Kiss

Their hands brushed accidentally while jostling for space in the hallway. Overcome by his lust for her, which had been bubbling for days, he ceased her, just below her elbow. He called out her name, almost simultaneously.

She turned to face him, almost surprised, a little bit in nervousness, a little bit in love. Their eyes met. Her breathing was unsteady, fast. She had been dancing downstairs in the mild afternoon sun. She smelt of sweat. He smelt like cool air conditioning and the sea. He was calm and knew what was going to happen.

He moved to kiss her on the lips but paused and kissed her forehead instead. When you love someone that much, you want to love her in flesh as well. Her hair, her belly, her nose, even fingertips and ears, everything that is hers, you want to cup between your hands and kiss.

She closed her eyes in disbelief, was this really happening. She was a few inches shorter than him and he had to bend down to kiss her on the lips. They locked in a kiss for ten seconds. She was leaning on the kitchen wall and he was leaning on her. They held hands, firmly. Both hands. Like each other were all they had. Like she was his peaceful permanent. And he was hers.

After that she pulled away softly and rested her head on his chest. He wanted to go on, but the telephone rang. He didn't care and held her chin in his hands. But she wouldn't stay. With the ringing of the phone, reality had trickled into their happy cocoon. He desperately tried to hold her back, without a care for anything else in the world. All that he wanted was to have her. They stood there bathed in each other's sighs for moments. But she slipped away from him and tip toed towards the telephone. He turned to her and swallowed in large gulps. Waiting for her reaction. Waiting for her to say some things. Acknowledge somethings. 

She didn't have that courage. She pretended as if nothing had happened. After mumbling inconsequential pleasantries on the phone, she walked away slowly even as he kept calling out her name, once, twice and thrice.

And her bangles jingled all along. 

U or me

Life moves fast

Years pile up

2009 between '14 and' 08

A bit of '06 somewhere in there

Although I remember nothing 

Except for what has pained me

But I forget almost time, in its entirety 

The inconsequential hours & months

Mail exchanges with strangers 

Calls lasting into nights, breathless cycle rides

Pictures, guileless selfies, minute long videos 

A mammoth of life is locked in those

And they're casually & effortlessly erased

Perhaps because we're not meant 

To hold on to every tiny thing

Else how would we wallow in everyday misery 

Now if I recollect hard

I can contain my entire thirty odd years

In a few hours

That's how shrink worthy I am

Also how much I remember of me

Is exactly as much as I remember of you

Funny as it may seem, it be true

And our chords run so deep

Honeybunch Sugarplum

My bespectacled darling 

When I scram through my memories 

I cannot know

Which-one is you

And which-one is me

The Girl

The girl was a girl no more. At twenty-seven, she could be a woman, full-fledged. But still she was a girl because that's how girls are referred to.

The girl shared an apartment with her two friends. She has her own bedroom which she had adorned with fairy lights, mirrors, house plants and stuffed toys. However the insides of her head were disheveled. She was dragging herself from one day to the next. And barely

She had just broken up. It had been a steady relationship of what now seemed to be her entire life. But they had lived in a different cities for a while and the distance had wrecked havoc.

The girl got lonely a lot. Tried new things with her hair. Clothes. Shoes. She read poetry, racy novellas even, just to stay put. But nothing worked. Her ex dumped her. Both of them were distraught. But they had to let go when they still could. 

Although picking up the pieces of her life was blindingly difficult, there was no other way to go. Nowhere else to be. 

The girl could not manage to get out from the bed in the morning. She decided she would quit her job and live off her parents for a bit. Immediately she took up a hobby she had always yearned to nurture. Pottery.

She made vases. Ugly and ordinary. But the feel of clay in her hands made her accept that most things are malleable. After months, she could make a half decent vase. The girl put them up on Instagram. 

Then she wanted to cook. She wanted to cook so much that there was no end to it. She still hadn't managed to tell her mom and dad exactly how unemployed she was. She used the last of her savings to buy the dishes and groceries. 

She started a kitchen and hand delivered meals to single people who lived nearby. She didn't get to rise with her head above water for months, but getting out of bed was no longer the biggest obstacle in her day. 

She cooked and packed lunches and dinners like it was nobody's business. She dressed in ordinary clothes and walked to deliver the meals. She was unrecognizable when compared with her previous self. But she had begun. To heal.

The girl. A Girl. 

I write because I too seek to heal. Because I seem to somehow know that I am too damaged to create anything beautiful. I would so rather I wasn't this way