IV
To talk about what happened that one night to someone who knew all the people concerned would be perhaps easy. They could know that Gandharav and Varun had been friends and foes forever. Yet the details and depth of both their affinity for each other and their animosity were known to no one, least to me who had become their apartment-mate only seven months back. I knew even lesser about Rishi, Mahadev and Videshi then. I tell this story many years after everything happened. Through conversations with many people, and observations over many years, I have formed my own interpretations. If Varun or Gandharav were to tell the tale, it would be quite different. If Kaavya were handed the pen, her story will be interspersed with tears that she would shed at the supposed cruelty of the world around her, a world full of men who cannot leave her alone. It is another matter that ever since she acquired her feminine form, no girl was able to become her close friend and it were men who entertained her and then lay heartbroken in her wake.
After Kaavya’s tears were cleared away, I sat on a chair, facing her, while she was lounging on the couch. She was still wearing the mini skirt and the light blue tank-top that she had worn for the dinner. A few hours back, when she was with Videshi, she must have made a few head turn as she wafted by, lost in her childlike joy. Videshi was a Jamaican of Indian descent, whose hair fell in splendor like Bob Marley, and all his conversation, the way he walked or ate or did anything, seemed to be done to the tune of Don’t Worry, Be Happy. I could picture them together, Kaavya laughing her high notes, and Videshi letting his hair and hands do as much talking as did his Reggae voice.
Ruchi had explained to me that Kaavya was trying to find some space for herself, some mechanism of having a few hours where she did not need to worry about all her suitors. I laughed at Kaavya’s reasoning and Ruchi’s approval of it. Firstly, because Kaavya’s such escape attempts added more people to the list, meaning extra trouble in the long run and secondly, because in this case, both absence and jealously worked to add more fuel to the fire. Of course, Kaavya wanted to believe otherwise, and Ruchi, I could bet on it on some days, had left her brain in her Automation laboratory. In stead of getting my point across, I managed to get a long lecture from Ruchi on how we guys chase skirts and how we only want one thing and all our love talk is just foreplay. As soon as she uttered foreplay, she surmised that she went too far, and suggested, “Many suitors leads to healthy competition, don’t you think?”
Since Kaavya refers to poetry, we called the suitors as feuding bards and one day had christened them all. Kaavya took particular interest in the christening. Since Varun was an identified poet, so we referred to him as Shakku in Love. I suggested Shakespeare, Ruchi shortened it to Shakku, as in one who always doubted. Kaavya said that Varun is sweet and understanding, unlike Rishi who always talks about one love, fidelity and betrayal, but since Shakku sounds so sweet, the title is accepted. Ruchi laughed at Kaavya’s comment, and clarified, by doubt, she meant he doubted himself. He doubted if he should make a move, if he was good enough and so on.
Rishi hardly ever wrote poetry, but had the presence, the melancholy of one, so we christened him as Shaaiyar Badnaam (the bard with a bad reputation). Kaavya managed to blush at both the names and then suggested the name Nautankibaaz (meaning dramatic) for Gandharava. Then suddenly Ruchi asked what name Mahadev could have, and giggled away as she herself found an apt name for him as Psychedelic Parodist (for he sang Dylan, Pink Floyd and several other bands in Hindi, strumming the Guitar perfect in tune and immaculate translations).
I was named the Bhrast Sutradhaar (the corrupt narrator, why must I be fated to be one, I do not know myself), who profits from both peace and war between all parties, and manipulates the role of actors and actresses to suit his fancy. No one mentioned Kulkarni and Vikrant, and in my head, I put them with other failed or future failures telling Kaavya that The Others are on a list called Dead Poet’s society. Then in am imaginary Swayambar, in a method by which the ancient Indian Princess would choose her prince, Kaavya acted out her part walking into the room with a Crown made out of ingeniously crafted tiara made with puffed polyethene bag. Then in her characteristic gaiety, she announced, “Interested Gentleman! I have looked at your resumes and read your verses and doggerels. I thank you all for your interest, though I must make it clear to you that I don’t like poetry, especially badly written one. But since you have worked hard at writing those, I give you credit for effort and even though it is hard for me, but for your sake only, I’ll accept all your compliments. If it were possible, I would marry each one of you, for no one possesses all that I seek in a man. But since a decision needs to be made, I give my hand to you.”
Saying this she walked towards me, I blushed as I saw her approach with her hand stretched forward. Her smile increased manifold on seeing me smile and blush at the same time, and within few steps it had broken into near hilarity. My heart was pounding louder than ever before, cheeks were strained by red heat of flushing and joy and my reaction added to her hilarity and vice versa. Kaavya’s outstretched hand was just a feet away now. I was about to raise my hand, when Ruchi who was standing next to me all this while, found her hands holding Kaavya. Kaavya was in splits with laughter, and was dancing away with Ruchi. I guess Ruchi did not notice what I had just gone through, for she was focused on Kaavya. Kaavya continued to laugh, swing arm in arm with Ruchi, and winked at me as I sat there shaking my head, feeling extremely embarrassed and simpering at my folly.
When the reminiscence broke as a smile in my eyes, Kaavya stirred. She said, “Ok! Before we talk about what happened, I need to eat something. I am starving. Videshi took me to a Japanese Sushi restaurant, and the food was so yucky. Vivek, could you please cook some Maggi and make some tea for us? I will go in and change, and I need a quick shower. I promise I will be out before your tea is ready.” I was relieved by the idea, as for the last ten minutes we were just sitting there in an uncomfortable silence. For what had seemed like a prolonged scene of tragedy, Kaavya was as still as a statue, only her breath fell and rose with heavy sighs, and to my questioning eyes, her response was an occasional movement of the head, as if saying, “Give me some time. Still can’t talk.” I knew nothing new so far, so had nothing to say to soothe her. Presently I stood near the stove, staring at the water in the tea-pot and the pot with Maggi noodles. I tried calling Ruchi, who did not take my call.
Then I noticed a few missed calls and voice messages, apparently from Varun. “Err! Vivek! Call me.” “Dost (Friend), where are you? Answer the damn phone”. “Dude, I know Ruchi isn’t with you, you aren’t in your laboratory, and you aren’t in any regular place. Pray why vanish toDaaaY? Call up, its urgent!” “Vivek dost, its two forty-five am and I am in my room. If I am asleep when you come back, wake me up. Phone call won’t do, meet me asap.” I saw now how the sugar that I added to water in the tea-pot, disappeared in a flash, while now that the bitter tea leaves were in boil, they were showing their agitation, and their true color. I waited for Kaavya to come out, put boiling leaves to rest and pour out the tea.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
Tutti-frutti
Strawberry lip, plum cheek
chocolate chip tongue
slurp, slurp, I begin.
Honey drops, creamy layer
cherry on the top
yum, yum its fun.
Melting down, pink, vanilla
cusp, lisp, whisper, gulp
my tutti-frutti is awesome.
Friday
June 09, 2006
11:40 am
chocolate chip tongue
slurp, slurp, I begin.
Honey drops, creamy layer
cherry on the top
yum, yum its fun.
Melting down, pink, vanilla
cusp, lisp, whisper, gulp
my tutti-frutti is awesome.
Friday
June 09, 2006
11:40 am
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Kaavya: Episode III
III
I was almost about to reach Kaavya’s house when a car coming towards me swerved dangerously and I caught a glimpse of Gandharava showing his irritating grin to me. The car seemed to be full of people. I caught seemingly familiar laughter from the inside. I increased the pace of my steps, nearly ran towards Kaavya’s house. I knew that Varun had come to tell Kaavya about Gandharava only an hour or so back, and I figured something was amiss. Gandharava seemed to be coming back from their house. So in the same evening, so many things were happening. Kaavya first went out with Videshi and then Rishi was at her house on her return. Later Varun had gone to meet her to disclose the reality about the vile Gandharava. Of course, in my own case, I was trying to understand why Ruchi was graduating in December and why she never dropped a hint to me. My laughter from the evening now seemed coming from memories of days ago.
As I had walked to Kaavya’s house, I had gone through a whole range of emotions. I retraced the story of all the possible permutations involving Kaavya as I knew them. I mentally made a list which looked as follows:
Kaavya:
Known fighters: 1) Varun, 2) Rishi, 3) Gandharava, and 4) new addition Videshi
Unknown to most, but suspected by Varun and me: 1) The macho, pot-smoker Mahadev, 2) the anemic Kulkarni, 3) her distant cousin Vikrant, who had a Honda Civic and a job already and 4) somehow I realized my own name was in the list too. In fact, it was rumored that I was the one who she talked more easily than she talked to her own best friends, all girls, from the school days and her parents.
But of course, I was knee deep with Ruchi, which prompted a frown on my face and I made a list involving Ruchi and her suitors.
Ruchi:
Rumored to be mine (Vivek) It struck me, the word rumor, was what came to my head.
Suspected: Mahadev: he was in Mechanical Engineering with her, and sat with her in all classes, helped her in all theoretical and experimental assignments and was known to be close to her. Well, I guess I suspected it, though no one else ever suggested it.
I always loved lists. I was too forgetful as a kid, and my mother would place a list of items to be brought from the market, then I had a list of topics to be studied when I was in high school, preparing for Engineering entrance examination. In undergraduate, my lists were notorious: I had a wish list of books I had to read, places I wanted to visit and later a wordlist carried me through GRE. For the first time in my life, a list I had tormented me. I felt so listless, so hopeless. Why was Ruchi leaving in December? What was Kaavya crying? Lost in these thoughts, I found myself on threshold of their house. I called Kaavya’s cellphone, and was promptly ushered in by the teary Kaavya
As soon as she bolted the door, she started sobbing very loudly. The crying was accompanied by a deep, long wail that I had never witnessed in people, except when they were crying over the dead. For a few seconds, I just stood spell bound, unable to decide what I could do to immediately comfort her. I did not even know why she was crying, so I mumbled, “Let me call Ruchi from her room.” She kept sobbing and wailing, her face was hidden in her two hands, and on hearing my words, one hand motioned that Ruchi had gone out. Kaavya’s face was swollen and I understood that she had already had a long session with tears. I finally realized I was there not to just watch her cry but to find out why she was crying and soothe her.
Ruchi wasn’t home bothered me, but soon Kaavya’s wails and sobs put all my thoughts into a kind of amnesia. I put my arm around her, and walked her to the couch, bade her to sit down, and rushed to the refrigerator to bring some cold water for her. I made her drink the cold water, and said a lot of sweet nothings, like “hey, don’t worry; everythings goona be alright; I’m here child; hey, hey, stop crying, and tell me whats wrong; for if you don’t tell me kid, I won’t be able to help you; tell me Kaavya, did someone say anything to you.” By now her sobs had become softer, though her hot tears now fell over my shoulder, and I could see those drops leave trails on her cheek. Somehow, in that state, she looked purer and prettier than ever before.
I remembered how three months back, at Ruchi’s request, I had gone to the airport to pick her up. Varun had accompanied us, for plan was to pick her up and catch a quick dinner at the Indian restaurant. Varun had been a quintessential good boy all his life. He had done his homework regularly. He always said namasteji to elders with folded hands and a bowed head. He obeyed his parents in everything and had the tidiest room among all of us. My friendship with him had originated in our shared love for tea, and he was always happy to walk out with me when I strayed out of the building for a smoke. His knowledge of history was immaculate and my interest in political dramas was now directed by his astute knowledge of religional and regional issues. He composed these gallant poems in style of Ramdhari Singh Dinkar that gave me goose bumps. I made raajmah chawal (kidney beans and rice dish, Panjabi style) that he said, could win us the votes of entire country and he declared that he would want even on his deathbed. We both knew so many Amitabh’s dialogues that we could converse for hours just by using them, and many a times did so. I had figured that he was a little uncomfortable around woman, and called him girl shy. This would crack us all up, especially when he blushed in presence of the girls who joined us in teasing him.
I knew he was excited by the prospect of meeting Kaavya. He had tried to show no interest when Ruchi showed us the picture. But one glance and his dimple gleamed in a soft blushing smile. My sharpshooter, Ruchi, noticed the passing emotion on his face and raising both her eyebrows, asked with a all knowing smile, ”Varun miyan, one glance and ditchkyun!” She fired an imaginary shot her two fingers curled up, index and largest finger stretched out like a pistol and she followed it up by blowing breath over her outstretched thumb to clear off the imaginary smoke. He just beamed, and later he beamed even brighter as soon as we located Kaavya, lost and confused, just off the plane at the airport. Even with her hair falling off disheveled, and after thirty hour journey, Kaavya looked stunning. I nudged Ruchi and said, “Who would want to look at you anymore?” She whistled and said, “Very funny. Take your these ideas and smartass comments and march off. My one wink, and a dozen would appear before you can even snap your fingers.” I sniggered, “What happened babe? Jealous eh! You know, how I adore you.”
Meanwhile, our friend, Varun, was putting quite a show. Not only he was pulling her big baggage and carrying her enormous purse, he seemed to have discovered a sudden voice that served these amazing one-liners that Jerry Seinfeld would have been proud of. Kaavya and rest of us just laughed throughout the evening. My MasterCard moment came, when we were in Restroom and in the restaurant and he asked me, “Am I behaving alright with her, yaar?” I, the man known for his composure while talking to woman, the man known for his ready wit and charm, especially around ladies, slapped him on his back and confessed, “Dude, never seen anyone do better.” Truly, if I was asked who one should want to be when one meets the love of his life, I would pick Varun from that day. Needless to say that since then, our man, Varun ceased to be girl shy. Also since then, Varun ceased to be a Dinkar clone, and became a romantic poet. He had found his muse.
After about twenty minutes of crying, the intensity and pitch of Kaavya’s wails damped from that initial, scary moaning to eventual soundless vibrations of her body. Presently she began to speak. Her voice was still carrying the remnants of her sobs, and her words fell like sentences served on a cellphone from a place that has a leaky signal. “KNOOOWbody loves me. Each one of them is only concerned about himself. How can Varun say something like that about Gandharava? Then Rishi doesn’t understand that there is nothing wrong with my being friend’s with Videshi or Varun or Gandharava. Why does he object to everyone? I did not ask for their attention, and I don’t want it. I don’t want to be what their dreams or thoughts tell them as Kaavya ought to be. All I want is have cool life, all I ask is opportunity for some fun, but everything has to be so complicated. This is even worse than it was in Chandigarh. Oh Vivek! Why is everything so messed up!” She was still shaking, when I said, “I’d be right back” and as I was leaving her, her hand held mine for a moment too long. I rushed to the kitchen and got some paper napkins. As she wiped the flow that was hanging from her nose, a smile flew on her face, but then disappeared into her heavy breathing. I was only beginning to understand what had happened there. When she went over the details, it surpassed my wildest speculations.
I was almost about to reach Kaavya’s house when a car coming towards me swerved dangerously and I caught a glimpse of Gandharava showing his irritating grin to me. The car seemed to be full of people. I caught seemingly familiar laughter from the inside. I increased the pace of my steps, nearly ran towards Kaavya’s house. I knew that Varun had come to tell Kaavya about Gandharava only an hour or so back, and I figured something was amiss. Gandharava seemed to be coming back from their house. So in the same evening, so many things were happening. Kaavya first went out with Videshi and then Rishi was at her house on her return. Later Varun had gone to meet her to disclose the reality about the vile Gandharava. Of course, in my own case, I was trying to understand why Ruchi was graduating in December and why she never dropped a hint to me. My laughter from the evening now seemed coming from memories of days ago.
As I had walked to Kaavya’s house, I had gone through a whole range of emotions. I retraced the story of all the possible permutations involving Kaavya as I knew them. I mentally made a list which looked as follows:
Kaavya:
Known fighters: 1) Varun, 2) Rishi, 3) Gandharava, and 4) new addition Videshi
Unknown to most, but suspected by Varun and me: 1) The macho, pot-smoker Mahadev, 2) the anemic Kulkarni, 3) her distant cousin Vikrant, who had a Honda Civic and a job already and 4) somehow I realized my own name was in the list too. In fact, it was rumored that I was the one who she talked more easily than she talked to her own best friends, all girls, from the school days and her parents.
But of course, I was knee deep with Ruchi, which prompted a frown on my face and I made a list involving Ruchi and her suitors.
Ruchi:
Rumored to be mine (Vivek) It struck me, the word rumor, was what came to my head.
Suspected: Mahadev: he was in Mechanical Engineering with her, and sat with her in all classes, helped her in all theoretical and experimental assignments and was known to be close to her. Well, I guess I suspected it, though no one else ever suggested it.
I always loved lists. I was too forgetful as a kid, and my mother would place a list of items to be brought from the market, then I had a list of topics to be studied when I was in high school, preparing for Engineering entrance examination. In undergraduate, my lists were notorious: I had a wish list of books I had to read, places I wanted to visit and later a wordlist carried me through GRE. For the first time in my life, a list I had tormented me. I felt so listless, so hopeless. Why was Ruchi leaving in December? What was Kaavya crying? Lost in these thoughts, I found myself on threshold of their house. I called Kaavya’s cellphone, and was promptly ushered in by the teary Kaavya
As soon as she bolted the door, she started sobbing very loudly. The crying was accompanied by a deep, long wail that I had never witnessed in people, except when they were crying over the dead. For a few seconds, I just stood spell bound, unable to decide what I could do to immediately comfort her. I did not even know why she was crying, so I mumbled, “Let me call Ruchi from her room.” She kept sobbing and wailing, her face was hidden in her two hands, and on hearing my words, one hand motioned that Ruchi had gone out. Kaavya’s face was swollen and I understood that she had already had a long session with tears. I finally realized I was there not to just watch her cry but to find out why she was crying and soothe her.
Ruchi wasn’t home bothered me, but soon Kaavya’s wails and sobs put all my thoughts into a kind of amnesia. I put my arm around her, and walked her to the couch, bade her to sit down, and rushed to the refrigerator to bring some cold water for her. I made her drink the cold water, and said a lot of sweet nothings, like “hey, don’t worry; everythings goona be alright; I’m here child; hey, hey, stop crying, and tell me whats wrong; for if you don’t tell me kid, I won’t be able to help you; tell me Kaavya, did someone say anything to you.” By now her sobs had become softer, though her hot tears now fell over my shoulder, and I could see those drops leave trails on her cheek. Somehow, in that state, she looked purer and prettier than ever before.
I remembered how three months back, at Ruchi’s request, I had gone to the airport to pick her up. Varun had accompanied us, for plan was to pick her up and catch a quick dinner at the Indian restaurant. Varun had been a quintessential good boy all his life. He had done his homework regularly. He always said namasteji to elders with folded hands and a bowed head. He obeyed his parents in everything and had the tidiest room among all of us. My friendship with him had originated in our shared love for tea, and he was always happy to walk out with me when I strayed out of the building for a smoke. His knowledge of history was immaculate and my interest in political dramas was now directed by his astute knowledge of religional and regional issues. He composed these gallant poems in style of Ramdhari Singh Dinkar that gave me goose bumps. I made raajmah chawal (kidney beans and rice dish, Panjabi style) that he said, could win us the votes of entire country and he declared that he would want even on his deathbed. We both knew so many Amitabh’s dialogues that we could converse for hours just by using them, and many a times did so. I had figured that he was a little uncomfortable around woman, and called him girl shy. This would crack us all up, especially when he blushed in presence of the girls who joined us in teasing him.
I knew he was excited by the prospect of meeting Kaavya. He had tried to show no interest when Ruchi showed us the picture. But one glance and his dimple gleamed in a soft blushing smile. My sharpshooter, Ruchi, noticed the passing emotion on his face and raising both her eyebrows, asked with a all knowing smile, ”Varun miyan, one glance and ditchkyun!” She fired an imaginary shot her two fingers curled up, index and largest finger stretched out like a pistol and she followed it up by blowing breath over her outstretched thumb to clear off the imaginary smoke. He just beamed, and later he beamed even brighter as soon as we located Kaavya, lost and confused, just off the plane at the airport. Even with her hair falling off disheveled, and after thirty hour journey, Kaavya looked stunning. I nudged Ruchi and said, “Who would want to look at you anymore?” She whistled and said, “Very funny. Take your these ideas and smartass comments and march off. My one wink, and a dozen would appear before you can even snap your fingers.” I sniggered, “What happened babe? Jealous eh! You know, how I adore you.”
Meanwhile, our friend, Varun, was putting quite a show. Not only he was pulling her big baggage and carrying her enormous purse, he seemed to have discovered a sudden voice that served these amazing one-liners that Jerry Seinfeld would have been proud of. Kaavya and rest of us just laughed throughout the evening. My MasterCard moment came, when we were in Restroom and in the restaurant and he asked me, “Am I behaving alright with her, yaar?” I, the man known for his composure while talking to woman, the man known for his ready wit and charm, especially around ladies, slapped him on his back and confessed, “Dude, never seen anyone do better.” Truly, if I was asked who one should want to be when one meets the love of his life, I would pick Varun from that day. Needless to say that since then, our man, Varun ceased to be girl shy. Also since then, Varun ceased to be a Dinkar clone, and became a romantic poet. He had found his muse.
After about twenty minutes of crying, the intensity and pitch of Kaavya’s wails damped from that initial, scary moaning to eventual soundless vibrations of her body. Presently she began to speak. Her voice was still carrying the remnants of her sobs, and her words fell like sentences served on a cellphone from a place that has a leaky signal. “KNOOOWbody loves me. Each one of them is only concerned about himself. How can Varun say something like that about Gandharava? Then Rishi doesn’t understand that there is nothing wrong with my being friend’s with Videshi or Varun or Gandharava. Why does he object to everyone? I did not ask for their attention, and I don’t want it. I don’t want to be what their dreams or thoughts tell them as Kaavya ought to be. All I want is have cool life, all I ask is opportunity for some fun, but everything has to be so complicated. This is even worse than it was in Chandigarh. Oh Vivek! Why is everything so messed up!” She was still shaking, when I said, “I’d be right back” and as I was leaving her, her hand held mine for a moment too long. I rushed to the kitchen and got some paper napkins. As she wiped the flow that was hanging from her nose, a smile flew on her face, but then disappeared into her heavy breathing. I was only beginning to understand what had happened there. When she went over the details, it surpassed my wildest speculations.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Sulekha: Ten most accessed blogs!
These actually include some posts that never featured on this blogsite, so I decided to post links to these:) If you have any comments, you may post them here.
1) Kalpit: A Love Story (Posted as an entry to compete in India Smiles Contest) Its funny, but marred by long sentences:) yet accessed more than 5000 times!!
http://www.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=30374
2) Neeraj: A five year old (A short story written in 2002, based on my work in slums of Delhi during Summer of 1999); Marred by grammatical mistakes, but my most heartfelt story!
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=2268
3) IIT: Myths and Miseries (Was posted on this blog too, had maximum number of comments ever): Last in series of blogs motivated by the new Reservation policy of the Indian Govt.
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=51610
4) Cricket and Physics: On India's win at Lords (After India won Natwest Trophy in 2002; Kind of wacky humor) Another old blog, was published as Article in 2002.
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=2069
5) Apple: Written in 2002, another lateral thinking, wacky humor piece, published as Article in Sulekha.
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=2205
6) Loving an intelligent girl (its easy to see why people like to read and comment on this topic) Never managed to write a terser, updated version. Still plan on it:)
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=31492
7) Einstein's Wife: The real genius (A blog exploring evidence towards saying that perhaps Einsteins wife did the math for his great achievements) Science has its own share of mysteries:)
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=32399
8) Love stories of my friends: I (One of my most widely circulated poems) Wrote two others in the series. The third I think is one of the funniest I ever wrote (guys agree, girls don't)!@
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=33082
9) A Cup of Tea- Six (Arranged Marriage) (Again most widely read among tea and other poems) A humorous twist to the tale.... retells the cliched saga of how arranged marriage drama involves tea:)!
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=34838
10) Random Thoughts of a Graduate Student on Love and Everything; its a little too much of twisted humor; only few appreciate its depth!
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=42364
Most of these widely read blogs actually won't feature in my list of best poems or blogs I have written (according to my own perception or standards: but well, popularity is guided by perspective different from mine)
Enjoy!
1) Kalpit: A Love Story (Posted as an entry to compete in India Smiles Contest) Its funny, but marred by long sentences:) yet accessed more than 5000 times!!
http://www.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=30374
2) Neeraj: A five year old (A short story written in 2002, based on my work in slums of Delhi during Summer of 1999); Marred by grammatical mistakes, but my most heartfelt story!
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=2268
3) IIT: Myths and Miseries (Was posted on this blog too, had maximum number of comments ever): Last in series of blogs motivated by the new Reservation policy of the Indian Govt.
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=51610
4) Cricket and Physics: On India's win at Lords (After India won Natwest Trophy in 2002; Kind of wacky humor) Another old blog, was published as Article in 2002.
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=2069
5) Apple: Written in 2002, another lateral thinking, wacky humor piece, published as Article in Sulekha.
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=2205
6) Loving an intelligent girl (its easy to see why people like to read and comment on this topic) Never managed to write a terser, updated version. Still plan on it:)
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=31492
7) Einstein's Wife: The real genius (A blog exploring evidence towards saying that perhaps Einsteins wife did the math for his great achievements) Science has its own share of mysteries:)
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=32399
8) Love stories of my friends: I (One of my most widely circulated poems) Wrote two others in the series. The third I think is one of the funniest I ever wrote (guys agree, girls don't)!@
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=33082
9) A Cup of Tea- Six (Arranged Marriage) (Again most widely read among tea and other poems) A humorous twist to the tale.... retells the cliched saga of how arranged marriage drama involves tea:)!
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=34838
10) Random Thoughts of a Graduate Student on Love and Everything; its a little too much of twisted humor; only few appreciate its depth!
http://sharmavivek.sulekha.com/blogs/blogdisplay.aspx?cid=42364
Most of these widely read blogs actually won't feature in my list of best poems or blogs I have written (according to my own perception or standards: but well, popularity is guided by perspective different from mine)
Enjoy!
Monday, June 05, 2006
Kaavya, Not a Love Story: Episode II
II
Rishi walked in. The hilarity that filled the room few minutes ago disappeared quickly, like light fades away in the dying moment of the evening. Like the sulky silence that night brings in, the silence that puts all living things into a state of fear and calm, Rishi’s presence was heavy and overbearing. Kaavya was now like a radiant moon, who seems to take no notice of night, and must shimmer guiltless, with all its faults, in all its phases. Our eyes gravitated towards her reaction. She was still enwrapped in the delights of the evening, and Rishi seemed strange, uncouth, disturbing to her. She bought herself time by making tea for all of us.
Rishi must have waited all evening for Kaavya to come back. He knew she had gone out with Videshi, and wasn’t able to reason why. He had asked her not to go, saying it could be unsafe and saying it wasn’t proper to go with someone she had seen only once. She reminded Rishi how she hadn’t refused his offer of buying coffee for her, on what Rishi called the August afternoon when he was enchanted and reborn. Rishi wanted to impress upon her that he was different from these other people, who he called albatrosses about his neck, he had read Coleridge you see, and he was fell short of telling her how angry her flirtations made him. At present, his face was puckered in honest agony, his eyes were full of angry tears, but with a valiant effort, he settled down on a couch, and asked Ruchi if her advisor was behaving any better. She announced, “It didn’t matter, for she was leaving with a MS at the end of the year.” I was stumped, for till that instant I had no inkling that she was leaving that very year.
The tea came. An awkward silence now gripped everyone. My hilarity of just half an hour ago had vanished with one sentence from Ruchi. Suddenly Rishi turned into a brother in agony, and I was in ferment myself. Yet I tried to tell myself to calm down, struck a cigarette and excused myself for few minutes. The smoke cleared up my thoughts a bit, and I reasoned that maybe Ruchi had decided only today that she will leave at the end of the year and had no time to inform me. Like many girls are wont to do, maybe it was when she said that she would be leaving in December, that she realized that this is what she was going to do. I could hear a conversation inside, and feeling full of heavy fog, I returned to the room.
Rishi was pursuing a Masters degree in Literature and hence always found interesting facts about books and authors. It was fascinating for me to see Kaavya becoming an object of his affection, for he had no taste for architecture and she had no patience with his literature talk. But today, Rishi was making a conscious effort to talk about the importance of using right lighting for making parts of house glow to say bring light on the face of the one who sat at the head of table and keep others in a little dark to illuminate their faces in order of their importance. Kaavya talked excitedly about her childhood obsession with colors of the curtains and their role in the play of light and shade. Since her heart was still overflowing with the excitement of the evening, her sentences threw references to Videshi again and again. The color of curtains at the restaurant was mentioned, his choice of purple shirt had caught her fancy and she was talking about how he had described to her the sunset over Himalayas in his peculiar accent. Rishi flinched at every mention of Videshi, and I could see all his labor in reading about importance of lighting in architecture was eating into him. With the tremor in my heart unsettled, I tried to look at Ruchi and try to understand what secrets brewed in her heart.
After washing my cup of tea, I asked Ruchi if we could go and talk in her room. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Rishi approved of my proposal, as he wanted to speak alone to Kaavya. Ruchi smelt trouble in my words, and insisted that she had to talk to her mom that day and basically influenced me to leave the house rightaway. I walked back to my room, thinking about how six months ago, I had met Ruchi at a friend’s birthday. She had approached me to obtain the lighter for bringing birthday candles to flame, and after taking the lighter, failed to light it up. A short conversation followed, and she whispered that she had an impossible Heat Transfer assignment due the next day, so had to leave soon. I surmised that she must be a Mechanical Engineer, and asked her if she thought a Mathematician could work up some magic with her differential equations. She looked with wide open eyes at me, a finger fell and rose on her cheek, and after shaking her head for a few suspended seconds, said, “Hmm! Maybe you’d be useful.” Since then I had realized that engineering was an approximate art form, where my abstract knowledge required a translation far beyond our capabilities, and we still hung out together, sharing lunches and dinners at cheap neighborhood restaurants and cafes. Crosswords brought us together, movies took us to our so called dates and nowadays we spent so much time with each other that everyone including me thought of us as a couple. Ruchi’s sudden pronouncement about graduating in December now forced the question of what this relationship really meant, into my face.
Meanwhile Kaavya was enraged at Rishi for not appreciating how exciting her evening had been and spoiling it by his unwarranted comments. She had walked out of the living room, stamping her feet like a hurt child and had shut her door. Ruchi talked to Rishi about the recent changes in Indian cricket team. He left after waiting for Kaavya to calm down. As soon as he left, Kaavya came out of the room, and said to Ruchi, “Rishi is so silly. He thinks I am a child and any man will fool me into unmentionable disasters. At least, Varun thinks of me as a girl with a balanced head.”
Kaavya did not imagine that at that very instant, Varun was cursing himself for hiding his anxiety at the amount of time Rishi, Gandharav and Pathan spent with Kaavya. He was extremely agonized by her going dancing with Gandharav, who he knew from his high school days. Gandharav, they said even in high school, had no respect for women, and could single-handedly turn a whole town into city of bastards. He used to joke about his name coming from “Gandharava Vivah”, which was the name given to secret marriages committed in ancient times, and he said, that it was just a fancy name for one night stands. He reasoned that Bharat, after whom India was called Bhaarat, was a result of Gandharava Vivah between Shakuntala and the King Dushyant. Even Shakuntala herself was born from a Gandharava Vivah between the apsara, the courtesan from heaven, Menaka, and the most intelligent saint of his times, Vishwamitra. He boasted about how he had hoisted his flag into the female of every race. When he talked in the company of men, he appeared like a serpent, who slowly crawls towards his victim, and quietly wounds himself around his prey, and then reveals the poison in his fangs and kills what he desires. We despised his lack of respect of women, and yet were fascinated by his skill with women, for they worshipped his ability to bedazzle them with his dancing ability, repertoire of jokes and excellent choice of clothes.
Varun knew him for eight years now, and cursed his destiny which made Gandharav his roommate in every city he had walked into in last eight years. Till a few months back, he hadn’t minded Gandharav all that much, but after Kaavya entered his imagination, Varun was ill at ease. He had burned with rage when a week back, Gandharav, in his characteristic fashion, described to Varun, that during dancing he perceived how supple Kaavya’s curves were, how warm she felt in his embrace, how she blamed her own being a beginner in salsa for making mistakes that allowed his hands to be misplaced on her body, and how much he wanted her to turn from a bud into a flower in his expert care. Gandharav had been greeted by a grand slap from Varun, a slap that he never anticipated coming, and after this slap, he had just laughed saying, “My friend, you should have told me.” In his heart, he had decided that Varun deserved to learn a lesson. Gandharav had never failed to lay his hands on whatever appealed to his fancy, and was going out with Kaavya the next day for another dance. He was of the kind of people who by their very nature value nothing and no one so much as to be either in want or be aggrieved an absence. I shared the apartment with Varun and Gandharav, and this new found tension between them made our apartment a gloomy place. When I entered the house around midnight, I met Varun who was going out. I asked him, “Where to?” He responded, “To Kaavya’s house. Gandharav’s secrets need to be spilled.”
It was one thirty at night. Kaavya called, and all I heard were sobs. I rushed to her house in my pajamas.
Rishi walked in. The hilarity that filled the room few minutes ago disappeared quickly, like light fades away in the dying moment of the evening. Like the sulky silence that night brings in, the silence that puts all living things into a state of fear and calm, Rishi’s presence was heavy and overbearing. Kaavya was now like a radiant moon, who seems to take no notice of night, and must shimmer guiltless, with all its faults, in all its phases. Our eyes gravitated towards her reaction. She was still enwrapped in the delights of the evening, and Rishi seemed strange, uncouth, disturbing to her. She bought herself time by making tea for all of us.
Rishi must have waited all evening for Kaavya to come back. He knew she had gone out with Videshi, and wasn’t able to reason why. He had asked her not to go, saying it could be unsafe and saying it wasn’t proper to go with someone she had seen only once. She reminded Rishi how she hadn’t refused his offer of buying coffee for her, on what Rishi called the August afternoon when he was enchanted and reborn. Rishi wanted to impress upon her that he was different from these other people, who he called albatrosses about his neck, he had read Coleridge you see, and he was fell short of telling her how angry her flirtations made him. At present, his face was puckered in honest agony, his eyes were full of angry tears, but with a valiant effort, he settled down on a couch, and asked Ruchi if her advisor was behaving any better. She announced, “It didn’t matter, for she was leaving with a MS at the end of the year.” I was stumped, for till that instant I had no inkling that she was leaving that very year.
The tea came. An awkward silence now gripped everyone. My hilarity of just half an hour ago had vanished with one sentence from Ruchi. Suddenly Rishi turned into a brother in agony, and I was in ferment myself. Yet I tried to tell myself to calm down, struck a cigarette and excused myself for few minutes. The smoke cleared up my thoughts a bit, and I reasoned that maybe Ruchi had decided only today that she will leave at the end of the year and had no time to inform me. Like many girls are wont to do, maybe it was when she said that she would be leaving in December, that she realized that this is what she was going to do. I could hear a conversation inside, and feeling full of heavy fog, I returned to the room.
Rishi was pursuing a Masters degree in Literature and hence always found interesting facts about books and authors. It was fascinating for me to see Kaavya becoming an object of his affection, for he had no taste for architecture and she had no patience with his literature talk. But today, Rishi was making a conscious effort to talk about the importance of using right lighting for making parts of house glow to say bring light on the face of the one who sat at the head of table and keep others in a little dark to illuminate their faces in order of their importance. Kaavya talked excitedly about her childhood obsession with colors of the curtains and their role in the play of light and shade. Since her heart was still overflowing with the excitement of the evening, her sentences threw references to Videshi again and again. The color of curtains at the restaurant was mentioned, his choice of purple shirt had caught her fancy and she was talking about how he had described to her the sunset over Himalayas in his peculiar accent. Rishi flinched at every mention of Videshi, and I could see all his labor in reading about importance of lighting in architecture was eating into him. With the tremor in my heart unsettled, I tried to look at Ruchi and try to understand what secrets brewed in her heart.
After washing my cup of tea, I asked Ruchi if we could go and talk in her room. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Rishi approved of my proposal, as he wanted to speak alone to Kaavya. Ruchi smelt trouble in my words, and insisted that she had to talk to her mom that day and basically influenced me to leave the house rightaway. I walked back to my room, thinking about how six months ago, I had met Ruchi at a friend’s birthday. She had approached me to obtain the lighter for bringing birthday candles to flame, and after taking the lighter, failed to light it up. A short conversation followed, and she whispered that she had an impossible Heat Transfer assignment due the next day, so had to leave soon. I surmised that she must be a Mechanical Engineer, and asked her if she thought a Mathematician could work up some magic with her differential equations. She looked with wide open eyes at me, a finger fell and rose on her cheek, and after shaking her head for a few suspended seconds, said, “Hmm! Maybe you’d be useful.” Since then I had realized that engineering was an approximate art form, where my abstract knowledge required a translation far beyond our capabilities, and we still hung out together, sharing lunches and dinners at cheap neighborhood restaurants and cafes. Crosswords brought us together, movies took us to our so called dates and nowadays we spent so much time with each other that everyone including me thought of us as a couple. Ruchi’s sudden pronouncement about graduating in December now forced the question of what this relationship really meant, into my face.
Meanwhile Kaavya was enraged at Rishi for not appreciating how exciting her evening had been and spoiling it by his unwarranted comments. She had walked out of the living room, stamping her feet like a hurt child and had shut her door. Ruchi talked to Rishi about the recent changes in Indian cricket team. He left after waiting for Kaavya to calm down. As soon as he left, Kaavya came out of the room, and said to Ruchi, “Rishi is so silly. He thinks I am a child and any man will fool me into unmentionable disasters. At least, Varun thinks of me as a girl with a balanced head.”
Kaavya did not imagine that at that very instant, Varun was cursing himself for hiding his anxiety at the amount of time Rishi, Gandharav and Pathan spent with Kaavya. He was extremely agonized by her going dancing with Gandharav, who he knew from his high school days. Gandharav, they said even in high school, had no respect for women, and could single-handedly turn a whole town into city of bastards. He used to joke about his name coming from “Gandharava Vivah”, which was the name given to secret marriages committed in ancient times, and he said, that it was just a fancy name for one night stands. He reasoned that Bharat, after whom India was called Bhaarat, was a result of Gandharava Vivah between Shakuntala and the King Dushyant. Even Shakuntala herself was born from a Gandharava Vivah between the apsara, the courtesan from heaven, Menaka, and the most intelligent saint of his times, Vishwamitra. He boasted about how he had hoisted his flag into the female of every race. When he talked in the company of men, he appeared like a serpent, who slowly crawls towards his victim, and quietly wounds himself around his prey, and then reveals the poison in his fangs and kills what he desires. We despised his lack of respect of women, and yet were fascinated by his skill with women, for they worshipped his ability to bedazzle them with his dancing ability, repertoire of jokes and excellent choice of clothes.
Varun knew him for eight years now, and cursed his destiny which made Gandharav his roommate in every city he had walked into in last eight years. Till a few months back, he hadn’t minded Gandharav all that much, but after Kaavya entered his imagination, Varun was ill at ease. He had burned with rage when a week back, Gandharav, in his characteristic fashion, described to Varun, that during dancing he perceived how supple Kaavya’s curves were, how warm she felt in his embrace, how she blamed her own being a beginner in salsa for making mistakes that allowed his hands to be misplaced on her body, and how much he wanted her to turn from a bud into a flower in his expert care. Gandharav had been greeted by a grand slap from Varun, a slap that he never anticipated coming, and after this slap, he had just laughed saying, “My friend, you should have told me.” In his heart, he had decided that Varun deserved to learn a lesson. Gandharav had never failed to lay his hands on whatever appealed to his fancy, and was going out with Kaavya the next day for another dance. He was of the kind of people who by their very nature value nothing and no one so much as to be either in want or be aggrieved an absence. I shared the apartment with Varun and Gandharav, and this new found tension between them made our apartment a gloomy place. When I entered the house around midnight, I met Varun who was going out. I asked him, “Where to?” He responded, “To Kaavya’s house. Gandharav’s secrets need to be spilled.”
It was one thirty at night. Kaavya called, and all I heard were sobs. I rushed to her house in my pajamas.
Kaavya: Episode I
I WILL POST THIS STORY IN EPISODIC FORM OVER NEXT FEW WEEKS. ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS ARE IMAGINARY, ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REALITY ARE HALLUCINATIONS AND ALL IS SAID AND WRITTEN IN GOOD FAITH AND GOOD HUMOR. ENJOY:)
I
Kaavya entered home, conscious of the knowledge that Videshi’s eyes would have followed her to the door. A smile flushed on her lips, as her thoughts glanced over the evening that had gone by. The dinner was exquisite, for Videshi turned out to be an excellent conversationalist, and he knew the menu like the back of his hand. His accent dripped like honey on his words, and Kaavya was plastered all over with the laughter she splashed in gaiety of his comments. It was only a couple of days ago that she had met him, and he noticed her immediately, declared he deserved to treat her to a dinner to know her better, and without thinking, she agreed.
Kaavya was tall and voluptuous female, whose defining charm lay in the way the corners of her eyes smiled, and the way her lips curled up when she requested a favor. Her body was usually lost to eyes that she managed to get onto her face. She was still only twenty-two, and had been in the United States only for three months. A bachelor degree in architecture was followed by prompt acceptance into city planning program in four schools in US, and before she grasped why she wanted to come to the States, she was already here. It was in US that I met her, and by becoming the boyfriend of her roommate, became privy to all that passed between her and her suitors. What seemed to be genuine gossip to me, that Ruchi needed to get off her chest, I found contained the display of every twist and tragedy of love stories. Of late, Kaavya had decided that since Ruchi was going to transmit information anyways, it was reasonable for her to talk openly in front of both of us. So as she entered in this revelry, our smiles greeted her into a confession.
“He is so charming, so funny. Do you know he had hiked across Himalayas a few years back? Guess what he will be going hiking across the Appalachian trail in summer, and” Kaavya was stating this will flush on her face, both hands held together near her heart, and Ruchi broke into her sentence, “Don’t tell me you are going with him. You hardly know him.” Kaavya stared unbelievingly into Ruchi’s face, and said, “Budhoo! Summer is four months away, and I will know him by then. Oh! He is so adventurous, so charming, so funny. Vivek, why are you giggling like that, shaking from head to toe? Whats so funny?”
“My dearest, do you even know what Appalachian trail is? We’ll come to your Videshi later, but do you how much hiking that will involve?” My words always struck Kaavya like the sound of utensils that she dropped dreamily on the floor, and hearing their noise, wondered who threw them down like that. She took a few moments to comprehend my question, and then simpered, ”Ok na! Don’t tease me now. A few miles, ten miles maybe!” Her naïveté was the only thing that endeared her to me, I chastised her for everything else, and I kept getting angry at her flirtations that I thought increased the level of heartbreak in the world. I teased Ruchi that Kaavya was like my Saali, so I needed to treat her likewise, and would often say, “Saali doesn’t think.”
“Oh Kaavya, what is longest hike you have ever undertaken?” “Vivek, that’s an irrelevant question. But if you want to know, I went all the way to Vaishnu Devi.” Kavya said this and followed at with moving her pursed lips sideways, in almost a Bollywood-like feigning of disapproval of my question. We all had heard about her heroic climb to Vaishnu Devi, that she claimed had taken her life force out of her, but once she reached the top, the Vaishnu Devi rescued her, and asked her to communicate without the need to walk all the way there. So it was quite amusing when she mentioned it, and then realizing what she had told us about that trip, said, “Stop going into pieces with your unwelcome laughter Vivek. Please no! Tell me. Is it really long, that trail?”
“Take Ruchi along with you, she needs to loose some fat.” I giggled, “The two thousand miles of hiking will surely do her good, and of course, I will have all the time of the world to finish my PhD work when you both are gone for the summer.” Kaavya’s expressions went from shock to amusement to tantrum and back to plain hearted joy in next few seconds, while Ruchi took my comment to heart and started clobbering me with her pillow. I was rescued by a knock at their door.
I
Kaavya entered home, conscious of the knowledge that Videshi’s eyes would have followed her to the door. A smile flushed on her lips, as her thoughts glanced over the evening that had gone by. The dinner was exquisite, for Videshi turned out to be an excellent conversationalist, and he knew the menu like the back of his hand. His accent dripped like honey on his words, and Kaavya was plastered all over with the laughter she splashed in gaiety of his comments. It was only a couple of days ago that she had met him, and he noticed her immediately, declared he deserved to treat her to a dinner to know her better, and without thinking, she agreed.
Kaavya was tall and voluptuous female, whose defining charm lay in the way the corners of her eyes smiled, and the way her lips curled up when she requested a favor. Her body was usually lost to eyes that she managed to get onto her face. She was still only twenty-two, and had been in the United States only for three months. A bachelor degree in architecture was followed by prompt acceptance into city planning program in four schools in US, and before she grasped why she wanted to come to the States, she was already here. It was in US that I met her, and by becoming the boyfriend of her roommate, became privy to all that passed between her and her suitors. What seemed to be genuine gossip to me, that Ruchi needed to get off her chest, I found contained the display of every twist and tragedy of love stories. Of late, Kaavya had decided that since Ruchi was going to transmit information anyways, it was reasonable for her to talk openly in front of both of us. So as she entered in this revelry, our smiles greeted her into a confession.
“He is so charming, so funny. Do you know he had hiked across Himalayas a few years back? Guess what he will be going hiking across the Appalachian trail in summer, and” Kaavya was stating this will flush on her face, both hands held together near her heart, and Ruchi broke into her sentence, “Don’t tell me you are going with him. You hardly know him.” Kaavya stared unbelievingly into Ruchi’s face, and said, “Budhoo! Summer is four months away, and I will know him by then. Oh! He is so adventurous, so charming, so funny. Vivek, why are you giggling like that, shaking from head to toe? Whats so funny?”
“My dearest, do you even know what Appalachian trail is? We’ll come to your Videshi later, but do you how much hiking that will involve?” My words always struck Kaavya like the sound of utensils that she dropped dreamily on the floor, and hearing their noise, wondered who threw them down like that. She took a few moments to comprehend my question, and then simpered, ”Ok na! Don’t tease me now. A few miles, ten miles maybe!” Her naïveté was the only thing that endeared her to me, I chastised her for everything else, and I kept getting angry at her flirtations that I thought increased the level of heartbreak in the world. I teased Ruchi that Kaavya was like my Saali, so I needed to treat her likewise, and would often say, “Saali doesn’t think.”
“Oh Kaavya, what is longest hike you have ever undertaken?” “Vivek, that’s an irrelevant question. But if you want to know, I went all the way to Vaishnu Devi.” Kavya said this and followed at with moving her pursed lips sideways, in almost a Bollywood-like feigning of disapproval of my question. We all had heard about her heroic climb to Vaishnu Devi, that she claimed had taken her life force out of her, but once she reached the top, the Vaishnu Devi rescued her, and asked her to communicate without the need to walk all the way there. So it was quite amusing when she mentioned it, and then realizing what she had told us about that trip, said, “Stop going into pieces with your unwelcome laughter Vivek. Please no! Tell me. Is it really long, that trail?”
“Take Ruchi along with you, she needs to loose some fat.” I giggled, “The two thousand miles of hiking will surely do her good, and of course, I will have all the time of the world to finish my PhD work when you both are gone for the summer.” Kaavya’s expressions went from shock to amusement to tantrum and back to plain hearted joy in next few seconds, while Ruchi took my comment to heart and started clobbering me with her pillow. I was rescued by a knock at their door.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
But was there a need to say?
But you never said,
that you loved me, yes, you never
you never said, you loved me.
But was there a need to say?
Did words matter, when in soft embrace,
your warm breath was like percussion
that held me in its subtle sway?
We saw the moon stuck in tree branches
We saw the moon like dew, evaporate, while the
sun sailed through the days of fatigued longing.
We saw the moon was a jealous loner.
We let him be moody and patchy
and we giggled at the mist of those metaphors.
We were like children, loud, boisterous
till innocence was drenched one evening.
A form filled my thoughts and
you saw us become complicated and old.
Weeks it took, for flood to fill
your hands with the temptation they
traced so tantalizingly on my chest.
We felt so free
and full of lust.
I figured kiss was more than a word.
Your breath meandered into beats.
My blood parched my brain, swelled my heart.
In vacations, we kept the windows open
lights shut, mouths shut,
snow clogged our paths to each other.
One summer evening, we parted on those steps
phone calls became our umbilical cord,
so many words that minutes lost
the count of sounds they heard.
Whenever we met, your odor
like cocaine, exhilerated my senses.
We were always so close.
Our worlds were one, even when
we lived hundreds of miles apart.
I still remember the name of every freckle
that I had christened on your skin, and what
animals arose on connecting them.
Your eyes still show me how
my hair need combing, how to
match this shirt with that trouser.
For six years, I worshipped you
For six years, you stood like a Hindu goddess
in stone, smiling, and your raised right hand
suggesting my future joys were blessed.
But you never said
that you loved me, yes, you never said
you never said, you loved me.
But was there a need to say?
Would it have mattered?
29 March, 2006
Starbucks; Atlanta, GA
Wrote it immediately after writing Pearl earrings (http://viveksharmaiitd.blogspot.com/2006_03_01_viveksharmaiitd_archive.html)
that you loved me, yes, you never
you never said, you loved me.
But was there a need to say?
Did words matter, when in soft embrace,
your warm breath was like percussion
that held me in its subtle sway?
We saw the moon stuck in tree branches
We saw the moon like dew, evaporate, while the
sun sailed through the days of fatigued longing.
We saw the moon was a jealous loner.
We let him be moody and patchy
and we giggled at the mist of those metaphors.
We were like children, loud, boisterous
till innocence was drenched one evening.
A form filled my thoughts and
you saw us become complicated and old.
Weeks it took, for flood to fill
your hands with the temptation they
traced so tantalizingly on my chest.
We felt so free
and full of lust.
I figured kiss was more than a word.
Your breath meandered into beats.
My blood parched my brain, swelled my heart.
In vacations, we kept the windows open
lights shut, mouths shut,
snow clogged our paths to each other.
One summer evening, we parted on those steps
phone calls became our umbilical cord,
so many words that minutes lost
the count of sounds they heard.
Whenever we met, your odor
like cocaine, exhilerated my senses.
We were always so close.
Our worlds were one, even when
we lived hundreds of miles apart.
I still remember the name of every freckle
that I had christened on your skin, and what
animals arose on connecting them.
Your eyes still show me how
my hair need combing, how to
match this shirt with that trouser.
For six years, I worshipped you
For six years, you stood like a Hindu goddess
in stone, smiling, and your raised right hand
suggesting my future joys were blessed.
But you never said
that you loved me, yes, you never said
you never said, you loved me.
But was there a need to say?
Would it have mattered?
29 March, 2006
Starbucks; Atlanta, GA
Wrote it immediately after writing Pearl earrings (http://viveksharmaiitd.blogspot.com/2006_03_01_viveksharmaiitd_archive.html)
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