so you shall not pass by my window?

Mornings come and go

Birds chirp around and go

Bees hum around and go

Workmen do their chores and go

But you never pass by my window

The bars of my white painted window

Bear marks of a rusty hand

Looking longingly at the gate

I wait for a glimpse of you

But you never pass by my window

Two standing trees of coconut

Four round shaped lamp posts

A little green patch of grass

Witness this everyday spectacle

But you never pass by my window

Pain my only true companion

Overwhelms me in its bosom

Kisses my wet forehead

Slowly leaves the mise-en-scène

But still you never pass by my window

to ma'am with love

She had packed her bags and was about to leave us all forever. We had heard that she was going to marry. Customary good byes followed. Some were even seen crying. I was not pretty much sure of the news at the beginning. Thought it was just one of the rumours doing the rounds in the dormitory.

When I heard she was leaving I was so numb that I did not go out to see her for the last time. Later I did not regret my decision. That would have prolonged my agony for sure. The feeling of separation, I would not have been able to withstand. I have known that feeling for quite some time. A pain ensues in my throat. I seem to choke. It continues for some time. And then I get acclimatized to it.

It seemed that everything was under my control and suddenly one of the wires snapped. And the drama takes a new turn. A cathartic turn. I am turned speechless. Thoughtless. Rather empty. Perhaps a little of me dies or decays. I am not sure.

She had joined the school only a year ago. I loved her voice. She had gentle mannerism and knew well how to handle grown up kids like us. I did not know when and how I got so deeply interested in her. Today I try to implore myself as to what were those feelings like; I do not get a clear answer. Perhaps it was agape. Perhaps it was eros. Perhaps it was somewhere in between. I did not know these categories then. I was still in junior school.

She had this smile which I can remember still. I am unable to put it into words. But yes it still plays inside my head. And that too quite often. She was not frail. Not even full bodied. But very pleasant looking. She had this particular gait. Quite languorous. I particularly liked to see her walk on those pebbles with a whistle around her neck. She used to be in charge of the kids for the day. Those walks still haunt my memories on days when nostalgia grips me in its arms.

Was she one of my many crushes? I must refuse to use the word crush because it suggests a certain sense of fleeting nature. It suggests that I do not love them now. It suggests that that was just a passing phase. An immature usage I must say.

She was going. Going forever. And I did not know what to do. And I did not do anything.

I could not even tell her how I felt about her. I do not find anything odd in it even today. My feelings for her. I just happen to feel about her that way. That is it.

After all they say love knows no boundaries.

eyes

Eyes Eyes Eyes Eyes

Make me see the sunrise with your eyes

Make me see the sunset with your eyes

My eyes lost their vision long time ago

I only want to see your beautiful face

Will you ever come and show me your face?

I saw a solitary flower lying among bushes

And could feel the vibrations of its petals

And then I heard my own heart beat

Was the flower your reflection?

Did I see you in that flower?

Ah! What tenderness

A bundle of

joy

The Leaves at my Table

There are leaves in front of me. Quite a pile of it. And they are growing in number.

Seeing these leaves fade in colour I shudder at the thought of parting with it someday. Probably I will throw them out of my window one day. Is that fate not similar to mine? The prospect of being thrown out when everything seems to have settled down. Many sunsets, many sunsets. Ah! the analogy of sunsets. The analogy of death. The analogy of decay. Or the truth of it all?

The flower seemed to have gone a little dry. A little weak. I guess it is the sun. The merciless heat will spare none. Neither the beauty nor the beast. The other day the flower looked so good. Those eyes. I tremble at the thought of so much beauty.

And I am still collecting leaves. I am not clear as to why I do it. Perhaps it gives me a reason to cling on to something. Perhaps it reduces the pain. Perhaps it reminds me of something. Marquez talks about the “perverse clarity of nostalgia”. But what about the ‘perverse clarity of an imagined nostalgia’. Is the degree of perverseness not far greater than the in the first case? You feel nostalgic of a past which never existed. It was all a product of imagination.

And I go on collecting leaves even though I know I will throw them one day.

Sunaina

Have you ever seen a person who has a name literally befitting her appearance? Parents rarely make the right choice in naming their kids.

When I had first seen her I thought she could not be called anything but Sunaina. Later I was not much dismayed when somebody called her by that name. Her eyes were beautiful. Poetic eyes. Eyes which would continue to feed my imagination for times to come. I try and avoid adjectives but on seeing her I could not restrain myself in using one for her. I guessed from her demeanor that she did not care much about things such as personal appearances. I have never seen her dressed up especially for an occasion.

I have never talked to her. For the matter of fact she may not be aware that I even existed in this world. But did that seem to matter to me at any point of time? I do not think so. Was I attracted to her? I cannot say a definite “No”. No doubt she had beautiful eyes. My rationalist streak seemed to go for a toss when I saw her. But the idea of possession seemed abhorring to me. When a thing is beautiful the world should get to enjoy it. Why try to be the sole owner? One of the Moses’ commandments says, “Look thy not at neighbour’s wife”. But I ask why not? If she is beautiful why not? Will somebody’s looking at her diminish her charm? Pretty phoney stuff I guess.

So I kept looking at her ignoring Moses. And times passed as they had done always. But yes there was the presence of a certain sense of joy. A sense of joy emanating literally from her eyes.

I do not get to see her now. Good things do not last long.

A Pretty Ordinary Story

The idea of love has always seemed phoney to me. I do not understand the point of thinking about someone incessantly for no reason at all. Pretty boring stuff. And the emotionalism literally kills me.

We had gone on a trip to one of the sea beaches around with a group of friends. I am no travel freak, in fact I hate travelling for long distances. But any ways I had agreed to it. The night had seemed perfectly normal. All the stars were there to welcome us. We had our usual quota of beers. Soon people were dozing off. I tried taking a walk to soothe my nerves. She also got up and joined me. It was a pretty long walk. We had seen each other quite for sometime but had never spoken.

Her fathomless eyes had always enchanted me. She did make faces sometimes. Pretty faces but pretty infantile. If you have seen a cat or rather a kitten trying to ask you a question you will understand better. The rolling of the eyes followed by twitching of lips seemed pretty interesting to me. Just a few fleeting glances were enough to bear the drabness and drudgeries of a business course. Pretty kitten like faces. Her physical form did not excite me much. Only the infantile cameos kept me interested.

The vast expansiveness of the ocean lay in front of us. Our faces seemed to question each other. Why were we walking together? All that cockiness of talking to someone with whom you always wanted to talk had disappeared somewhere. It was silence that prevailed. But in that silence I could hear her soft breath. And that was pretty reassuring. We walked into the waters. I stretched my hands and she obliged. It must be pretty cold but we did not seem to notice. We sat down in the water and let the waves caress our bodies.

“What do you think about those waves?” I seemed to ask. “I do not think much about waves. Not much of a thinker you know.” She replied in a quiet voice. “Can you see the two waves rushing towards each other? Do you think they can ever meet?” I continued. “I do not know. But do they need to meet each other? Why? What is the use? Do they love each other?” She seemed to think now. She continued, “And even if they do, why the idea of meeting should be so important? What if their paths had never crossed?”

She asked, “Have you ever been in love.” “I do not know. Always been pretty much confused”, I replied. Taking a few winks I continued, “But the standard version dominated by melodrama and catharsis has always bored me. What I abhor the most is the strong tendency of domestication. Just as you tie animals to poles you try tying your love to yourself. And that again kills me. ”

“What do you think about love?” I asked. “Not much of a thinker, I already told you that,” came her quick reply.

“Is it not a product of human greed? The greed to possess someone and hate to share it with the world. That is why they say you always fall in love. Probably true. I am not sure.” I just thought to myself.

Words seemed to dry up. But we seemed to carry on the conversation. Pretty interesting to carry on a conversation without using the most significant product of human endeavours called words. Pretty early man stuff.

“Did we like each other?” I was not sure. “What about you?” I asked her. “Pretty much the same.” “But you look fine to me. I do enjoy being with you”, she replied.

“Do we play a game or call it an experiment. Just the two of us. The two guinea pigs. Agreed but no melodrama please and no domestication.” The pact was signed in the presence of the moon and the stars.

She spread her arms. I lay in her bosom feeling the warmth of her soft breast and the cold water splashing over us.

Now we are back from the beaches to the moronic environs of the classroom. We do not talk often. But the kitten faced smile still relieves me from the dreariness of studying in a B- school. And the experiment goes on. No gooey stuff and no domestication. Just a plain and simple game called love. And what a bundle of joy you have been. I will call you my muse.

At the Party

I had been avoiding parties for long. They had seemed drab affairs to me. But thought may be the taste of the pudding was in eating it. May be I should try. I was also trying to write my next story and thought it could potentially translate into one.

Everything seemed to be depressingly boring. But then I remembered I had a purpose.

And it is a surreal feeling being the audience and a participant at the same time. Perhaps in that way you will ignore some of my own foibles. A few shots of alcohol did enhance the surrealist in me. In the beginning I was pretty normal and to my surprise even when I walked out I was only normal.

Dresses seemed to be calling the shots. Various hues were on display. Some dressed like mannequins or dolls and some body-hugging and some free flowing and some simply outrageous. I thought people had overdone the dress part. Normality seemed to be in short supply. At least some stood out. Simple but starkly effective in gravitating attention. Even blacks do look good at times especially when they fit you perfectly and you have a particular tone of skin; or the onlooker’s senses have been numbed by alcohol.

In all this chaotic display of human vanities my eyes seemed to search for someone. I seemed to feel a tinge of pain rush through my veins every time I thought about her. Was this an end to a journey begun only sometimes in the past? There are times you hate to go back to reality. I have always hated reality for sure. The idea of placement seemed creepy to me. Imagine working like a dog for the rest of my life. And now after so much drama, everyone was placed. Not much a case of dream job but rather making concessions with one's calling.

And what a feeling. The MBA was finally behind us. That 3-lettered acronym variously expanded as Master of Business Administration, Master of Business Apocalypse, Me Before Anyone Else or Mediocre But Arrogant was firmly stuck to our backs. We were moving from the world of cases to actually become a part of one.

And now we will be busy with our lives. No time to stand and stare as Davies laments. I remember you Davies. I am too feeling your pain. I particularly brood over your 4-lines.

“No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.”

And what is my lament? Is it that I won’t be able to see her again. Her lovely face. Her soothing eyes. Her calming smile. And what not. But did I care about all these when I should have. Did I

ever try to see her at all? Perhaps I did not get the opportunity. Perhaps I did not want to. Perhaps I do not know what.

With some you can have a connect of mind. And with some of heart. We do have pretty much less control over our hearts than our minds. And for some mind dominates over the heart. They pride themselves as realists or rationalist and their list of self proclaimed jargons continue. And all pretty much fake. Today was the only day when I can convey what I always wanted to. Should I do it? Should I not? The fight over the head and the heart reached a crescendo. It seemed the mind was finally going to falter. I was completely exhausted in this tussle. The need for some fresh air outweighed everything else. In this internal anarchy I had forgotten that she had moved out long ago. My searching eyes took me to the steps of the hall. There she was. In all her glory. Smiling and talking as usual. Can I dare to disturb that state of ecstasy? Perhaps that was the most precious gifts I would ever get in my life. To see a smile lingering on her face. The most beautiful face I had ever dreamt.

I walked out in a drunken stupor and was soon engulfed in infinite stretches of darkness. The story was written.

But I did not pride myself on being rational or methodical any more.