

He watched her walk away and melt into the horizon.

Sunday Aternoon

2008-08-25T04:57:00.000-07:00

The popcorn crackled in the microwave. She was conscious of him moving in the background, collecting beer mugs, opening the fridge to pull out two chilled pints and transferring them into the frosted mugs. The microwave pinged, announcing that the popcorn was done. She scooped out the fluffy kernels in a glass bowl and headed towards the hall.

He followed her with the beer mugs. She curled up on the sofa, tucked her feet under her, adjusted her soft pashmina rug on her bare legs and smiled at him. He had placed the beer mugs on a footstool and was pulling the CD drawer open.

Yes! It was that time of the weekend! They would both cuddle up and watch their favourite movies together, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It was perfect!

“So what’s it going to be?” he asked rubbing his hands together, like some connoisseur about to pick at his priced collection.

She pulled the popcorn bowl on her lap, “I don’t know …. How about…Never Been Kissed?”

“Not again!” he said settling on haunches.

“What do you mean by not again?” she asked picking up a dainty popcorn between her fingers and scrutinizing it, as if it were a jewel.

“You know what I mean by not again. I mean not again!” he said half turning to look at her. When she just raised one elegant brow at him in response, he added, “Come on! We saw a romantic comedy just last weekend! One fine day?”

“And you didn’t enjoy it?” She asked putting the popcorn bowl back on the floor.

“Of course I did!” he said turning back to his CD collection. “But why cant we watch something like Superbad or High Fidelity?”

“Because they are guy flicks!” she said sitting up straight. He looked at her long bare legs peeping from beneath the folds of the pashmina, and looked right back at her petulant face.

“Well, we did watch Sex and the City the weekend before the last, which I remember was a chic flick! So if I can watch a chic flick to indulge you, why cant we watch a guy flick?” he tried reasoning with her.

“Because.. you LIKE watching chic flicks! You get to ogle all those women with perfect bodies and what not?” she said waving her hands in the air for emphasis.

He ran a finger down the spine of his CD collection, “Oh please! Sex and the City had old women wearing push-up bras and despite that effort you had to strain your eyes to catch a glimpse of what could have been boobs! And I still watched it… for you!”

“Ugh! Ok!! Your guy flicks don’t even have dehydrated… thingies to offer!” she added exasperated.

He laughed. A rich laugh which shook him. “I get your point. Ok. So lets watch Wall.e. ok?”

Subdues by his laugh, she sank back on the sofa and frowned at him sweetly, “ Who’s wallie?”

“A Robot? I haven’t seen the movie yet..” he was already hunting through the collection for the wall.e CD.

“Your idea of a romantic Sunday afternoon is, watching a sci-fi movie about a gay robot called wallie? I mean who has a name like wallie?” She said getting worked up all over again.

“Its not wallie!!” He protested. “Its Wall full stop E. And how do you know if he is gay or not without watching it?”

“I don’t want to watch robots!” she said folding her hands across her chest and pouting.

He looked at her and sighed. He then smiled to himself. “Umm.. its actually a love story between two robots, rather cute…”

“Really?” she asked interested but not wanting to show it.

“Uhuh!” he said pulling the CD out. He now had two CDs one in each hand. “So what’s it going to be?” he asked again. “Never been kissed?” he asked raising his right hand which held the CD of never been kissed. “ A movie you have seen at least five times. You know all the dialogues. Its cute. Its old. Or…” he raised his left hand which held the CD for Wall.E “Wall.E! A new love story you have never seen. You could probably love. And maybe you would want to watch again?”

She looked at both the CDs. Settled back and said, “Wall.E it is!”

He smiled and inserted the CD in the player. Picked up the beer mugs, handed one to her, settled beside her on sofa and tucked her in the nook of his arm. Sunday Afternoons had no choice but to be perfect!

Marriage Madness

2008-08-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

The traffic was crazy. If her exasperating day at office wasn’t enough to have her pulling her hair out, the traffic would certainly accomplish this feat. As speed dropped to a halt, she tapped her impatient fingers on the steering wheel of the car, sub-consciously synchronized movements to the “Can’t get you out of mind” blaring on the car stereo. An elegant flip of the wrist, another check on time and another frustrated jolt of realization that the dinner guests would be arriving in the next hour!

Why do women marry? She thought, as she watched drops of rain trickle down her windscreen, blurring the red tail lights of the car ahead of her. For all the shackled freedom that marriage imposes on men, what do women really get out of a marriage?

Her mobile began screaming for attention. She fumbled in her bag. It was her husband.

“Hey love.. umm its almost seven, you know..”

“ I know! And I am on my way… just stuck in a crazy traffic jam five minutes from home!” she said, willing herself to stay calm,

“They said they’d be here by eight!” he reminded her.

“I know! I don’t need reminding! Like I said, I am on my way…”

“Sweetheart, he is my boss in the end you know…couldn’t you have just… like left a little early? Just this once?”

She banged a fist on the horn to vent out her piling fury, “I left as early as I could ok? How is an unpredicted traffic jam suddenly my fault?”

“Ok! Just get here as quick as you can ok?”

“No! I wont.. I will take the longest detour to home possible, just because I want to be present on the doorstep right when Mr. Makra shows up! Ok?” she yelled, unable to hold on to her temper any longer. She hung up, banged another fist on the horn and pushed back against her seat.

She worked equally long hours as he did. Sometimes longer. She had bosses to report too. She had deadlines and presentations. She had maids to haggle with, a house which needed to look the best, most of the times, cooking to do. Something which he was happy not looking into. So how did this qualify as he being on the receiving end of the pitfalls of a married life?

Why did they marry? Last evening had been a disaster. He had come home late in the evening and over dinner just announced that his boss would be coming over the next day.

“But honey.. it’s a week day!” she had protested.

“He kind of said he was coming, I could not say please do not!” he had argued.

“Why cant we meet him out for dinner?”

“Oh please! He wants to see the new home!”

“Well then why cant he come over the weekend?”

“What’s this about?”

“I have the Oberoi’s presentation tomorrow, I have no clue when I get off work!!”

“Once! That’s all I am asking of you! In fact I haven’t ever asked anything of this sort of you before!”

“This is so baseless.. the presentation is not in my hands!”

“Fine! I’ll tell him to not come.. ever!”

“Its not what I am saying…”

And it had blown into a full scale fight. She had in fact spent the better half of the night contemplating whether women marry for some masochistic joy. Why would one want to spend the night staring at the back of the man she loved? Why would she stay awake with the remnants of a fight making her stomach sour, while he snored right beside her?

She looked at the watch again. Seven fifteen. The traffic, as if sensing her panic, began to slowly move. Vexed, she veered her way and made it to her doorstep by seven thirty. She would never get the dinner cooked in time. Let alone set the house and groom herself to be presentable enough to his boss. She let out a long sigh at the door and braced herself for another flare up. She inserted the key and pushed the door open.

He was not in sight. But the hall had been set up. Cleaned, tidied, the lights dimmed … slow, mellow music filled the room. It was perfect. She walked to their room. He wasn’t there either. But the door to the bath was open, and the light flicked on. She walked inside, to a bath tub filled with warm water, her towel hung invitingly, and her spa kit rested elegantly beside the tub.

She found him in the kitchen. He had just finished placing the lid on one of the porcelain severs. Sensing her presence he turned around. She was standing, leaning against the door frame, looking a crazy mixture of love and confusion. He smiled at her, walked to her and pulled her in his arms. She leaned against his chest.

“Food’s taken care of,” he informed her, “ ordered in. Now you go and freshen up. When Mr. Makra shows up with his ‘oh-i-am-so-perfect-wife’, I want to introduce them to the woman I love. The woman who has the most dazzling smile in the entire wide world, who can charm conversations with her rich laughter, who is beautiful. Now you cant be all that when you are tired and snappy, can you? So go…”

He pulled her away, turned and gently pushed her in the direction of their room. She took a step, then turned back and looked at him. Not quite knowing how, a fraction of a second later they were kissing like two hungry lovers, who had been forced apart.

She didn’t know why women married… But she definitely knew why she had! She had married for this…

Freshly Break -ed

2008-08-14T21:18:00.000-07:00

The male species, the very male species famous for having an affinity for one-night-stands and being able to detach emotions from sex, are the very ones who attach uncharacteristic importance to casual flings.

Now, while some might be against the entire concept of casual flings, nobody can deny the importance of their existence. It always begins with the primary reason of passionate infatuation. You are just so strongly attracted to the other person that you become blind to everything else, till some piercing moment opens your eyes and you find yourself staring into the eyes of the partner, wondering what on earth were you doing there.

The other reason is to boost your self-esteem. That blonde or bloke is perfect arm candy! Being seen with them increases your social acceptance. And you know as much as them, that sooner or later one of you is going to move on!

But, in my experience, men treat the termination of a casual fling with the seriousness of a break-up! Women on the other hand – move on! They don’t go get drunk in a bar (they might go to a bar but not to wallow their sorrows in mugs of beer) and they don’t sit back and launch into big theories of self revelations! In a best case scenario, five years later, when the women get together with friends again, conversations could go like:

“Hey do you remember that other guy?”

“Who?”

“Ugh! The one you told me about… you had this fling with him sometime back…”

“WHO?”

“The one who had a mole on his ass!”

“Oh right! That one… do you know he gave me the ‘why-me’ call?”

“Oh no! He didn’t…”

“He sooooo did!”

So when my bud’s sizzling hot date, didn’t want to see him anymore, we found ourselves once more at the bar. Alcohol is the perfect catalyst to keep profoundly senseless conversations going. Four scotches down came the eternal

“Why me?”

I looked at him, nodded my head in gestures of extreme sympathy and patted his shoulder. What else could I do? The only thing that kept banging against the walls of my head (my brains sometimes look similar to a squash court) was that he was with her because he was on a rebound from a really pathetic, emotionally fungal, parasitic relationship. So if it was a rebound, which he said it was, which she knew it was too, why was he so upset if she had moved on!?

“I mean I really gotta be this … loooosher..”

I signaled to the bartender to refill both our drinks. The night was just coming alive.

“If I am this .. this nice guy..”

I raise an eyebrow. He pauses midway, looks at me and says, “I am a nice guy, ok?”

I shrug my shoulders in a ‘but-of-course!’ way and let him proceed.

“Sooo.. IIIIIF … I AM.. this NICE guy.. WHY are women walking AWAY from me ALL the time?”

We silently swigged our respective drinks. I could see he was lost deep in contemplation. I was more than happy to let him reach his own conclusions. I definitely had no answers for him. Why were women always walking away from him?? Heck?? How would I know??

“Maybe.. its because.. I am not.. sooo good at.. IT…’

“It?” I asked my drunken mind clouded with too many thoughts was working slower than a 286 processor.

“You know, the in bed.. bit .. of it…” he mumbled and looked straight into his glass.

I just looked at him. I cant even begin to count the number of times he has mentioned words like sex, porn, horny etc. Yet now he was … he was shy mentioning them?? Had to be the booze. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that he was talking about a shortcoming in himself. I had no clue.

I had no answer either.

“Do.. you.. ummm.. maybe.. see if I am right about myself?”

Definitely the booze.

“You are asking me to sleep with you, so that you can check if you are good in bed?” I asked, quite not offended. It was rather amusing to see the male mind stripped to the bare insecurities of such sorts.

He nodded. I nodded. Patted his shoulder again. Slid my hands through the sleeves of my jacket and said, “I am not looser enough to sleep with a man, who has just confessed, that he aint no good in bed!”

As I walked away, I heard him say, “ See? Women walk away from me ALL the time!”

Vodka with a twist

2008-07-30T04:17:00.000-07:00

Bachelor’s parties, lets make that spinsters bash in this instance, invariably lead to conversations centering around pre-marital jitters and cold feet. Objectively, that is what separates a spinsters bash from any other bash, the merciless dissection of the pros and cons of the groom-to-be. In fact conversations sometimes have been so brutal that it has been a surprise that there is a wedding after this event at all!

Five friends gathered at the home of the bride-to-be. Two married, two committed and of course one about to take the deep-end dive into a life of no-return. Four Vodka bottles, three wines bottles and one Irish cream bottle later, came the inevitable phase of brutality.

It began with Sheila. Sheila has been married for two years, almost happily married, save for occasional flare-ups which keep happening between couples, married or otherwise. In fact, amongst friends they were the ‘perfect’ couple. I fought hard to think back to her bash, but all that alcohol was making concentration a visible strain.

Taking a swig of wine mixed with vodka, Sheila asked, “Is the sex good?”

I sputtered over my drink. I am quite the bold and speak-out-whats-on-the-mind type of a girl, but open inquisitiveness about somebody else’s sex life, was so not me. But curiosity got the better of me and I accompanied three other pair of eyes as they stared expectantly at Maya, the bride-to-be.

Maya, wasn’t thrown back or perplexed. She seemed lost deep in thought as if she had been expecting the question and had quite not reached a satisfying answer yet. After several long moments, she shrugged her slender shoulder and said, “Its … the usual.”

The usual! Excuse me? How do you classify sex as the usual? Is there some guide book about usual sex, which helps you measure the pleasure of being together? Looks like I have missed out on quite a lot in life.

“So,” said Aditi, also married for the past six months now, “its not crazy, rocking and something you look forward to?”

“Of course it is!” said Maya a tad defensively. “I wouldn’t marry a guy who was not good in bed! Lets get real here, most fights end in bed! And if the bed’s not inviting enough you are going to be fighting all your life…”

The other three nodded their agreements and I just sank further into the cushion of the couch. I did not agree. Well the sex is undoubtedly the best after a fight. Psychologists say it is because fighting and the resolution of a fight peaks emotions, which then find a release in the final act of togetherness when two bodies become one. It enhances the futility of a fight while highlighting the greater joy of being together. But I do not think at that point anybody cared about my psychoanalysis or about the fact that good sex is an outcome of resolution of a fight than the fight itself.

I know Maya for one, would hear it all and then say, “Whats the point babe? The point is, no matter what the reason, at the end of it - the conclusion is good sex. Period.”

Jenny, who was going strong in a relation for the past year, was the most timid of us all. The one with a gentle smile and an elegant giggle… pour some alcohol into her and she could put some of the brashest tongues to shame. “Does he expect you to coo mushy things at him after having sex?”

“huh?”
“What?”
“Of course!”
“Duh…”

Silence.

“Ok woman!” Sheila, since she was married for two years, it qualified her as THE expert on topics as such ventured to impart some wisdom to Jenny. “There are rules and then there are rules. All of them unspoken. One such rule is the confession of an emotional bonding with the man after he has made love to you. Do it whether you want to or not!”

“But why?” asked Jenny genuinely curious.

Sheila and Aditi rolled their eyes and Maya leaned forward evidently interested. “Because if you are not emotionally involved with the guy, then you are just another sexual conquest! You have to get emotional with him to let him know that you are different from the rest of the women he has been with!”

Bullshit!

I did not know I had screamed that out loud, till I was staring back at four very taken aback faces. I just shrugged and pointed to the bottle I was holding by means of explanation and sank bank. I was not going to sit and defy three obviously convinced women that they were wrong. But I did think. I tried hard to think of the last time I went all wishy washy over my guy after we had made love. All I could come up with was a feeling of intense pleasure and satisfaction and an explanation for why he was absolutely the most fantastic lover… ahem… again not something I was about to share with four drunken women.

But then was something the matter with me?

“It gets easier with time,” Aditi added. “ Once you are married, the sex boils down to like thrice a week…

“..twice” Sheila corrected

“… and then, its alright if you say nothing at all and turn to other side and fall asleep. Best Bet? Seven minutes and you’ll hear him snore too!!”

I could not think of ONE night where I had fallen asleep without making out! I probably would have nightmares if I did! Nor could I think of ONE morning which was not filled with the multiple joys of feeling loved… twice a week?

My horror was reflected on Maya’s pale face as she said, “Heck! Then I don’t want to get married…”

Caramel Cappuccino

2008-07-27T23:14:00.000-07:00

She didn’t know what to expect, lets correct that, she didn’t know who to expect. Would he really be what his photograph had portrayed him to be? A well-to-do corporate of the competitive metro world? But then was that all that he was going to be? Or would he be more? What was he expecting from this meeting over coffee?

Apprehension threatened to sear acidic burns in her stomach. She willed herself to calm down as she tentatively ascended the steps of the Costa café. He was sitting in a forgotten corner of the café, awaiting her arrival and oblivious to the crowds around him. He looked a whole lot leaner than he did in his photograph. Maybe he had indulged in the same fitness package, that she had, which was available at an anniversary discount at one of the reputed gyms. It was called gearing up for marriage.

She approached the table with increased nervousness. In fact she was so wrapped up in her apprehension that when she said, “Rajiv?” it escaped as a throttled squeak!

Should she now bury herself in her own apprehension and just turn on her heel and storm out? Too late. He had already responded to her squeak and was rising from his chair with an extended hand.

“Meghana…” it was not a question, it was a welcome.

She just nodded and smiled dumbly at him. He pulled out a chair for her. Do they make men like that anymore? Wait! He wasn’t going to turn out to be one of those metro-sexual males who would dab spilled coffee with tissue papers and then folded them into neat wads before hunting for a dustbin to dispose them into, was he? She had nothing against environmental friendliness and a clean table, but then a guy obsessed with the trivialities of a clean coffee cup was, well not her cup of tea. She was so lost in her own thoughts, that she almost didn’t hear what he had to say.

But then obviously he had to be asking her what she wanted. Rationally that’s what a guy seated at a coffee table with a girl would do, ask her what she would like to have. So deciding she had to make use of her lost vocal abilities she answered, “Cappuccino… with caramel..”

He frowned at her, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his perfect mouth. “But of course,” he said signaling for the waiter.

She gave a hesitant smile. Why did she feeling that she had something wrong? What better than to come right out and ask him.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

“No! Of course not!” He replied ever the gentleman

“I just feel that perhaps you expected me to say something else…”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled his heart-melting smile at her. “Well it was just an unexpected response!”

“Caramel Cappuccino??” She asked thoroughly baffled.

“You didn’t hear me, did you?” He said resting his elbows on the coffee table.

She blushed a faint pink and kept mum.

“I said you were far more beautiful than your picture and your response was…”

“.. caramel Cappuccino!!!”

My very adorable boyfriend

2008-07-23T01:36:00.000-07:00

Spending time together, does bring you closer in more ways than one. I don’t mean, the usual together-time, you know the lingering over coffees, or wine and candle light dinners etc. I mean living together. I mean waking up next to each other in the morning kind of togetherness.

So going on a trip with the love of my life, opened doors to more discovery than one! I of course discovered that life would lose its essence without him. But I also acquainted myself with his very many quirks!! And believe me, had it been anybody else I would have been screaming my head off! But with him, it was just mighty adorable.

Like, the other night, we are all cuddled up in front of this absolutely romantic fireplace, sipping chilled wine, me huddling closer to him – partly because of the cold and partly because I just wanted to… He wanted to cuddle up with me and watch a stand up comedy by (admittedly a brilliant guy) Russel Peters! I just couldn’t say no! Not because I didn’t want to dishearten him. I know had I just said, that I didn’t want to, he would be content just holding me and well.. filling up the silence! But I couldn’t say no because for him watching one of his favourite stand up comedians cuddled up with me, was a part of being together!! He is just so passionate about his rib tickles that it is infectious! I mean if he can wait outside a loo, holding on the my pink jacket in broad daylight, just because I need him around and crowds scare me - watching Russel Peters on a romantic night with him is a treat!

I have these bursts of affections, which gush out unannounced. And I so must express them then and there. So while he was in the midst of telling me about the history and magnificence of Russel Peter ( I must point out that I was very interested in the info being parted to me) I suddenly realised that I loved him more than I ever thought was possible. And guess what? He just had to know!! So while he is talking, with one arm around my shoulders and animation making his eyes come alive. I inch closer to him and look straight at him and say, “I love you!” The conversation proceeds uninterrupted. He finishes in about three minutes and then turns to me, “ … and by the way, I heard that. I love you too!” and gives me the most adorable peck on the cheek. (*sigh! Blush*)

He hates his space being interrupted (and trust me there is no space in his life which I haven’t already peeked into or barged in upon :l). While he does not mind me picking his phone calls once in a while, keeping my stoles in the same shelf as his shirts, putting my golden sandals next to his austere black shoes on the shoe rack, making my M&Bs at home amidst his more heavier ‘Shadows of the mind’ and ‘the G.O.D experiments’ on the book shelf… there is something he does mind. He positively hates it if I have to have my finger anywhere close to the mousepad of the laptop, while he is using it!! I do that often just to exasperate him and his sheer helpless expression reserved for this moment melts my heart…

Prelude

2008-07-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

One lazy day, the sleep deprived me decided to entertain myself with the blog world. Hopping from blog to blog, reading posts and commenting on some, I landed on crimson feet.

Interestingly, there was nothing crimson about the blog! Except the name, of course. But there in stood two very interesting characters, Ramprasad Rasiya and Jimmy. As I read on, I found myself enraptured by the very human, yet very profound thought processes woven into short fiction stories.

Needless to say, I kept visiting and I kept commenting. I got some comments here, on this blog too. Very intrigued by the mind who churns up these thoughts, I decided to explore further. A couple of gtalk chats and many many late night conversations led me right into the eye of a whirlwind romance!

Caught in the midst of this absolutely fascinating roller coaster of emotions WE decided to give in to our common cravings of adventure and embarked on our first trip together to Leh. That we didn’t quite make it there, is another story completely. But we did make it up to Sarchu. And every moment spent on the trip just got us closer.

Trippin Thru is an attempt to capture the essence of the magic, which keeps us spell bound even as I type…