hold me a little longer love/let my sorrow sink into you/and my tears mingle with your lips/let me love you more/hold me a little longer love

when i say i have had enough/tell me i need to live/take my hand/lead me into the wilderness/listen to my silence

build me a house/ stay with me forever/never leave me alone love/never!

look into my eyes/say you will be there/nomatterwhat/and say that again/and again...

let me never feel insecure/abandoned, alone/the only feel that may reside in my heart/should be that of love/your love

assure me that/i would never have to be out there/dying in thirst/in the heat and the sun

promise me that i will /always have your arms/to snuggle upto

nomatterwhat/never let go love/never let go

hold me a little longer love/hold me forever

I-am an everlasting dream

I rolled my eyes down my phone book. I saw my call list, all the numbers I had dialed, all the numbers i had got a call from, all the numbers that I had missed. Now I have not a single person I could call. Just call...

Not a single person, I could meaningfully message. loneliness is so out of fashion man. I am either supposed to be shopping crazy,walking into and into the numerous alleys of some eighteenth century market or laughing up and down the escalators of some splendid mall. Or eating out, somewhere...counting my calories and my cash.

I always have loved being alone though, writing things on my computer, listening to my kind of music, staring at the walls, without quite knowing that I am doing so. Sinking into depths of mushy thought; mulling over things. Or flat imagining, of how things could have been, had life been otherwise. But at times, being lonely is so out of fashion it seems, when you see chicks chatting away on that phone thing, getting away for those infinite walks...to the road near the mountain.

When I stare out of my window, the green highs of the mountain are still a hazy, thought inducing extremity; the cloud hidden peaks are a faint hint of romance for my heart, long solitary walks are for inspiring my indolent self, and keeping a track of myself.

For me life is a distant proposition and love, an impossibility.

Part I

‘So how about getting the lady a lovely new dress?’
I would have sprung off my feet at those words.
And normally say something like ‘Fantastic! Let’s go, get it! What are we waiting for?’
But I had to show that I have my own reservations. Particularly with new comers into my life.
So I remember smiling and saying something like, ‘Mmmm…no. I already have so many’
And then his face evolved an impish smile, ‘A girl can never have so-many dresses, I had heard!’
We laughed that away.
I don’t know what for was he so exceptionally amicable to me. He could have simply treated me like a far off relative, here to see his city. He could have put me up at some hotel, called me home for an occasional dinner, and get done with it. But he would rather see me in a room in his house.
Men at an age like his are conventionally supposed to part from youngsters for their highly screwed up generation Y antics. But he would rather spend his time trying to know what exactly was happening within me.
Was all this because he had been alone all his long life? Or was it because he was an artist?
We were having lunch at one of his favorite restaurants. It’s a mildly sunny afternoon. He eats a little and talks a lot.
Does he at all push his glasses up his nose and behave like that I-am-a-friend-of-your-dad and all? No, he so completely stands apart from that category.
We converse like two age-less people. He is pretty deep as a person. When I am not attentive, I get lost in the contours of his face. His eyes sparkle when he speaks, and he folds his hands on the table when he talks to me.
Is this that young girl fantasizing should I say a ‘middle-aged’ man syndrome? Probably no.
He is just another object of observation. And it is now that I can see beyond his wrinkles…

from a nun's bedroom

Is life a journey to finding love?

I believe in the energy of the universe, and the coating of love over the world when I read Paulo Coelho, who many call a fairy tale writer for

adults

He makes me feel weirdly energetic when I roll my eyes down his words

I wonder where all this energy was before?

And where this shall vanish to after I shut the book?

How can someone write things that are miles away from the mundane addictions of man yet be so widely understood?

It makes my mind leap to unknown heights, delve into depths I have never been to

Otherwise I survive on the remnants of my thirst for absolute freedom

Is life a journey in search of the place where Ican be happy forever?

May be...for me it is

Cleansing myself of fears is another thing

The fear of failure, haunts me, makes my life unlivable

I shall find a place where my soul shall dwell in peace, without the shame that many would call me a lunatic after reading this...

That's all!

On Ruhi

These days she spends most of her time in her room.
I have hardly ever seen her downstairs.
God knows what she does in there?
For heaven's sake, is life all about writing those bloody things which no one reads?
Life is about behaving like a normal girl..helping me in the kitchen..
Life is about combing you hair, working hard, clearing competetive exams...earning money..and coming out of that rat hole she lives in!

These days she doesn't even return the calls of her friends..
When asked she says,
'Oh! I don't get to know when time slips out of my hands...
it's not my fault, but u know, I can somehow
never manage to do anything but laze around..'

You either find that soundbox in her room bursting and tearing my ear drums
But at times the music is so soft that I would have to toil that treck up the stairs to her room to find out if she is alive not in a coma.

To my 'Come down and Have lunch babay!'
There would be no respone...
I would scream'Ruhi? Ruhii?'
She would whisper 'Send it up here please'

And when I push her door open, I find her staring out of the balcony.God knows what she finds there.
I remember having argued with her father that we would never need that balcony, there is nothing worth seeing to that side of the house. There is some kind of a jungle, in summer the earth is all cracked up, in monsoon the creepers from it climb upto her room and no matter what she wouldn't let me do anything to them, not even when i threaten her that snakes would find their way up.
And now,that it is winter, the jungle is her laboratory, where she cooks up the fantasies she lives on.
When i take her breakfast up at eight, she makes me feel as if her vision can tear through that impenetrable fog.
Ruhi, can see things she wants to, she has always done that.

And again you would hear me shouting 'Ruhi, babay, Daddy is here..come down and let's have dinner..?'
Sometimes she would honor the ground floor with a visit, most of the times she would not care...

Upstairs, she would be pushed to one side of her bed like an ailing asthma patient, she would be scribbling things in her diary, staring into the dark sky.
Count stars, does she? I never asked..i never could ask.

I don't know where she will end up,i dread the consequences of her life..

May be in the way she lives, she finds the answers to her questions.
The answers that i never could find out in my own long life...

the other side of being me

i pray so that i can live sans fear
i write a lot, but have never written about my faith. i am a theist. i can't prove to you the existence of God, but my feet would shake if i stop believing.

i, apparently, am pretty confident.
But i have too many fears lurking within.
Honestly, so many that i go weary.
Fear of an accident that would stop life from taking its happy course, fear of my loved ones being torn away from me, fear of being hapless, fear of death..
i find it impossible to contain my fears within the walls of my heart.
And i can't admit my fears to the people around me.
Many can't spare their time and others will take me for a lunatic(which i actually am)
So i open up to someone who is always eager to listen to me..God
When i talk to God ( not always it is a one-sided conversation you see, haven't i talked about my sixth-sense earlier?) i feel as if all my fears have vanished for sometime at least.

i pray so that i can live sans fear.
Because i know that living when a fear is killing me from within is not worth it, is it?

i pray because i love you God, deeply, truly, madly.

And though i can't prove that God exists, i can't care any less about it.

May my faith in Him only grow stronger...

almost honest

Why do i get a feeling that everyone is oggling at me?
It's a syndrome that i am a victim of ...i have always wanted to camouflage in the crowd...
There is this fear that i associate with being singled out, being visible...
I dread at the possibilities of emerging from the walls where i live.

At a certain place, everything is going about almost fine and then enter I, centre stage...
I am no ethereal beauty that could floor any man...human, but i am very strange.
I got eyes that are bigger than they should be...and my hair produces oil all by itself, no matter how rough a shampoo i use.
And fate always has it that i turn up wearing THE wrong dress...something that no one else is wearing at the place i am in...

People's stares make my mind cough up words like 'eh? what's wrong with me?'

Fortunately if i let five minutes of time pass...i can again get back to being myself. People stop noticing me... and i begin noticing them...

I LOVE observing things around myself...i would love to wait for a friend at CCD or any public place for that matter...sitting alone on a table gives me the liscence to observe, mull, and then finally choose words that would fit in to describe what i think about those people...Forget it...i confess...i flat stare at people!

Hmmm...I am single though, i like watching couples...! i have had a few posts about my adventures of gazing at drowned-in-the-nectar-of-love twosomes...i try to figure out the chemistry that binds them together. Love is an all time beautiful thing to me. And the naive victims of my gaze are so much busy in fathoming each other...that they don't get the slightest idea that their emotion is literally quenching my aesthetic hunger..whateverthatmeans!

And about the quotes on T-shirts of guys...Oh! they are the things i am the second most obsessed with...( my first obsession is me!) I go nuts about reading those quotes and later laughing to myself...i do what not , i die to look at the T-shirt till i am able to read it completely...and comprehend it and laugh at it. And the poor guy thinks it was him i was staring it...:)

Well here is another confession...i also spare my stares for those marvellous masterpieces i have blogged about earlier. I indulge myself...never deny myself anything that 'I' ask for...I passionately admire anything i love... But at the end of the day...I am the apple of my I.

mez havin a writer's block!

We want to have no memories
Of days when we
Stood in the rain
Under sky high trees
And even then
Almost half bathed ourselves

A Long Story

She saw a missed call from an unknown number. Called back to ask who.

'Hello, koun bol rahen hain?'
'Aap koun?'
'Aap ne call kiya tha, aap ko pata hoga main koun!'
'But abhie to aapne call kiya hai'
'Very funny!'

She hung up!

She got a call again. She girded her loins...She will show him some fun now.

'What is it that you want?'
'Pehle pehchaan koun?'
'What rubbish!'

She was about to disconnect out of sheer disgust,out of her apathy towards people who trouble innocent girls via phone.
Then she heard something like this

'Arrey main yaar...kamaal hai...tu to ekdum bhool hi gayi!'

Her heart missed a beat. Till that day she had called back every unknown-number-missed-caller begging God it should be him.
Was it him? Him? Him?

'Koun?' she whispered...

'Main yaar...(we keep the first name a secret)...(we also keep the last name under covers...)'

Time stopped. Her palms went sweaty, forehead was burning. She didn't know whether to be happy...or nervous...or impersonal..
Her breathing took a pause...

It took a minute for her to gather herself and behave as if she had never expected him to call... It was raining and thundering
outside. That didn't matter..nothing mattered...she was carried into a land faraway. That moment she had everything she wanted.

Wonder why he always called up when there was a storm outside...there were many story summer afternoons then...Could be because he
had nothing better to do...

.
.
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Days passed by. Storms went by. He didn't call again...

Her heart learned to cry again. It writhed in anguish again. It tore itself apart into pieces and pieces. Her heart brooded
about the futility of further existence.

But look at her mind. The mind thought of exploiting her plight. It squeezed her pain to make words out of it. Her mind made
her write and write consoling her that she would be able to come out of it one day is she wrote it all out! But she never
overcame anything, she could never wipe out the occurrence of that phone call two years ago...that stormy summer afternoon.

The heart was like a naive orphaned child. How shrewd could her mind be...how selfish...how cruel...how...

She wondered how the two of them, her heart and mind coexisted between the boundaries of the same body...

Her heart was so much like herself...and her mind, it was so much like that people...people who know how to churn a name
out of every exploitable source...

She wrote about her pain...people read. She accumulated accolades... Her mind liked it all.

Did anyone ask her heart? The ovation and the praise did nothing to better its situation. It writhed in anguish forever.

home

I’m going home
I miss the dust of my streets
I miss looking at the mellow morning sun
I miss my mother’s lap
I miss crying till my heart’s at ease all alone in sultry afternoons…
The river would have washed away the temples I had made with wet sand

I miss staring innocently into the infinite unknown
So much used to be unknown then
Unknown, Obscure and yet to be achieved

I’m going home
My tears have waited enough

But it’s been so long
I’ve forgotten the way back
Someone tell me where home is…

in the shadow of the stars...

WARNING! LONG POST AHEAD!

Dear Adam, (Point wise would be better)

*As I saw you riding away, I don’t know why but my heart twitched in pain. This could have been because I had placed you in it as the ideal man. The only man. My Adam.

*You were all I could ask from life, the materialization of all the day dreams that my mind had mulled over since adolescence.

*No one had ever ventured into this proximity of my heart where you lived.

*When you spoke, all my senses numbed. When I stared at you, everything else about me ceased to exist but my eyes. I saw the way you said your words, distinctly, with your own fresh style. I literally drank those moments up, when you talked about fun, about life, about the movie-‘The Pursuit Of Happyness’- I gaped at the free spirit you housed.

* The way the hair on your chest showed when you left that second button open, and my mind strayed to the places where it shouldn’t have. The smartness, the over-smartness rather…I became a fanatic of everything about you.

*Things I related you with were of the kinds of fun, I always ‘pretended’ I had a crush on you…Funny! Isn’t it? Hmmm…You kept the fires of my heart burning when there was a drought everywhere around! Never had I imagined, I would be so frozen with poignance the moment I saw you leaving forever.

*When you are gone, I would always remember with glee the moments of trance that entrapped me when you were around, and my shock the moments when I discovered that you are a Bengali and when I realized that it was the last time I saw seeing you!. Also the giggles would come back to me, the giggles that had erupted when I discovered that the initials of your name are A & D and I christened you ADAM forever! La!

***I have fallen in love many times, with many men. So love comes easy to me. But I never fell in love with you. Wonder how paradoxical it is to meet Mr. Right and not succumb to the sweet pain that love is.

May be I have achieved some kind of say over the philandering whims of my heart. Some kind of equilibrium that comes only with time!

May be she loved him. He was unaware.

When he sat beside her on her bed, she was busy typing away on her computer. But she was only pretending. All that time, she had been crying. Craving for a shoulder to lean on and cry more.

When she sensed him rustle the air around her, she turned to him and leaned. On him. This happened involuntarily.

Her tears wet his shirt. Astonished, he didn’t know what to do. He softly ran his palm on her back, afraid of hurting her. She felt like a flower in his arms.

There is a difference between hugging and leaning, we all know. The former involves more warmth and some steam. And lust at times. Leaning is more abstract a thing; more emotional than physical. It is she resting her head full of troubles on his sturdy shoulders.It involves relief and satiety. It is a subtle confession of what he meant to her.

KP Special!

I dyed my fingers in flowers for you
Their color faded as they yearned for your touch

Every winter when the tree burst in full bloom
And the road leading home became fragrant with promises
All the while walking back alone
I peeped coyly from amongst my hair
To see if it was you, tiptoeing beside me

Every time it rained
And it got duskier and darker
The drops came down
And trickled down my window
I have wanted to feel you close, very close

°♫my♥mind♥meanders♫°

I am a traveler. The traveler in me showed up, when I was staring out of a sleeping train, into the sky with innumerable stars. I realized that I hadn’t star gazed for months. Those few hours, I could not ask for anything more. I was so content with being me. I had to crane my spondylitic neck up, against the bars that bounded the windows, and still I felt no pain. All that I was doing, was all for myself, solely for deriving some kind of mental satiety and peace that I always keep on chasing...like a thirsty traveler chases a mirage. And I grow so glad, when I find the key to my happiness, be it merely for a few hours. I relish every moment I spend with myself.That's all!

To whoever!

Dear flirts, why don’t you understand?
No matter how you make your ways grand
You are things, I just can’t stand

Every time you meet some chick
Graceful, cute and chic
Or spectacled, lonely and a geek

You will have more ways to devise
To make her realize
That it’s she you fantasize

Talk to her through out the night
You skillfully intersperse that talk with an endearing fight
Tell her she’s the most beautiful, to her very delight

Hold her hands
Sink your fangs
Frame your phrases with such brilliance

Unaware of your flirtatious flair
Of your heart other females could demand an equal share
Had she known, she would slit your throat without a care

When will you feel?
That the wounds of love take long to heal
And it is tough for her, to renew that old zeal

Haven’t you by now slaked your thirst?
Settle down; look for your right woman first
Think love forever and not just one night of lust

being lovelorn-this is how creative it can get

When we bid adieu the last time, I didn't even know that it would be the last time. I couldn't even mourn it. I couldn’t even weep. I had shout till my screams tore through these walls
I had beat myself to quieten myself, to calm my wrath.

My eyes wouldn't shed a tear, with the fear that tears wouldn't suffice. Nothing could even begin to console the loss that I had gained. Even today, when in solitude I wonder if you would really come back and beg to be pardoned at my feet and kiss my hands, and cry to be taken back.

You are the answer to all my silences. You can quieten my bleeding heart. Only you...

Deja Vu

~~~~~He has the same curious eyes, that same towering person. The same hair and it falls on his face like yours did. When he is around, I feel as if I am standing beside you. The same air of negligence, those mute grunts of frustration. He looks so much like you that I can’t afford to look at him.
When I see the same person again, a spasm of sorrow clinches my face, my heart twitches, and I feel a lump in my throat. And I want to inflict the sweet pain on myself, again and again.

It’s time I begin trying to find out, whether I really miss you. Or I miss that
craving I had for you? ~~~~

Letters To Myself

Why was I born a woman? It is so damn challenging. Men chasing you like bloodhounds from every possible direction. Looking at you as if you were an object, treating you like one. I am so frustrated. It’s so harsh to know that your gender poses as such severe a problem. Makes me hate all men in general. I am in such a trouble. I am like hooked up. Can’t do anything. Such a pain to be looked down upon, knowing that you are almost equally capable. Being treated like dust, it’s so inferior. When they make you feel like one piece of shit, incompetent, which has been created just to entertain men. It’s like a heartache. Pathetic. Being sidelined in everything you do as a group. Can nothing alter this kind of a sick mentality that men foster? When it comes to interacting with the other gender, many educated men behave like illiterate know-nothings. Just because we use our hearts as much we use our brains, we can’t be taken for granted. Let me pardon all men for being on-your-face flirts, and over -sexed animals, even then I find it unbearable to accept them for the way they behave, as if we have no hearts, we do not hear those absurd whistles, vulgar comments, those I-will-eat-you-up stares. To add to my woes, women are a minority. If they luckily don’t die before they are born, there are butchers sitting right here, to torture them, mentally and physically throughout their entire lives. There is such an acute dearth of good men. Oh! That’s so much like an oxymoron. Do you always have to please a man to rise higher, become better? Succumb to his flirtatious tricks or become a booze buddy? Can’t I continue the way I am? Clear & straight, and as a woman?

About not being in love

and about being twenty...


I like being empty hearted. When there is no one whose name my heart murmurs every now and then, when there is nobody whose thoughts irk my mind all the time. I like being empty hearted. I am at peace when I am not in love. At peace with my internal complexities, and the complex world around me. The equilibrium that I have always tried to find, looks closer and more achievable.

When I am not in love, I am more unbiased about things in life. Where as when in love, it is my biggest preoccupation and never stops kidding around with my subconscious. It affects my perception of things, adding another pinch of melancholy to my already melancholic existence. When in love with somebody, the dearth of that person hurts so much that it is tough for me to get out of the solitary ordeal that I undergo, and sense some normalcy in life. There is a perennial heartache, which I want to come out of, because getting myself rid of love, looks anything but impossible and sinking deeper and deeper into it looks inevitable. The act of unloving apparently lies beyond the last blue mountain…

Being able to feel the sorrow of people is my forte. And being in love takes this elite trait of mine away from me. Love spoils me, wastes me, makes me a good-for-nothing fellow, a melancholic dumb fool, living in another world of which no one knows, and nor do I…love kills me…slowly, so that I can relish every bit of the pain, that I love and loss are endowed with.

Touch Wood! I am not in love. And may it be this way forever…God Bless me…Happy Birth Day To ME…And I am TWENTy~~~~~~

To You,

Again after half an hour I found you sitting opposite me. We were talking to everybody but to each other. You absolutely generate no feeling of love in me. No attraction or appeal of any sort. Nor are you a crush. Not even some passing fancy. Nor do I admire the way you think, or the way you speak, as is the way I analyze the other guys I come across. It is not that I miss you when you are not around. Nor would I die to talk to you.

But there is something about you. I admire you the way a man admires his woman. I love to look at you…that’s it. I want you to sit in front of me for hours, so that I can study the contours of you face, knit words out of the glow of your skin, write poems on your hawk eyes, nibble a bit of that extra large nose of yours. I want to sink my eyes into the pinkness of your lips. Analyze that toothy smile or should I call it a grin…. with all the brains I have.That grin looks so vulnerable, so nascent, when it envelopes your lips. I would look at the smooth flow of words from your mouth. Oh! I would almost drown myself, admiring the way God has made you. You are one object I admire, like I do admire very few things…But you could never generate any feeling in me, thankfully. It’s just your appearance that appeases my senses. My external senses…the eyes…that’s it. Hardly anything but the pleasure of having seen you, penetrates me….the heart is so indifferent to you…

With Love,

From Me