Obvious

Sly gazes.

Passing glances.

Any steady form of eye contact. Only if she willed it.

She could often feel his ardor course through her whole being.

Away and afar.

Or in close proximity.

Any ruse for the latter.

Just to be around. Her presence.

Comfortable silences. Just being.

Or free-flowing conversation.

Craving for either form of communication.

To unravel the enigma she is. One thought or gesture at a time.

He couldn’t help but convey.

And she couldn’t help but notice.

What is it that they call it?

A spark? Chemistry? Dynamics?

It was so obvious to her, and to him.

And yet never to anyone else around.

Offline online

She mused about how many different ways there were to keep in touch these days.

Especially online - one-to-one and one-to-one-but-can-be-seen-by-many. 

Which is why the message is particularly clear when no means seem to "reach" someone.

Oh well.

Affair

Was dating a co-worker ever a good idea?

Was it only physical? Was there no mental connect?

Feeling ecstasy to feeling shame. 

Feeling pleasure to feeling used.

Her mind always vacillated. 

She wished she could find out. 

Only, if he were not married.

Love

Oiling your face means you will love your mother more.

“Would it work the other way around?” wondered 5-year old Malutty, about her muthassi’s* tip.

She poured out a handful. 

And hoped her step-mom would love her more. 

* Muthassi = Grandma (in Malayalam)

Disappointment

She told him that she was getting married.

He said that he wished her well.

She waited.

For the hint of sadness. For that tinge of disappointment.

Which never came.

And that, both, saddened and disappointed her.

Closure

It did not occur to him that ‘they’ were really ‘over’.

Maybe he had trouble accepting it. Or did not believe it.

Not when she said that she saw her future, and it did not have him.

Not when she said that they could still remain good friends… just good friends.

Not when he’d gotten to know from mutual friends that her family had started “looking”.

Not when she happened to casually mention to him that there was pressure on her to ‘settle down’ soon.

Not when she called him up to tell him that she was getting engaged. He remembered the awkward phone conversation when she broke the news to him. He had done the customary ‘congratulations’ bit, but the delay (even if for a split-second) was too obvious.

Not when he saw the engagement pictures splayed all over her profile (and her friends’).

Sitting in that wedding hall, seeing her walk onto the mandap…and into another man’s life. That was the most difficult moment in his life - ever.

To see her standing next to another man.

To see her becoming his.

To see that happiness in her eyes.

To see the scene which he had always imagined of, several times - with her.

He regretted attending the wedding. He wasn’t even sure why he did.

Maybe for the much needed closure. Maybe.

Certainty

She was often surprised by how certain she was. About everything. And everybody.

She never could fathom where it came from, or why. She just “knew”.

She knew exactly how things would turn out. She could see the end even before things took off. No whys were entertained. Nor why-nots.

She decided that the colour yellow did not suit her.

She figured that even if she tried her best she wouldn’t make it to the course she wanted to learn.

She didn’t want to leave her job even if she didn’t particularly love it.

She knew that there was no point even if she was interested in someone; not even to see if it could go somewhere, or could be something more.

It was all about being rational and practical. Mostly.

But sometimes she wondered if there was more to this. Wondered if it was because she was averse to risks - very comfortable with what she knew; what was familiar. Or was it the fear of failing? Of rejection? Of dejection? No rocking the boat. Nothing out of the ordinary. A sense of security - which could perhaps be false? She couldn’t really tell.

And yet, she was certain. Even of her certainty.

Noticed

She always noticed him. 

He noticed that she noticed. 

She also noticed that he noticed that she noticed him. But that never stopped her.

Her eyes. That look. Not a stare. Not a gaze. Something more. Like she wanted to tell him something, but had made up her mind not to. He never could really unravel what they were trying to convey.

She smiled every time she saw him. Every single time.

He reminded her of someone. That was it. That was all.

Twelve Days

He tapped on his laptop nervously as he signed into his email account. He was beginning to get worried. No reason to, perhaps. All he expected was a reply.

Wishes

She wished upon her eyelash. Blew it right off the back of her palm. She hoped it would come true. Not that she ever remembered the fate of the others. But too many ‘first stars’ had been spotted. And catching a shooting star, for real, seemed close to impossible.

Nope. Eyelashes will have to do. 

No Strings Attached

Even as she looked at the SMS for probably the tenth time that morning, she couldn’t help but grin. She was finally going to meet him.

Morning

I loved to laze around in bed in the mornings, especially weekends. There’s nothing like the feeling of coziness you get when curled beneath your favourite blanket - with someone special. That ineffable sense of comfort and security.

The Unsaid

…

“See! Why do men have egos the size of…of…one of those huge hot air balloons?? Is it so difficult to accept, or even say?”

“Say what?”

“Nothing…Forget it.”

…

***

“Every now and then we wish we had the right people around us, with us, for us. The kind that makes our lives worthwhile - more meaningful and special. Just by their presence. I never felt I had that kind of luck. But then, you had to come along. Without me ever asking for it. And I would never want you to leave. Ever.”

There. Finally he had said it. Aloud.

Only, he wished it was earlier. Much earlier.

The ears that waited for it had long stopped listening. Surely, the picture did no justice to her.

Something like Love

They say that all women become like their mothers. And that, probably, is true. I’ve been around long enough to see quite a bit of my Grandma (or is it the other way around?). And the similarities between her and my mother are striking. It’s one of those things that are hard to explain. You can see it, but not place your finger on it. And yet, I think my mother was different. Very. And truth be told, in some ways I hope I don’t become like her…

Ifs & Buts

…

…

“Hello? You still there?”

“Hmmm…yea…”

“We need to talk…somewhere, in private. How about the beach? It’s a weekday and it’d probably be less crowded.”

“Mm-hmmm…”

“Ok then. See you there. At 6:00, then?”

“Yea. Ok…”

“Bye.”

The call got disconnected even before he could muster anything.

This was inevitable. He saw it coming from a mile away. There were the tell-tale signs and a few outbursts. Yet it did not make its arrival any more acceptable than when he’d initially anticipated it.

***

The Old Man in the Hills

(Pic: Taken by me during a Munnar trip in 2008. Curves adjusted, noise added in Paint.NET)

What of old the man in the hills?

Said a father to his child:

He drove away his father – an outcast he made him - that good-for-nothing wretched son!

What of the old man in the hills?

Said a mother to her son:

He looked after his mother as long as she lived – like a Goddess did he treat her - bless him!

What of the old man in the hills?

Said a friend to another:

He killed his good friend in a fit of rage – how strange thought everyone – and prayed for him!

What of the old man in the hills?

Said a harlot to another:

He never forgave his old man, wonder who she was – not that I care - who’s your next one?

What of the old man in the hills?

Said a wife to her husband:

She should’ve known better – how foolish it was – I really do feel for him, the woman a traitor!

What of the old man in the hills?

Said a sage to his pupil:

He wished and prayed and took many vows,

He was granted the one wish that no one was allowed;

Life took a turn for the worse, and how!

‘No man should be able to read another’s mind!’ he then avowed.

Went off to the hills did he, to live the rest of his life,

Alone and deserted – yet mind full of torment and strife;

Suspicion, jealousy, fear and caution had already crept into his life,

Loneliness and pain accompany the rest of his journey rife.

*****

P.S. I suck at writing poetry. I dunno what to call this - prose/poetry. Anyway, an attempt at writing something unlike what I normally write. Criticism most welcome! 

Maelstrom

Do all relationships have a name? Can all feelings be compartmentalized? Are there no relations that move into one another, blurring the so-called ‘boundaries’?

As Shobha tried hard to grapple with her emotions, the feelings she once harboured surfaced again. Ashu was never her boyfriend. He was her friend. But just a friend? No, definitely something more. She’d even tried considering if she had any ‘brotherly’ feelings for him. Far from it. She felt she was very close to him, probably more than any of her relatives. Then what was this all about?

Alive

That is when he always felt most alive.

When the air rushed through his hair.
When he saw the world whiz past him in a sequence of blurs.
When he felt the sheer exhilaration of speed.

When he felt that he was suspended in space – feeling light, yet rooted.

He always enjoyed his journeys on the footboard of that bus.
But not for
Those tiring long hours of standing.

The pollution, the dust, the grime.

Being a constant lookout for the driver.

But for moments like these.

The several trips they made seemed tolerable only because of this. He always waited for the highways. Those were stretches of road he could stretch himself – extend his arm that clasped the handle of the door, outstretch the other arm, teeter at the edge of the last step…and take in the road and the winds, all to himself.

He was used to the typical stares and the perplexed looks on the faces of passengers… like right now. They probably think he’s absurd, weird or plain mad, he thought. He chuckled. As he looked inside the bus, he noticed a girl staring at him. That look in her eyes - he could not define. She did not seem shocked or amazed. And yet, her eyes were fixed on him, anticipating something. Ignoring that, he stretched his hands out and swung outside to catch the breeze.

The sound of a thud was heard. The bus screeched to a halt a few metres ahead.

That was the end of when he’d felt most alive.

Beautiful

“Do I look pretty mommy?”
“Why dear, you are the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world. And now… it’s time for your beauty sleep. Here’s Mr. Teddy!”. She kept aside the story book and tucked her in, nice and warm. She gave her the customary 'good night kiss'. 
“Good night sweety. I love you.”

“Love you too mommy.”

As the doors closed in quietly and it became dark, she looked outside the window into the starry night. She knew she had her angel with her… always. She knew that she did not look beautiful. And yet… she believed it. Because she knew her mother meant it every time she said it.

She closed her eyes shut and tried to think less of the day ahead of her tomorrow. One of those at the hospital for a chemotherapy session, to cure her of her leukaemia.

The Call

"Aap jis number par baat karna chaahte hai, woh call nahi utha rahe hai. Kripaya thodi der baad koshish kare."

"The number that you are trying to reach is currently not answering your call. Please try later."

Why don't they tell you why the number is not answering as well?, she rued. She had listened to this pre-recorded message for the sixth time today. She couldn't fathom what was keeping him so busy that he could not even attend a call, for how-so-ever brief a period. Or was it that he did not want to talk to her? She shuddered at that thought. She'd much prefer the first one.

Granted that a petty squabble had left both of them slightly hurt... and uncomfortable. But she knew that both of them usually bounced off it in no time.

She took her cellphone yet another time, certain that she'd listen to the unapologetic female monotone at the other end... but yet, praying and hoping that this time it'd be different.

*** *** ***

The phone rang again. The cellphone vibrated on a blood-stained male body against the steering wheel. On the seat beside him was a bunch of white lilies that had begun to fade; and a box with an engagement ring. The sound of the stream was the only other sound that broke the eerie silence...