Marking Her Love

She always used to walk late in the Classroom and sit on the seat next to mine, Staring in the eyes of Teacher, while he Juggled with Maths formulas and made it look like a cake walk, while none of his students could figure out how the fuck one is supposed to figure out patter between equations. She sat there, with her notebook and scribbled formulas and algorithms. There was too much of overhyped mathematics, at least for students because all of us had flunked our pre-board.  She scored a whopping 32, while aced her other subjects. But as soon as she was done copying the whiteboard, she would flip to the last page of her notebook and scribble mandala designs. Another Day she was drawing vines around the edges of the blank sheet and in between those, mathematical equations were hanging like any fruit.  She had very few friends in that classroom, as the class was uniquely composed of all the rock-bottom gems. And instead of Bitching and gossiping, she would design.

One day, she asked me for the pen. And to the weirdest of dare, broke the nib and used it as a free-flowing ink diffuser for her new design of bleeding moon. I hated her for ruining my stationary and looked her in an awe for the piece she created. That afternoon, after the class, we walked to the adjacent park and watched the ducks swim in summer. Then she offered me a smoke, first smoke of my life, a Djarum Black. While she puffed like a diesel engine and talked about exams. she burned her name’s initials on plastic bench. Maybe Vandalism was the new high. Another hour, three cigarettes down, she asked me if I wanted to catch a movie. I refused, purely because I was nervous about her company and justified that on grounds of Maths Assignments I had to do, which were never done.

We went out for similar experiences, twice or thrice before I left the city for studies and all.

Four Years later, I saw her in one of the Coffee Shops, designing complex jewellery on her hybrid tab, Even Joked about not ruining the furniture of Coffee Shop. She boasted about her NIFT and New Job at this online jewellery giant. I had nothing else but best coffee to offer as my story. While she talked, we jumped from coffee shop to Bar, from Bar to her Place, again with a pack of Black Cigarette. Words turned to actions, tobacco turned to ashes, and soon we were panting like a steam engine. And when I regained my sanity, I saw my chest covered with lipstick clad, blood clotted love bites. She waved off questions of my eyes, with a giggle.

I knew she loved leaving marks, wherever she went. 

Blurred

She stopped by; just to have a look at what was I up to. The day was over and I was ‘celebrating’ resignation of one of my fellow colleagues.   She stopped by to Say Hi in the crowded chaos of people and Talks. We exchanged pleasantries and it was over, just Like that. Next day, she saw me again, came over and pulled a chair. I was there with my scribbling diary and she took the Liberty of flipping it over and read few pages. It started with talking about Writing, then Loneliness, then People, then hope, then cricket, then food, then music and we paused. For the day. We Talked about the music of ages, how lyrics invade our stubbornness, and how music makes man morph.

Days after Days, we talked about every possible Thing in this mortal Universe. She tried teaching me some language and ended up brushing up her Bhojpuri. This led us to her boyfriend and how it ended. Soon we were talking way too much. Shared melancholic playlist, sapiosexual writings & Shit, and very soon we were watching out for each other’s text. So much that made me think about any line I was about to cross and anything I should be beware of.

And one day, sitting across each other, when she was high and I was Sober, she opened up about her deepest feelings. Things that made her emotionally blurred. How she wanted to talk to someone when she was lonely. How everyone is a whore and ends up selling different part of their body. How one cannot handle contempt towards herself. How we are the slave of imagination and hallucinations, yet crave for people who are not pretending or playing. How mental illness should be a welcoming conversation. I was feeling so lit talking about things which have been my own secrets.  And just when it was going all meaningful and esoteric, we paused, stopped and left.

We never talked to each other after that. She was worried that she pushed too much about me being available. I believe that I tend to lose people who understand me as me. And slowly, with every passing day, she is getting blurred. Maybe after few months or Year, I won’t remember her anymore.

She once Said, “It’s better to have something around you, which reminds you.”

Well, She reminded me of myself. Or At least how I might end up, when I am 36.  

Labyrinth other than your Curly Hair...

One Friday evening, bad day at work. And I was waiting there at the Bar, bored yet excited to meet you. I was supposed to be in that Locality anyway but I somehow managed the dates to clash with your availability as well. Well, you had been acting all busy for the last couple of weeks. Exams and all. So was I, with my not so interesting Job. And I decided to meet you when I realized that we might fall apart if we don’t meet. Even friends need to see each other, that’s the nutrition of Friendship. 

I was dressed in a swan white shirt and dark blue chinos. The evening was just getting darker, End of August, Not Hot as July or Chilled Breeze as October. I kept looking at my phone as I tried to figure out how long her 5 minutes will be. And In the same waiting, allowed the server to pop open a pint of Beer. 

As I tip the bottle of Corona to get the last few drops of the amber coloured ambrosia that is man's answer to life's pains and worries and responsibilities, I instinctively squint my eyes so that I don't get blinded by my namesake. But it seems as if the day has been tailor-made for perfection, a thin veil of the cloud has filtered the sun's rays just to the point where it looks like a shiny new coin hung up in the sky yet warm enough to take off the nip in the air. I reach out for another bottle, intending to make a toast to today's boredom when my eye falls on the red and white checkered picnic mat. As my eye traces the age-old pattern, I notice the contrast created by your light blue sundress against the warm reds. Here I am, I think, with the most beautiful woman in the world, blood in my alcohol stream, a perfect sunny day, a perfect place among lush green grasses overlooking the city miles away- what more can a mere mortal man like me want?

I slowly trace a path from your face, down the soft swell of your breasts to your bare legs, folded at the knees and slightly leaning against mine, with the dress bunched up all thanks to my friend Gravity, not revealing but definitely making my eyes wander. I give you a nudge asking if you'd want one. You murmur No. The laziness of the morning catching up with us after a nail-biting, back-breaking month of job and exam.  Our well-deserved escape from the confines of the college hostel and office complimented by such a fortuitous weather makes us all more eager to catch the missed out forty winks more than anything else.

I opened another Pint and we share, taking swigs out of the same bottle. In silence. Somehow we spend minutes that suddenly pass on to hours in absolute silence, yet in perfect sync with each other.

We took a walk down to your place and while walking, we hold hands. One thing we never did. We somehow reached your place. You changed into a much comfortable pullover and a trouser. I also helped you pull a mattress in the balcony, and a blanket,  a pillow, few beer bottles and the Moon. And we are sharing a smoke on the balcony, gazing stars.

I turn to my left, facing you and suddenly overwhelmed by a monstrous feeling of longing I drape my arm just below your breasts and snuggle up to you, nuzzling the side of your neck, yet not really kissing. If you are startled, you don't show. And amongst the countless heartbeats that slowly synchronize from two rhythms to one, we fall asleep. 

I wake up sometime later. I discovered two things: that the sun has well past near its prime and is now dropping towards senescence. And that you haven't moved away, rather cradled my head in your arm and slipped another over mine.

I'm washed over with a sudden sense of fulfilment. I take a moment to take in my slice of heaven on earth. I look at your face. So close to mine. Unruly curls framing it beautifully, framing an expression of bliss. My arm moves up and down in a lethargic manner along with the little movements of your chest, signifying that we are still alive. Not in heaven yet. Yet? Well, it can't get any closer than this. 

I look back and see you looking me. Lips parted. Slightly. My breath suddenly gets laboured. Slightly. I move forward. So do you. Slightly. Decreasing the space between us by a microscopic variable. I don't know whether moments or millennia passed like this. But we don't kiss. As if kissing would ruin the magic. 

There's that urge back again and I envelop you in a bear hug and I'm pleasantly surprised to find you hugging back tighter. 

There's nothing sexual in this. But it is as if I get flooded with relief and ecstasy, a mind-numbing sensation. 

The sounds of drunken revelry reach us, floating up the slope of the land. We should get back. But somehow it feels unimportant. Everything does. Us included. It is as if we had bid reality adieu for some precious never to come back moments and we were clinging on to its fading remnants. 

"We need to go back", you say finally, breaking out of our reverie. 

I don't move, neither do you. 

"I wish I could dance with you someday," I say out almost to myself.

"I'd like to dance with you someday. A room with a view. A window, framing the Delhi night sky, or maybe an all-encompassing view of the skyscrapers. The red wine in the delicately carved flute glasses coinciding with the warm red satin of your gown. A soft lilting voice in the background, almost imperceptible against the club-dubbs of our respective hearts. A choking, mind-numbing, indescribable sensation coursing through our veins. My left arm cradled around your delicate waist, my right trapped in yours, my eyes lost in the deep, bottomless pools of your eyes, my heart skipping beats while cavorting with yours. A spin, a lean, an almost trip, a tipsy laugh, a dazzling smile, a beauty in my arms. We near the end of the song, but it's as if we're dancing to a different tune. I draw you close, your head resting on my chest, privy to my heartbeat. We sort of hug, we sort of dance. Each gradually enveloped in a warm, fuzzy halo of simple, uncomplicated sense of well-being and satisfaction. You look up to me, so mesmerizingly, so hauntingly beautiful. Restraint and logic were two foregone constraints from the first pirouette. As I drink in this heavenly sight, greedily, not wanting to leave anything untouched, unattended to, like a slave bound by love, bound by happiness. I wish that you were mine...."

"A wish earnestly insisted upon through every sway of the hips, through every touch, relayed upon raw tingling nerves. We move, almost none at all, swaying to some yet to be the composed melody, wanting to create our own, yet too hurt, too afraid to ask, to risk, to fall. To throw ourselves into a leap and have none to break the fall."  You concluded with a rather long statement. Creatively Badass. 

You get up first. I capture with my eyes a picture perfect moment. A pretty Girl, with an artificial distortion of your beauty with long sleep laziness on your face. I wish I could know there was any other labyrinth other than your Curly Hair. 

On Your Mind...

Do I cross your mind when you are not alone?

Does my voice ring within your head remind you of all that was said?

Do you long to hold me or is that all in my head?

My mind has a habit of playing tricks on me, are our lives on a path to collide or will we be on a parallel plane only remembering what has been and will never be again?

Our lives are different now... Is there still a reason to hold on?

Because at times it seems it would be far less painful just to let go.

Do I cross your mind when you are not alone, if I am honest with myself, you are on my mind when I know you shouldn't be...!

Dear You...

Dear You,

It's strange how we don't trust each other anymore. How we hide things just because we don't want to make it awkward for each other.

You could have told me all. Why your day was a shitty adventure? Why your smile is little Broken?

And you could have asked me all. Why did I choose to wear white again? Why I need a redo for my beard?

Instead, we decided to sit idle. Let the time pass by, Play it cool.

I know how your lips tremble when you are about to share something which is sensitive. I know how you drum roll with your fingers when you are thinking something very deep. I know the words you scramble before you are about to confront someone.

I can be a lot of things. But I want to be on your side all the Time.