via Desh

Well after as usual forgetting of my ticket, running back and unlocking the door with Auto waiting(and my treasured items in the bag in it), I finally boarded Ranikhet express. It will take me to Kathgodam and It is expected to reach around 5.30. I have finished my Mc meal of filet-o-fish, fries and coke. And to all those who avoid Mc donalds like me, at Old delhi railway station, it is the best possible option :).

walk..

He has been walking for few hours now, lost in the track of time enjoying the relieving pain. Physicality is such an easy win by the struggle to deceive the heart of that compulsive pain. The red, green, yellow of the traffic signal had a profound effect, and brought him in the middle of state of mind making him loose the rhythm of his walk in the middle of the signal. But there were always-in-hurry honkers which made impossible for him to die at the signal of life. The cigarettes he intended to buy, when he started, seemed a distant thought. And the hundreds of shops just got blurred with all other colour, light and life around him. What mattered was desire to walk, walk more, run and run more, amok in the fields towards the setting sun and just disappear like the mosquitoes, who come to earth with a life span of a day, designed by nature to be dependent and chased for that dependency. Suddenly he felt a push on the shoulder with someone shouting right on his ears and spitting as well, as if trying to wake him. “Watch out, do you want to get killed”, and he answered back not with words or reactions on his face, but with his wish, “Is it that easy?” He could hear people around him and this man shaking him, and speaking with less spit but more emotions now. What is he speaking? Sounded like a familiar language but so difficult to decipher. With inability to communicate back, he took another step just to get one of his shoes right into the cow pat, ahh he exclaimed considering stepping on cow pat is such a blessing in indian culture, God is out to bless me in each possible way today’. And with a smile, for an unknown reason to himself, he continued on his journey of self deception.

Random Thoughts

Another wonderful day just rolled by but the reminiscence of the one I share my union with, remained nudging me over n over.

How is it with this whole spectrum of feelings in my head, I still find time to breathe. Maybe, she prays for my life or maybe my heart is determined to fill the silence between my heart beats with hers. How will that sound, so singular, be: a tap, a jingle or a melody?

And so, in the never-ending hours of night when moon counts longing eyes,  I asked my stars of our union. They spoke:
Oh! Sleepless one, forget not the fortune to burn for the twinkle of those brown eyes. For remember how generously they had bathed you;
how they flung open your pores to the gates to heaven.
And how those countless drops of love while flowing through your body, reminded you of a rain on a forbidden desert.
Listen yet not to Sanity, for your lips are not misguided to wait for that wine, fermented in the cup of the immortal rose leaves.
For when she pours that elixir on you, only then can you live, even in the stillness between your heart-beats.

… A little too personal to be blogging this, no?

Poets poem

On the move, constant yet aimless
with a partner made of steel,
Carrying the dreams +desires of a wom+well travelled road

On the move, no control or purpose,
led by the silver beast
to which I have bestowed the remnants of my destiny…

Myself in Golden Shoes

He is unmissable simply because he is so loud when he is having fun ..and he is always having fun and this predisposition of his combined with the fact that he can be counted on to listen, give plentiful advice and be there for family, friends and often total strangers made him special. He lives life like a dream, perfect dream. Always on run with the huge fortune of having something to run from or run to, a blessing in disguise. His life looks the most colorful of all while he lives in a inner world of grey to black to blue. He is the craziest contradiction, a anomaly. And then  she happens to him.

She who always made two cups of tea on the principle that someone might just turn up in time. And if (as it almost invariably happened) no one did, why she was indeed in the mood for a second cup, thank you.

The spaces and angles of her kitchen ( her home, her life) often led her to how efficiently, smugly even, it catered to the needs of one. the light through the cracked pane on the front window, for example, fell exactly on her mug, bathing it in a sunrise/ sunset glow.  Two mugs there would make it crowded, diffuse.

All her daily, minute rituals resolved around this singular existence.  She needed to wash  dishes in the night because she hated waking up to a sink full of dirty vessels; the bed was made in the time that water boiled for tea ;the bedroom and living room windows were opened in the morning, dining and kitchen ones in the evening.

She didn’t know, not really how much comfort there was in these little homages she paid to herself. Not until they were stripped from her from the man made storm.

It began with a phone call heralding a visitor for the weekend.  Thrumming with anticipation, her as yet innocent heart unaware of the impending doom, her Friday shopping was doubled, as was her joy at having someone over. She took pleasure in agonising over tea times and desserts, fruits and snacks. She felt the pinch of pressure to finish her cooking before the rumble of his arrival. She got her wish: her work was done and he still hadn’t arrived…but now she fretted at his lateness. She tried to read, but found herself flipping the pages, seeing random words but no plot no character

At last he came, in a flurry of apologies and complaints against the iron monsters of our age. she was becalmed that night in his presence, in the quiet busyness of anticipating his wants and being rewarded with his smile. The old shoe comfort of having his night-sounds to fall asleep to, his breath her wallpaper as she slept.

The next morning she was almost unreasonably happy, with herself and with him: for their being, and for their being there. The morning blended with the afternoon and blurred into the evening – where there were two cups and two voices and a single setting sun that slanted its good byes as they spoke, at ease in their skins of their lives and loves with that rarefied sense of being insubstantial except for their minds.

That night as they slept, she woke to his warm hand on her waist. She lay still, hardly daring to breathe, wondering whether he was asleep or awake. she saw that he was quiet definitely asleep, transgressing invisible lines in inviolable unconsciousness of it. As she lay with his skin on hers, she felt that this was right, somehow, that the last two pieces of a jigsaw had fitted seemingly into the whole.

When she woke up in the morning the hand was gone.

All through the day as she spoke and laughed with him, she wondered. Did he have any memory of touching her ? Had he perhaps snatched his hand away on waking, embarrassed and hoping she hadn’t noticed ?Or had he regretfully removed it ?Or- as he had placed it -his hand had merely slipped off during the sleep, leaving him serenely unconscious of the turmoil he has created for her ?

As the day wore on, she found herself impatient for night, where at least there was a possibility of being touched…Her skin quivered each time he passed her, she felt magnetised, polarised by his presence- every atom of her body straining towards him to replicate the sensation of the night before. As her longing grew, she (dis)ingenuously found ways in which to brush against him, microscopic variations and repetitions of touch…Was it her imagination, or did he look for such gaps in time and space ?

Her yearning turned into a kind of restlessness, wanting and not wanting and a need to keep wanting that left her at odds with herself. She dropped things and bumped against things and felt jittered to an inch of her nerves as the time came to turn out the lights and fall asleep.

As they lay in the darkness, as she listened to his breath and hers, she felt a passing pang for their old comfort, conspicuous by its absence. Then she saw herself move, as if from far away, so that the tips of her fingers were touching his. She saw him shift, turn towards her so that their faces were closer…so close that she could feel his eyelashes fluttering. His lips sough hers or hers sought his, or they sought each others…the outcome of all these possibilities being that they kissed ; if  ‘kissed’ could sufficiently describe the melting inside her, the electricity that turned her skin to quicksilver, glimmering within and upon him.

The night was as long as they could spin it out, sweet strings of cotton candy sticking to their fingers and gluing their lips. At some point she felt herself wondering weather he truly was kissing her, whether he wasn’t searching for someone else in her body. But the thought didn’t last, no thought could in the onslaught of affection that she wasn’t sure she had wanted to start, and wasn’t at all ready to end.

The light of dawn crept upon the voices of birds, and suddenly she felt exposed, as though with the light he would recognize her, and move away. But he saw her, looked deep in her eyes and instead of moving away, moved ever inwards inside her burrowing to the sweet kernel of desire he knew was in her.

When it was over, she felt like she had been turned inside out, so that all her soft tissue, all her pink and red organs were out on display for him and everyone else to see.  She was irretrievably OTHER now, not her, mysteriously transmitted by the alchemist touch of him.  She felt her old self receding , fading at the speed of light, while she tried to gain perspective on this raw, new being : naked and just born, taking her shape. And yet in all these momentous happenings, the morning was still taking shape,  not yet fully light.

She could not and would not look up into his eyes, for fear of whom she would see reflected there. she couldn’t even look at her self, fearing to see fingerprints pressed this way and that into her skin. She knew that he couldn’t understand this,  that he couldn’t see the sea change in her ; that he expected her to show an emotion that they could share.  She stimulated a cautious happiness and saw it redoubled in his eyes and his lips. But what she felt was a new restlessness, now to be alone, to gather herself and make sense of all this.

When at long last she got her wish, an unexpected bubble of happiness made it way through her veins, turning her limbs and her mind liquid. Then as parts of the night came to her mind unbidden, she felt the liquid turn to fire, rising to clamour against her skin and drop away endlessly. When she finally looked at herself, she thought she was transparent, her body had shape and texture only with him there to view it. The day passed along an arc of desire, the pendulum of her heart moving between willing and unwilling wanting, a non-conclusive reasoning with her to herself.

She thought by the end of the day, that she had understood his cipher in her life, and now that she understood, she would be proof against his desire.  A desire which doesn’t have any intended place in her life. So out of a scientific curiosity, almost, she arranged to meet him. She expected the awkward edges to their words, she expected gazes to glance off each other without meeting, she expected the pauses to gape awkwardly between polite words. She expected him to behave as he used to and she conditioned herself to behave as she used to.

What she didn’t expect was that on seeing him, the pulse of desire would throb in the air between them, her skin would call out for his touch that the distance would feel artificial and tense as elastic. That when they finally collided into each other’s arms, her breath would come to her lungs on a glad scoop….lips that had a moment ago felt dry and constricted would part with a softness and delicacy that proclaimed they had been made for this, the curves and hollows of her frame were intended to weld in just such a fashion with his, that her eyes would hold him and his, her, so that all the other thoughts would be reduced to an inconsequential babble, everything in and  around them,  would just peter out..this, she had not expected.

Above all, she had not expected her mind to cede its pride of place, to be ruled and overruled by the sensual being lurking in her skin, who basked in his lingering gaze, in the tracery of his lips, that pulled and tweaked at her heart beat till she surrendered to his arms-the view over his shoulder being all that she needed of the world. And when those arms went around her to bring her closer to an extension of herself,  she for the first time in her life, felt what being complete is..

At first the moment they spent apart were merely the pauses in their togetherness, a chance to savour absence so that reunion would be all the sweeter.  She  felt like they were dancers out in the cosmos springing weightlessly from star to star. Then , as the hours spun into days and then weeks her mind reasserted itself. She was troubled by the fragile yet persistent sound of the world drawing nearer. The thought would come, also , that in that world they did not belong together, they didn’t even belong individually to the same world.

She tried to drown such thoughts out by spinning the web of their intimacy thicker and more intricate. But the sour taste of alone-ness began to seep through to their time together, as she started anticipating the moment of farewell rather than shared presence. The pain twisted along a corkscrew thread in her heart as she thrust him, herself, away from her. She dodged and evaded him through words and silences, and congratulated herself when she saw the distance increasing in her omniscient foolishness; she thought that she was receding from him towards success that her alone-ness by virtue of being self imposed and-engineered would never turn to loneliness.

In all this, he hurt, he wondered and wondered as she spun away on different trajectories, not taking into account that her isolation must perforce spill onto him as well. He reached out for her, broke through her walls- once, twice, again and again. She would meet him with renewed resolve, only to split into a million slivers of glass with each creeping doubt. She thought in contrary couplets: wanting him became inextricably linked with not wanting to want him. Absurdly, he felt like he had lost a point of being audible, even though it was hardly a sound more an out letting of air, really why did all this have to be so calculated, so mechanical, and yet at the end of it all- something over which he had absolutely no control ? He thought of all the words-prose poetry and gibberish – devoted to love, and wondered once more why the ideal, the ultimate abstraction had to be reduced to the simple, concrete task of extending one’s hand an inch or two …what would be solved by that ? Everything . Nothing. The rifts, the silences, the hurt, old and new, said and unspoken, would remain. The cut glass refracted gaze of tears would remain. She would still be herself, only that. And he would be his own self, Yesterday wouldn’t change, and neither would tomorrow. And slowly he withdrew, bewildered and cut to shreds by the sharp points of her doubts.

And so she lost him, to the sophistries of her own mind. Then next morning, the rituals of singleness returned….

And as it was with the God’s pranks, the unwilling togetherness was send to them again. And once and YES once again, when the time brought their hands together . Their Eyes felt the same knowingness and heart for once felt the same fluctuation in beats. Smiles were faked, yet eyes ritually twinkled, for old habits die hard.

She held on, with all her mind, to the index finger so that it would not turn traitor on her. She concentrated on the pink tips of his four fingers that used to wind their way around her hair tugging at random clumps as if to make sure they were fixed properly. Her gaze, diamond hard , took in her own fingers that wanted nothing so much as to be against his cheeks-tips touching bones to form a frame for his face. To look upon those eight fingers and two thumps was to look at fragments of their myriad embraces and intimacies, most of them unthinking and all o f them unique. To see them, as they had been and maybe even to find a wry laugh inside for what they had become: where lifting a finger had all the implications and repercussions of a declaration of a nuclear war.

And there, on that hand that was a million small miles away on the table, on her third finger, gold would continue to gird flesh and bone, and mock them both for their naïveté and their solipsism….

My STRANGE status

Weird the phase it may sound but I accept with all my wisdom that I have never been so much unsure about my path as I am today. I used to laugh at my misery and so was put to test. I am indulging into things which are making me feel that I am the only one doing so and hence pushing me more away from my world towards the quoted ‘My world’ . I used to feel great about the mask of happy go lucky bond, but now I want to peel it off my face. I wan to cry, complain and be sad and not to be asked about it. I know sorrow will be out of business soon as I am soon going to learn How to feel great with it.

Desires are screwing my life. Why the fuck can’t I be satisfied with all the good things around. I have family, friends and well wishers. You know I have everything but nothing. I am so scared of companionship after the loss of relationships that mattered to me that I am bringing myself to believe being lonely is being happy. The only scoop here is I have been quiet social all my life and I love the world around me. Now to become a monk is bit difficult task considering that I don’t like cool places, I don’t drink and do drugs. Further I feel responsible towards the people around me and their expectation from me. So practicing the most selfish art would have been great thing to do if I had born in Jupiter or even Sun.

The only thing which gives me happiness is to love, I just wish to do two things First is to bring up kids so many of them and Second is to watch my girl sleeping with sun dimming from her glow . Now this seems very simple, if I take out my fears regarding the companionship after completely strange past relationships. Also, the ones my soul approves are the one I can’t have. Either GOD has given them a better match than I am or I just can’t have for the disaster I m. Thank you Almighty for making me unique:). Also the wish to adopt has made me more unwanted. Our law doesn’t provide girl child to single man for adoption. With very few like minded around me, my match is getting rare. Above all, I am looking for an equally crazy person I am 😉 Someone who is beyond the matrimonial definition of most of the girls- tall, fair, slim, homely, convent educated, earning in six figures…

The add-ons to my sufferings are the dissolving of the close people around me to non existence. Past six months I have seen more deaths than I could have ever imagined. Death to me is like a foot print in a muddy ground, a hollow ‘marked’ space. The recent death of Sir Anil (I loved calling him Acche sirji) at so young age left another foot print on the mud ground which is getting big with every departure. I miss you Acche Sir.I wish I could do something to save you. The only future which all of us can predict – DEATH has never been so close to me as it is today. It is dark, mighty, painful, everywhere, unavoidable and also the saviour. Death is the only cocktail which is a new revealing with every sip.

Below are the views in the form of a poem from Rumi , a poet from balkh (This is translated by Coleman barks)..

On the day I die

On the day I die, when I am being carried
toward the grave, don’t weep. Don’t say,

He’s gone ! He is gone. Death has nothing
to do with going away. The sun sets and

the moon sets, but they are not gone.
Death is a coming together. The tomb

looks like a prison, but it’s really a
release into union. The human seed goes

down in the ground like a bucket into
the well where Joseph is. It grows and

comes up full of some unimagined beauty.
Your mouth closes here and immediately

opens with a shout of joy there…

My only reaction to it is a line from an Indian poet ‘ Galib’ whose reaction towards Heaven was ” Dil behlaanay kay liye, Galib yeh khayal acha hai”

My First SOLO 901km ride ..

I was again in my crazy self, craving to give self imposed time to my selfMORE self. Though, all i needed was to KICK my 350 cc- ROYAL ENFIELD (infamous for naming people,i have renamed her SAPHIRA), reality walled the ride for two months. Finally, destiny decided its time SON and one fine morning i tied my LUGGAGE on the back seat blessed to have felt only WOMEN. Weather was good, Bike started in a HALF kick, I could feel the weight of the luggage, everything seemed normal. Then i got my head phones, plugged them in my ears (my ears are CREATED with no ear phone fitting facility) with all the problem solving ability. Neither i had travelled before on this route, nor i had any MAP ;). Ranthambore is in Rajasthan next to JAIPUR, that was a satisfactory information I had.. I also had the adress of the place, i am going to stay in Ranthmbore…If you are wandering what the FISH is ranthambore, so for all those who don’t know, it is a National park with the most sightings of tiger and is KNOWN for Ranthambore Tiger Reserve ; AND all those who know it it is still the same- Tiger reserve ;} Januaray in INDIA is veru unexpected, so i left with all the JACKETS i could wear and after some time could feel the SUN on skin…Also one of the headphones gave up so soon ; considering the effort of the technical SAVVY in me it was soon. It is also fun to feel beats in one of the EAR drums and leave the other one for HONKS, Engine sounds, screams of all those who have travelling all their life on LIFTS etc..The best part of the VOYAGE was the other ear phone which made rare , everlasting, missing what the FISH sound, once in the BLACK moon. My first stop was for my first pee in the GREEN (no matter how far you look). My second stop was was for the breakfast.

I chose the safest bet on the supersonically SPOKEN menu. I ordered for Parantha and curd. Those parantha created to fill every imaginable belly in one go were the heaviest thing i ever ate. To stuff them in and to soften them a bit, I gulped two glass of HOT (HOTTER than Angelina) tea. Then again with my rusted Armour on climbed on my Saphira with music playing in the Lucky EAR.

The thump of Saphira, the cold breeze hitting my cheeks, smell of soil, pure air and a never ending road; i feel lucky to feel all and not die of hitting the benchmark to Ecstasy. All i remember is I started racing with my thoughts, wind, sadness, problems, I was leaving world behind at the speed of 110 km/hr. I felt as if i was flying. While i was thumping, i notice this hill of bones, I had never see a thing a like this. I took a U-turn to save this bloody moment for you guys. I clicked myself in the frame to present you guys the evidence of what the HELL happens when we screw environment and then it screws back you get to see this..Soon there would be human bones..

Villagers gathered and were staring me as I have gone mad. For them getting picture clicked is still a luxury which i was wasting on ANIMALS left outs rather then them. After this weird encounter, i mounted again to only stop at the destination. AND to my surprise, the road from there on was being constructed. My ass recorded the bumpiest ride ever. I had slow down as I was riding on a mixture of mud, stones , rubbles etc..My helmet did not had the visor and my ray ban’s were not able to ban the wind which lead to blood red eyes. By the time i reached guest house it was dark and it was cold and the fucking water heater wasn’t working. finally i got some warm water and I could feel the pain flowing out of the body with the water. I got ready for dinnner. I could see amazing bonfire with all possible kinds of alcohol( i don’t drink). so i settled for lemonade, that fucking filthy expensive lemonade. The guest house owners were KOOL guys, They happily shared with me their cigarrates and we talked till late night and opened many business and closed them down. There was a constant echo, i had to hit the road early morning as road’s condition wasn’t favourable. Slept like a dead man in grave and woke like warrior to got war. Had the heaviest breakfast, left the table on ly when i started feeling pukish. I did so not coz the breakfast was dalicious in any terms but coz i promised myself to skip lunch and hit DELHI by early evening. After about 50 km on my loving roads, i noticed oil leakinf out of my shock absorbers. Hurrah OIL seal broke. I carried on as i yook a diffrent road to the one i cam. This road was from Jungle and if Bike stops then their was high possibility of life stop. I was the perfect victim for unemployed man and poorly fed animals. ANd ther i hear a unfamiliar TICK TICK sound which meant ” i am fucked”. I speeded praying and landed to the highway, thankfully my saphira deserves all the praises for it. HIGHWAY man who sees back then. I opened the torque, closed my ears to that unfamiliar sound. Stopped at jaipur. the day was holiday. finally manged to find the mechanic. Cellphones battery crashed. All in a day. Mechanic was a kind of chilled out guy. He was asking much money for fixing it on a holiday but bad luck again the parts were not avialable. ASS sole advised me to carry on like this, i was still five hours away on jam free normal speed ride. So decided to carry on ” in the name of GOD, bike god , holy angle and mechanic..ROde like never did before i was touchin 120 km /h at places and the meter rearely came below 90 on the road wher from nowhere a cow, cycle, human comes. I was chasing and being chased my these heavy vehicle. My eyes were giving up but there was a WHOLE lot of pleasure in this which can’t be described inorder to discourage people who would like to take a voyage like this. Finally made up to delhi with a broken shocker, battered sprocked and crashed engine ( crand and piston gave away coz OIL pump crashes somwhere).. BUt BUT BUT…My saphira brought me home.. I trust this angel more than any mountable thing 😉

Pray for Rahul and Madhura

This post is to request all you guys to pray for Rahul and Madhura. Rahul and his wife while heading to their home, were hit by a SUV. Rahul injured his hand and is out of danger. He is just physiaclly unhurt but is going through a emotinal turmoil. His wife is in a critcal state. She is a selfless, down to Earth. delightful and a pleasent human being. She is struggling for life and is on life support system with very low chances of survival. We are all waiting for a miracle to happen as she has a major brain injury. She is so good and i beleive that we need a person like her more in our WORLD than in any other. Rahul words “I am not crying for her but for myself, what would happen of me, how would i live. It would have been better if we both had gone” keep echoing in my head. How helpless GOD makes us feel. I feel bad to question GOD’s existence but in painful , devstating losses like these , i do question to myself. When my Mama(uncle) died, i was so young to express but felt and still feel his absence. My family say “His love for me is indescribeable”. Than i lost my youngest sister another loss I was not prepared for. She was an amazing girl. I remember feeling sad, anger, empitiness, helplessness all at the same time. Then i lost the person i idealized, a man worth calling a HUMAN, selfless giving soul. I loved him, I miss him so much. He is my Grandpa and I will not let his presence die from me. None of the adjectives help, whenever i want to write about him. He pampered, loved me, sponsered my toffies, Kampats, Kulfi’s , Malai’s etc. I always felt like his trusted lieutanent. I was and always proud to be by his side. Though he was ill since long and struggling from cancer, i could never bring myself to reality that he would physically leave us. My heart still aches for him and my eyes still cry to get a chance to see him . He is so fresh in my memory from his smell to his jokes. I will always keep you alive ABBU.

I can understand how Rahul might be feeling. Its a difficult time for him and for all of us . I have always heard ” prayers help”. So lets all pray for them and their familiy. How can GOD do such a thing with such good people, i fail to understand. I understand that everyone has to go but its not her time. She is so Young. God, you can’t take her, we need her more than you.PLEASE…

[IF]

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling

“Che” liked it and so do I…

Poems how immature they might be, they can be felt…

I used to write poems …Now none of them are left with me or if they are still alive they might be on some friable piece of paper..So last week when i was wandering to write about a close, respectable, adorable person..I penned down these untitled, incomplete poem during my flight from Delhi to Bangalore…The untitled (first poem) is dedicated to DANG..

Untitled

The twinkle of her eye,

Fades all stars of the sky;

Sea surely knows the depth of her eyes,

Would he otherwise care to be deeper and force clouds cry;

Enchanting is when she graces her smile,

I feel winged and around her I fly;

Rainbow shadows her just to beautify,

In her world I am willed to die;

I do wander if she is the creation of thy,

belief is the reason for the unbeliever I;

If ever is her sight, it is MY,

Will death kill me, you wish I try;

to be continued…in emotions, it is where words die out..

 

Then i wrote another one for my love , while i was sitting in Bangalore airport with my colleague komal. I wrote this thinking about the girl I self proclaim i am in love with, though it could be Adoration , infatuation, attraction, decision,A foolish, unreasoning, or extravagant passion or attraction, or may be i am illusion-ed or hallucinating but whatever it is it has made my life beautiful. She is a actually every Women’s envy and every men’s dream. UnFARTunately i am man. I am sure of never telling her as i am coward enough to hide it from her and adamant enough to always love her and sensible enough to always figure out a way to be beside her…I wish we never had past and destiny’s. She is an amazing girl, one with whom life would be shortest(as i won’t be able to make a difference between reality and dreaming), the only girl with whom i would never feel incomplete, Worth a life long persuation, a girl with all that i don’t deserve, a girl more pleasant then spring, an angel i always want to dream of with my face on my palm….

Leaving behind..

And i am sad again,

Sitting surrounded by the happiness i can gain,

How easily destiny make life go haywire,

Introspective me, not the world is bizzare;

Colors, life, Words… once they were My,

Everything i gave, undeserved was only ‘I’ .

Never again, I want myself to Feel,

Why do i forget life is but a wheel;

Without a past, newborn, beside her I lie,

I wish, i could again be ‘I’..

Am i asking much, Thy………..