Gasp. Sing. Live

As the fire still goes out continuously, dying out on its own self
I shall caress her strings till she sings out in joy..
I may not know her heart's notes or the right chords to pull
but I can create music out of her, like a mother can make a baby smile!
Singing to myself, the winds and the spray of water from the seas,
the sands shall dance in the light and I shall wave with her euphony.
I'll jump out of my soul to dance in the chilling night
looking at the woman playing with the a black body of sculptured curves
giving out ecstatic gasps of delight until she finds the next spot for her pleasure and mine.
I know she'll be lost in thoughts, fingers plucking on their own
while her mind wanders around the dark skies
and the pearl-white moon.. to the stars and her love.
The flames already reflect in her eternally awakened eyes while lips sing
as she falls into a sound oblivion...
while I dance in bliss!

~Hemu

Image from the internet.

Men, Women, Sex and Chauvinism

I had a text conversation with one of my friends some days back. It was in regard with one of my poems that I had put up earlier on my blog. From an outsider's point of view, it might have been a wholly feminist attitude, but to me it was sheer anger at women not being seen the way they should be or rather, being seen the way they shouldn't be seen.

  One thing led to the other, we had a good discussion on women, some meaningful conversations that I have with a few people until we reached a point where chauvinism came into blown up view. Not that it wasn't present until then for it is always a constant presence that runs in the sentences framed to express views. Or as I noticed, most of the conversations that the two sexes share falls into one of the following frames.. One with people who hate chauvinism (which mostly turn out to be women like me), one in favor of it (men and women who genuinely feel and think that women are meant to be under men) and the ones in between. Now, it's easy to argue with a male chauvinist for you can never possibly discuss issues with him/her. You see, most often, they never listen. What happens to begin as a discussion would lead to an argument where mindless shouting is all that is left at the end. I generally avoid discussions with such people. I just smile and walk away with a hidden smile of the knowledge that their thoughts always tend to amuse and baffle me. 

    

      On the other hand are my co-people, who are against chauvinism. We, for the record are not female chauvinists. I personally feel men and women are on two different standards altogether. One just can't be compared with the other. It was actually a late realization that I had, some years ago when a friend managed to knock that into my head which until then was hot with the ideas of equality among men and women. I used to think men and women are to be considered equal whereas the whole two groups couldn't be equated at all. One was different from the other. The grounds of measurement weren't the same. Though, I believe in both genders being treated equally. 

   

    Both these kind of people are easy to handle. It's actually rather simple. You either hate them or love them. The third are the difficult lot. They are those men and women who are in between. Out of the mass of this kind, its predominantly the men that I come across. I don't know how to almost always converse with them, given I don't know which side they are inclined to. These are the regular people I come across everyday. The boy-friends I know of, the educated uncles who fall here due to their age and all other sorts of people. I don't mean to offend them for it's with some of these people that I talk a lot, though it is difficult sometimes. I learn, I realize and feel more mature. 

     Well, as I was saying, I am guessing my friend fell in the final category of people. The conversation was smooth for when both parties involved talk with an open mind ready to accept something they are convinced of by the other.It did until I reached a point where it reached Women, men, sex and chauvinism. Women, men and clothes. Women, men and skin. 

      I think this is something I could never get or get over. The whole idea is rather muddled to me. I noticed that most of such people have an attitude that a woman whose skin you can see is either morally 'retarded' or a counterpart fully covered and clothed being a 'better person' upon the first impression. Agreed there are women who wear revealing clothes just to get attention or what not? But what about the ones who are comfortable in those clothes? What if that is what they are? Why doesn't it ever occur to people, men and women alike that a woman can wear clothes of her choice? Why does she have to be judged, stared at and be morally backward to wear clothes of her choice? How does it affect you lot? It's like judging a man and saying he is of the 'wrong kind' because he wears lungi and roams about bare-chested! 

   Of course, there's the anatomy. But is that the only thing? 

   And oh, coming to sex. Virginity in women is a prize for men. At least the one marrying her, right? Casual sex from the side of men is something that has been passed over as ordinary and 'ever-happening' while one move towards anything even hugely less in magnitude on the woman's side is wrong. And it beats me out, how the men always scorn and condemn those women a.k.a 'whores' they hook up with ? It existed generations back when it was broad daylight and accepted for being so. It exists even now, but just to be observed under microscopic light. The so-called broad-minded guys with trace amounts of chauvinism they so claim wouldn't take a girl who has been with another man, while he can have all the sex he wants in his life. Who's there to question? Why is it always down to women? The women of the kind is labelled a 'slut' with an intense connotation while the guy of the type is called a 'playboy' with some sort of pride. I really don't get that one. 

   The friend of mine had said it was for genetically good reasons, to safeguard women and the like of phrases which I found to be utter rubbish. Okay, working towards the society? What about that woman the guy just hooked up with? She doesn't count? (Unless 'she' was not a woman). My point here is not that me or many others like me(women) want to have sex and are fighting for the right to do so. One may exclaim : "Alright. Go ahead! I'm not the loser." This is not the point. Point is why is it right for men to do so, while a shame if women do. I'm from India, a land where women are taken to be Goddesses. Well, we don't want to be on that level but you could stop treating us like shit. How hypocritical can guys get?

   I meet multitudes of people. For all that I have known, I have hung out with more men than women. Let's say sometimes they are a lot more comfortable kind of people to be with. Brothers, friends.. everyone I have ever seen, ever in my life have chauvinism in them. Agreed you are born with it. You are brought up with it. But don't you have to evolve at some point of time? Open your eyes and see what is actually going on instead of you just judging the woman in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt? Judgmental attitude, my friend is tiresome. 

   Please shrug off those covers of pretense that you have. I think all the lines of 'we do this to protect you' and 'I'm not the loser' are just pure crap. Try to respect the woman you see as a human. She surely is not a cross of the road-side 'bitch' and a chimpanzee. I'm sure you do agree with me on  that one? And at last, please stop acting like saviors. I know you are physically more strong and can ward off men who pose a threat to our 'honor' but that doesn't give you the right to define how we live. 

   Thanks to those hormone-raging men out there (I mean only those sexually perverted guys out there. Not everyone.) I can't travel the country or the world as I wish. I love, totally love being a woman. I'm so proud of being one. But sometimes it doesn't feel good when I'm made to regret for being born as one.  

 I hope I meet one guy who will know and feel the way I do about this issue. But I guess the other guys might not find him to be a guy/man at all. 

Anyway, cheers still! 

  

A Heart's Reach Away

Day by day, the hope and the tiny bit of light in
a crowded heart vanished to form a black hole
where a lot of happy memories emerge from, resurgent ;
unlike the voids that draw
only to submerge her in a vast pensive of loneliness.
 She feels left out, as a clown who is lost in the group and the ordinary,
quite strong in ideas that don't bend,
searching for that one another person who lives the way she does,
to live.. to laugh and smile.
She still goes around scanning through the known faces
searching for him.
Searching for that one person, who now loves another..
for that someone who dwells in the colourful tones of her dreams
and in reality, far away.
At the end of each day of hers, every fragment of his word and stare
pierces through her like a knife of ice to numb the pain
and melt away into water, keeping her eyes dry for a while.
That which was thrust through her; blaming an expectant love
who let it grow when she knew it should have died.
Oh yes! She should have stabbed it to death,
to have bled the little fairy-tale hope of him turning back to
offer her an exquisite glance,
so it would hurt only a stingy bit before it passes with the clouds.
She should have chopped the dreams while she was still asleep
  so that reality doesn't feel like a burdensome chore.
  Like the nightmare that she lives for real.

                                       
~Hemu

Image from the internet. 

The Wondrous Slut

You call her a slut, you call her a whore,
but that's all that you see and nothing more.
For, within every woman, slut or not lies a small butterfly,
waiting for the colours on her wings to show out
as beautiful as it is, while you just see a garish display
because that is all that your eyes can see.
Within every woman lies a mother, the most loving one in the world.
Sluts and prostitutes as you see or tag,
also gives out her blood to feed her baby as milk through breasts,
whose suppleness is all that you notice.
I see the mother. You see the slut.
I wonder at the ease with which words flow from your mouth
as your eyes trace the figure of a woman in the clothes of her choice
and the words of her own independence, may you be a man or woman.
Do you care to see the insecure little girl who misses her father's hug
or the flutters of the twenty year old she is as the secret glances of boys
follow the wind raising her nervousness?
You see a woman, a slut, a woebegone creature with blood between her legs as a knowledge
and smirk with disgust, twisting your face.
Ever thought about that small bloody pouch she is imbibed with,
waiting to carry a being far beyond her capacity, someone who could get her killed,
yet love it before it even reaches this planet that is one in a million.
You see women on the road, in the mall and on your front porch
seeking explanations for your stares for being who she is;
and all you can say is this : "Damn the freaking whore."
How long before you realize a whore you call is a woman too?
With flesh, bones, breasts and all that define her physically;
with a heart, a womb, some laughter and tears many unseen.
That, she rules her life and loves herself
more than the right which you assume to judge her
by the hip that moves as she walks on the stilettos in a manner befitting her or not.
She may leave her hair loose for the winds to play between the fibrous cracks,
she will raise her voice if you hurtle words that don't belong to her on her face;
She will not care about your useless existence if you are one.
And if all this makes her a whore, a slut.
A slut she is.
A wondrous one.

Hemu 

Woes of an Architecture Student : Site analysis

Dear Awesome Professors who think the sites you hand out are heavenly,

 I visited the site that you had 'sketched out' for us the other day. Architecture, despite draining all the senses we may have leaves us with a sense of hope and inspiration, a small little tiny factor called imagination. Of our designs. Our concepts. Our life. Today, seeing that brilliant site that you had so painfully 'discovered' for us, ( I must admit it is quite a discovery. It took quite some time for my friends and myself to locate the site in what seemed like a garbage disposal area) the very little idea of building something even in our dreams came crashing down.

    Would it kill you to give us a nice site for once? How is it that the other batches get scenic sea-facing sites while we land up with Koovam-facing ones? I mean, you give us such a site and say, "So, what are you going to do about the smell?" Well, we were thinking of room spray. (probably the one in which animated owls, bunnies and kangaroos are cast.)

  Anyway, let's concentrate on what is in our hands. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.(Even that sucks anyway.) It took us half an eternity to find out the preposterous dug-out land where you want us to build luxury apartments. A friend of mine told me  that the coconut-seller right outside the place (who also uses it as his private dumpyard, in Rajinikanth style flipping empty tender coconuts in the air ; beyond the compound wall where it lands with all the other useless things in life) welcomed her to visit the site. He seemed to have been accustomed to the students who come there, for god knows how many years. His hospitality and generosity amazes me. Has some deal been signed between the institution and the guy?

   The site, it so seemed looked like a green haven. Not just one shade of green, mind you. A lot of them. It so complemented what seemed like poisonous little trees all around and the different-coloured-stale-kurma-like mass of liquid/fluid. ( We didn't dare go close.) I could totally imagine the swimming pool that you want in the mass of moss floating on what seemed like a piece of earth tilled out to lay foundations for a dream castle to be built in the next century. There was just one small problem. If I could see the swimming pool, I couldn't see the building blocks and vice versa. Certainly, there is all the space in the world for me to design a wading pool and children's play area. Just when I was settling into the idea of consoling myself saying I could somehow squeeze all the requirements in there, a friend of mine said : "Hmm, so what will happen to the community centre?"

   I mean, how many people are we talking about here, man? Trust me, no one is going to buy a house here and most certainly, no one is going to indulge in the happy times of a society with all the noise and air pollution  from the road where even pedestrians might need sound horns and SARS-like masks to move an inch. What were you even thinking of? That we'll build something in the air eh? Actually, we don't mind. But, even in that, you'll ask for structural details.

   On top of all this, there is a transformer right in the front and huge, many-acres spreading out to form an industry on to the side releasing heat waves in the air. Exactly, which bugger told me that there were buffer trees over there? Open your eyes wide my dear friend, those are called overgrown saplings.

   The only thing good about the whole thing; well, probably not about the site, but just opposite to it is the pizza shop. Also, we might not have to do anything for building a basement. It's pretty much there. All you have to do is to just locate it among the trash. Still, if you want to provide all the services our senior design professor asked us to add for a qualitative living, I would suggest you look for extra site area. Maybe not a garbage chute. The place is pretty much one. We shall give you the liberty of just chucking it out of your windows. Whomsoever throws it the farthest shall earn a special bumper prize. You can take the apartment that faces the awesome coconut trees that might transport you to Mallu-land. Each day one-one person. Okay?

   Anyway, have fun. We shall soon inform you of our tempting design offers for luxury apartments in(out)side the city, where you can bring up your children in lush green landscaped areas with privacy exceeding any other, to grow up to all the difficulties of and in life. ( pun intended).

Site Analysis Complete.

         

Love, they said.

How long does he think I'll wait?
How do I know how long this feeling will hold on straight?
I was told by many I never knew, born ages back who just passed on words,
that love is a joy, love is a state of mind,
where two souls in their individualistic being should connect,
to blend into one happiness and a couch.
They also told me, it'll hit me across my face sometimes,
knock me down and rip my heart..
but I should stay calm. I must stay strong.
For destiny and endurance of rough winds
shall sweep me through to the sight I wish to dwell in.
They told me my love will come true;
that I need to hold on, He is just round the corner and
will see me standing here, waiting for him.
And, they also said, sometimes I'll just have to let it fly
before I could even clasp the colours in my hands.
My hands just seem stained and not coloured.
They said if I let it fly and if it belonged to me,
it'll reach back to the hands and heart that freed the aura-
to paint me with all the emblazon of its minuscule visibility.
Oh they told me too many things and now
I don't know what to do.
I don't  know what to say and what is due.
So,
as the oriflamme hues of the sky set to hide behind the veil of the unknown,
I slip into the covers of my insecurities, overflowing passion
and indescribable feelings for Him,
longing to see the next day reveal my heart without my consent
to His eyes so blind.

The F-word phenomenon

It's been quite a usage of the f-word today. Not the f-word that probably strikes your mind first. No, certainly not that one. I meant : Friendship. I heard too much of that today- Friends, friendship day, friendship bands, friendship texts, friendship wishes. Just a little less than truckload of viewing of the friendship day effects.
 
     Frankly, I didn't realize it was 'friendship day' today. I thought it was a week back and ended up texting four of my very close friends a genuine 'happy friendship day' message, meaning every letter of the three words, the spaces amplifying what I wanted to convey.. cherishing the journey we have had together until now. I have to tell you, I have amazing friends.Why? None of them knew when the 'real' friendship day was and ended up texting me back, from the various parts of India and Chennai that they live in, a happy friendship day. Cool friends I have.
 
    This evening brought me into an encounter with friendship bands after quite some time. Around three years or so, to be precise. Friendship bands. They share a great part of my childhood times and an even greater part of my growing adulthood. I remember how I used to buy wool and strings of different colours ; weaving and braiding them- making those bands by hand. I thought, it's for friends, it is a personal acknowledgement of how happy their company makes me. I used to make them day in and day out, with a definite list and later making a few extras for impromptu situations. Situations where someone who you totally thought would never tie you a band turns up beaming in front of you with one in hand. Sometimes, they're so genuine that you have to tie them one back. The entire school used to be bubbling with energy, recesses having corridors full of us kids with hands with colours and strings many. There were times when I even felt jealous about the numbers that reached my wrists and the varying others'.

    Now, I think about it all and realize how ridiculous it has been... how the notion had been etched in our minds, how friendship bands were given an importance which it didn't deserve(or it has lost it's importance- however you see it) and how blinded by numbers and popularity we were. None of those bands, as far as I know, carried a genuine happiness of having someone else as their friend. It was about popularity, establishing an unsigned official contract, joining in a rat race of being friends with the school stars and in the process of getting there too. Bands were just numbers- no significance, no friendship and nothing attached to it but strings. (pun intended) I suppose it still is. I don't know, I quit tying them. You can imagine the rest- no one else tied one for me as well. Ah, I'm glad as far as that goes.

  Think about it for a while, so many of you wish on the account of friendship day, do you mean it? Do you cherish that relationship you share? Does the other person make you feel special? Do you type that text out or was it a group forward that you forwarded too? Much better, did you end up sending it a few hours earlier just so that your balance doesn't run out because of the special text costs? Do you love them or respect them for who they are? Do you really feel the depth of the whole thing? Does a facebook tag of a friendship quote or picture signify what happens between you guys?

  Friends don't happen everywhere. Not everyone you meet are your friends. They're termed as acquaintances. They're people who you happen to meet everyday, every week and month. Time spent with someone everyday doesn't equate them to being with friends for a few hours every weekend or possible holiday. Next time you're about to wish someone a happy friendship day, think twice. If you have no reason, don't say it. Understand the depth of your words for half the time, we're here returning wishes we don't mean, cherishing memories we don't share and  giving away words that don't belong to us. People are special and so are the words. They are not free. They're worth every strain of the vocal word, every stab and smile of the heart and all the intimacy of the emotions fabricated just for them. =)

   

Unopen Wings

I saw this form in front of my eyes,
Majestic and elegant with wings flapping on her graceful back,
light reflecting like it hit a mirror shaped to the anatomy of a woman.
Warding anyone who came too close to her,
with only one fierce look with those black eyes that made them look away, only,
turning instantly gentle when they stood away.
She waded through waters and flew across the sky
grabbing the the warmth of light and the iced chillness of the wind,
throwing herself to the open pleasure of the world.
Until.
That one day when a man looked back into her eyes,
breaking free the glass over it, blasting shards into the endless valley's pits.
She looked, with different eyes at the man who gave it to her,
the fragile in her lived, still falling for the huge and muscular bird
who seemed to like his wings held within so that people may draw close.
And so, she pulled her wings to her back and around her breasts.
She waiting against the setting sun for him to draw near
and cuddle her to precious warmth of a genre different from what light gave her,
as an element in the air grabbed her by her wings
holding her over the edge of the cliff.
Flinging her down, to meet the violent seas underneath,
he looked over.
She was a bloody woman
who could have glided through it had she spread her wings.
Yet, she turned them close, to meet the jagged rocks that lay below.
Now,
Why would she do that?

So spake a building you think is one.

You think I don't know a thing, that I don't feel beyond what I'm made of. That's not true. I've experienced more than anyone of you can ever see, feel, hear or grasp. I've heard so many squeals of children running around, their cries when they fall down, the laughter of the old ladies who think they're cracking jokes when the younger counterparts grin in quiet tones at the befallen comment that isn't close to humor, the shouts of the people calling out to one another, the singing on one side and the instruments amplified in the presence of my greatness.
 
           I've seen many traditions, rituals, too many silent tears in the washroom confining many a people, individually, all of them crying inside and yet on the outside, pretend to be strong and smile in each others' presence. I've seen colour always : of flowers, clothes, lights and faces and what they contain, beautiful smiles of  blushing brides and more moving energy than all your lives put together in one fleet of running parents, striding across my magnanimous being to greet people and attend needs.

       Yet, after all the time I remain where I am, I still cry soft tears to see her go. A bride in her mother's arms seeking comfort and merely a shoulder to cry on. She cries, the one leaving 'home' , having to shrug all that responsibilities as a daughter to being a wife, though I know a daughter shall never forget them, and shall remain a daughter forever. I see mixed emotions in her eyes, that glint with happiness during the dance with her husband among the huge crowds that surrounds to cheer her and a large sense of sadness attached along with anxiety and fear. I've seen of every single 'Her' : a silent thought not to cry and induce the mood into others and yet breaking down at moments many. I sense, every single time that she can't sleep in total peace like when her father covered the sheets around her with a goodnight kiss, for she doesn't know if her husband shall do the same.

          I'm not concrete and brick. I'm emotions many, if you pause to rest your shoulder on me and look around. If you press your ears against my pillars of strength and listen. With every footstep you take, I have had so many others jumping on the same.. where you stand, that was where one girl fainted in her father's arms.. where you laugh-many have cried and where you hug, many of them had to be pulled free. I am not what you think I am.

         I've seen a little girl pulled free of her father's arms and thrust into another mans'. How the father has taken care of her, I've always seen.. it shows in the eyes and the tears and smiles she sheds. How the man does, I never know, for none of them fulfilled an obligation of coming back to me to whisper how they are. They think I don't live, they think I don't exist. I don't blame them,  for they are daughters leaving home. I shall remember every one of their tears that had been wiped off my floor with a mop, not knowing it had already reached my insides creating an imprint.
       With false promises and some true ones, they take her away from whom she loves to someone she'll learn to love. She cries, silently and breaks down again as she gets into the car to drive away into nothingness for a few more minutes before she realizes what's happening.. and as the car gets out of the driveway I tend to hear loud cries and huge tears from the sisters of the bride... ones who, with great difficulty held them all back so that they don't cry in front of her making her departure more painful.

   I see this, day after day, hour after hour.. one wedding after the other. I never shall get tired..for each bride has a tale to tell, moments to share, hours of fatigue, and one instance that they all share.. leaving home. At that juncture, I become their homes, for the second they wave a bye to their crowded families, who with moist eyes and a smile on their lips, wave back till the car goes out of sight and sometimes even minutes after.
   I hope they are all happy somewhere, with children who'll grow up to get married the same way they did. They have always been my favorite. The daughters leaving home..
  Even if they're across the road with roaring traffic, I shall still hear them say with nostalgia  :
"There! That's where I got married"
   

This was my entry at Saarang Writing Awards 2013

Of Creating a Memory

Take me, with my eyes covered, so I feel and know you are always there next to me..

Take me, anywhere, where the sounds cease to exist

throwing the music of silence into our ears, amplified,

that way, every word you say, will reach my heart.

Let's go around the same way, describe what you see, 

'cause I'm comfortable with my eyes closed and hearing you say 

things you don't even see. But, I'll believe you anyway. 

Let's go away from prying human eyes and live, 

with no cameras to record the moment, 

no sketchbooks to replicate..

Just you and me. 

Now, that'll be a memory I'll never forget.

 ~Hemu 

I Wish I Were a Waitress

I wish I were a waitress, in a swishy skirt and an apron,
a ceiling above my head and a floor I can skid on,
to run around taking down requests for consumption
and not orders, for I shall say they're long gone.

I wish I were a waitress, with a smile on my face,
jumping from table to table, lighting up their day.
"Oh, how are we today?" I shall ask, with some little ace,
Now, who bothers about that, as long as I can keep their frowns at bay.

I wish I were a waitress, for a childhood fantasy of balancing trays
should probably not go in vain, but if I go ahead and fall with drinks on my dress,
I shall still smile and clean it up.. I tried atleast, and shall say my prayers
to stay further and shall always try again, till I get it right for the best.

I wish I were a waitress, to meet people old and new,
to look at their countenances and see what they have to say.
For, discoveries shall be many as I shall write them down as the coffee brews,
so that I can do little things that I may, like perhaps wish them a 'Happy birthday'.

I wish I were a waitress, for a selfish reason of seeing around,
people as they are and people they probably ought to be.
To see if I am wrong at being so shut, to be in solitude even in a crowd,
or if I should be singing with them all for a great day to follow, whoopee.

I wish I were a waitress, for a simple little joy of wearing hair bands everyday,
not that I can't at an office desk on the eleventh floor,
but for lame reasons to match my equally lame colours at a small cafe,
then, life probably shall not be such a bore.

I wish I were waitress, I shall always stare at the presentation of my dishes,
which shall only connect as one semi-solid mass on the insides..
I think that is how I want my life, handed out on a clean plate and decked with wishes,
but to realize it's all those put together that gives me the taste. Sugar and salt.

I wish I were a waitress, for more reasons than one,
for I can play with little babies's cheeks as I pass,
to sometimes skid my shoes through the floor and sometimes run,
to hop on one leg and sometimes even do a chasse.

I wish I were a waitress,
so that I shall never be in distress,
 and even if I do, I shall drink down a gentleman's tea,
and be as happy and full as I can ever be.

A Shadow

I saw someone come with me all the while I walked on the streets so hot,
smaller in form, darker in shade..
Why she kept following me, I just don't understand.
Growing inch by inch, throwing her magnificent self across my body,
her details blurred, yet her form so clear, I saw her live
as she swallowed the light, holding it in her pit.. the illuminating rays so bright.
She kept ahead of me, holding my legs in her black mass..
and I just followed her wherever she went for the rest of the time, lit,
unable to leave her to her dark mates hidden in the narrow alleys and masses of opaques.
I thought she was weak, clinging to me like a filthy little rag,
sticking by the legs of a person she never knew.
But, I saw the fact that I couldn't get rid of her, try as I might,
until, she decided it was time.
Hours rolled and she started running behind me, like an unknown bond,
unable to let go of me...
An unacknowledged bond just like my hand or my sight,
only, she couldn't see, blind in her path that saw only me and no one else.
The evening sun set as I paced my footsteps faster,
in an urge to take her to safety, an incomprehensive love taking over me...
to let her live.
She didn't sense my efforts as she diminished, little by little,
her feet growing small with a shaded snake
grabbing her legs so taut from under my trousers.
I quickened my steps, wanting to see,
that mysterious entity, live with me...
and yet, she died. There. Right in front of my eyes,
falling apart, disappearing into the black of the tar of the roads..
screaming for help and searching for light.
I scrambled on my knees catching at her waist when her belly exploded
and all of her swallowed light flew,
catching my hair in its golden rays, merging with the black around.
To see her last sprinkles dissolve into thin air that hosts the unending black.
I shrieked for company and tried to hold on to her,
but she only slipped away, like an element so free.
I envied her freedom from where I knelt, vanishing into substances
and wetting my cheeks with hot tears streaming
at a demise so unknown...
Merely to realize, that she was bound.
Just the very next day clinging to me, yet again.
She went on to live without the botheration of having to die.
She just, held on to my physical existence, recognized
for I think she knew my soul might not cast any for others to see and sense.
She lived, a constant reminder of a nagging thought that I don't understand,
until she clung to the trunk of a huge tree,
throwing me into darkness.

~ Hemu 

Dazed

What if I don't know want from need,

what if I can't see from desire and destiny?

For there runs a thin line as the heart does bleed,

to see the difference, to know if it's just a brevity.

I've told myself that there lies a sheaf of papers waiting for me to write,

to talk to it's lines and blanks, to create a new life,

yet, when I lift up the weightless flow of words to indite

I see all the articulate gushing in your way, in a rife.

What if I tell you I'm just accrued inside out,

with so much living, so much to show

all the sorrows of a hidden heart, only scared of the following flout,

a person who works from inside, driven by an urge to know.

For, every time I look at the midnight stars gleaming a little blue,

like my face, asking me to go ahead with what might be mine,

I stand still with the blowing winds, for I've heard dreams come true,

But what do I do, if there is someone else, whose heart too, in the same direction as mine, does incline?!?

Scarred

I know a girl.
A girl not too little, not too old enough.
For, under the bandeau she wears, there lies a heart
that makes her run out to soak in the rain and play on swings so high.
She knows there might be a rapist there at her door for all that she knows,
yet can't deny him water when he asks for some, worn out and tired.
I don't know if she has ever grown up,
that little girl I know, not bothered by inhibitions others throw at her,
she lives, not for survival,but for living alone.
On the swings she plays, there lies her soul jogging up to the sky,
in umpteen attempts to let go and fly, yet clings on to the body it knows,
just so that she wouldn't be left alone.
That soul knows she'll be hurt, that the swing will one day give away,
people she loves will hurt her hard,
so that when she falls face down on the earth..
and that when she gets up,
 they'll look at her bemired face in colours not hers and laugh.
Her soul told her,
"Little girl, don't be so dulcet.
They're going to punch you with words you wouldn't have heard before,
with smirks so scathing that it can flake the layers of your heart.
Stay with me, I'm not going to go, I'll be there only for you."
The little girl I knew stood up on the inside of her eyes and cried,
"Oh let's not be cynical. Stay with me and I'll show you what it is that I love,
apart from you without who I can't last.
Be by my side and I'll show you the little world I can experience,
but only with your help."
Saying so, she ran out into the open meadows in a flimsy shift,
oh, under that bandeau., she ran out unprotected, into the sun and rain.
Sun gave her strokes and the rain blew her over with storms,
yet, she went on not realizing, what she was headed for.
Her face immaculate and her soul
near to being convinced,
of all the happiness in the world.
She grabbed those ochre ropes to fly
into the blues she always thought was just a moment's reach away.
But as she flung herself above, they snapped like an angry dog,
throwing her a few feet across, to hit against the rock she loved sitting on.
A gash ripped her cheek.
She cried on the flowers whose colours she loved.
Her soul picked her up and she ran.
Ran till she reached the singing creek so clear.
She peeped and saw the girl, in blood and pain.
No wind blew to wipe away her tears
nor did anyone come to pick her up.
She washed her face, her whites now stained.
I saw that girl who I thought I knew.
I look at her reflection, her scars now healed,
but a part of her soul lost forever.
Damn. I thought I knew this girl looking back at me,
as I looked upon the soul I loved look back at me,
not blaming me,
but cried in silent sobs..
I only thought I knew for.
I hurt her and I never even knew.
Oh, so who do I even know?
Me or the one in the mirror?

~ Hemu

Unseen Tears

There survives a clown.

Colours so bright on his clothes

and people's smirks so humiliating and full of glee, 

when they see that painted face..

in red, green and vivid colours 

showcasing the stark reality of human emotions,

ones that they find so entertaining.

Exaggerated eyes, open to happenings, 

Ears that listen to what they have to say..

Hair of Nature's vibrant hues, 

catching and grabbing everyone's attention- To be laughed at.

He is who they call a clown...

In funny clothes and a big red  nose, 

which manipulates a smile on their faces..

On this stage, he brought out his caliber, 

Qualities that were surpassed upon as yet another cheap trick to make them laugh..

The world's sadistic thoughts and pleasures were revealed,

when they see him jump up and down, to fill his stomach..

coz then, they laugh till their stomachs ache.

Masses just fall off their chairs, laughing at his antics

and the talent that they don't realize,

just seeing that smile. A powerful one.

At the end, they get up to leave, 

not bothering about a man who is calling for them to stay,

or a hug to share,

or a mere handshake to remember.

All that they did was, still laugh at his face.. 

and the bogus walk that he possessed.

Everybody was convinced of the large smile painted on his face,

that just smiled despite sad drooping lips and looks.

Nobody cared to come near,

assuming the happiness he faked.

For,
Had they come near and seen a little farther, 

they would've seen and felt

the tears dying into a ground so moist.

It's just tears flowing free...

beyond the painted smile that they all just see.

Hemu 

The Roadside Whore

I had never seen such a man before, 

in all epitome of his handsomeness, and a smile that washed ashore worries.

I called forth to him, while he stood at the end of the street, 

by the lamp post crossing his legs and staring at me. 

My rouge grew redder, like I've never felt before,

I set my hair, smoothening my curls looking at the man. 

Not knowing if a second call would be needed,

So, I just stood watching his body, naked behind the clothes I shed from my vision. 

He looked like a man of word, more than flesh,

as I hoped what he would be, in all his being. 

He would be different I hoped, a writer perhaps, 

documenting miseries and glees. 

Perhaps, he'll understand my pleasure at seeing a man like him, 

a man in that black suit pressed to the last crease now invisible. 

As my thoughts grew, he walked towards me, 

holding a smile that kindled my inner soul.

What if he was the one? What is this was it ?

I held my breath as I walked with him as he slipped his arm around my shoulders, 

unlike the other men who walked away from me, 

only meeting me in a cramped place so desolate. 

Probably he is, oh, he is. 

We walked somewhere, I don't know where, a man with me, 

who didn't throw me dirty looks, looked at me as a woman. 

Like a person who knows what femininity means. 

Into his room, I waited for him to say something.

Yet, there were no words.

He tore my blouse down to mere shreds of cloth, 

releasing himself from the stiff clothes.

Raw feelings grew as we hit the bed, him biting away at my flesh, 

full of meaning. Everything he did, was a feeling 

I had never felt before in my life. 

Our bodies locked, the world faded as I gave myself to him in a way 

I never gave myself to anyone else. 

More than mere flesh, more the lips to tear open. Something beyond.

Something special. Something like him. 

Hours passed and the rage subsided as he slid out of the bed, 

bereft of a blanket around us, there is nothing to hide. Nothing to conceal. 

Fumbling into his pants, he looked at me through the dim light.. dressing back to what he was. 

He stabbed into his pockets bringing out some pieces of highlighted papers. 

And kept them in front of me. 

I stared up in shock and nodded, acknowledging the pay. 

He pulled his coat over and adjusting his tie, 

just like before, dressing in perfection, just like the 'perfect sex' he just gave me. 

Only now, there were creases on his coats, that stood out laughing at my face. 

Laughing at my crumpled hopes.

He turned and walked away without a second glance, 

as I sat naked, my face down in disappointment. 

But I won't cry, I won't lament.
For I've seen more than this. 

I'm the roadside whore, calling out to you, 

I, who fake groans and moans in bed. 

I, who still search for miracles everyday.

Waiting for it to hit my bed before another man does. 

For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you.  

I shall live. I shall fight. 

For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you. 

Many hazy manifestations

You look at me like the early morning sunshine that hits the blooming lily,

calling out to her, pulling her baby petals out so slowly that her transition doesn't reveal. 

She flowers, growing up, and to gaze out at the sun, 

He, who lured her out to the world that awaits, splashing his light across her breasts. 

She got up from her sleep and dreams amidst weeds many, 

and fallen leaves of sizes, imploring, in want of attention. 

In need of a warm caress, even as someone does pass. 

You talked to me like the winds to fawning chimes, 

animating metal, arousing clinks and taps of wood. 

I sat in front of you, in all your obliviousness, listening ;

like an enchanted forest living in the hands playing a harp,

The dead who listened and returned to live, against the courts of nature. 

But I only went close to being dead, living in a trance, all in one. 

Listening to the spirit that spoke. 

Time sped against itself, as I fought for moments of togetherness

to stay, to accumulate what I heard, and accentuate the silences full of unnoticed stares, 

to the reflexive smile that sent sparks up in the air, 

flaming what I might call mine, because it burnt me so hard. I felt like I was on ice ;

wanting hot beverages in total contrasts to situations that hold, 

living where I wasn't supposed to be. 

Roaming in dreams yet to come alive. 

We walked together in brief moments of eternity, 

like the waves kissing the shores always wet, like snaps of the fingers 

of a man, a slave to music, wherever it played.

Like the one moment in dance, the air under feet reaching the ground from the past

attitude, knowing which lines of the wooden board would engage the next touch. 

You rolled out my sensitivity like a carpet, my skin feeling every step, living in every touch. 

Like the need of a baby to be rocked at her father's chest. To be lulled to sleep. 

I saw, I perceived, floating up and about, like a balloon released of it's content, 

in slowness, in grace, visiting all eons in the present, blowing out ice patterns 

in the air, and falling limp later, on the cold snow. She didn't know she could create. 

Like a woman chased by a predator, running as fast as wind, 

in speeds she never knew she possessed. Meandering about fields so green, 

so that she wouldn't fall to scrape her knees, or to trip on beds of flowers. 

So that even a valley of flowers don't awaken her. 

I stood at the faint distance to see you smile at another, 

waiting like a farmer on his parched land, sitting on open throats of the earth, 

calling out to the rain, asking for the heavens to throw open, what it locks in it's greys.

But it was summer and rains were far behind,  I was there in a light that you couldn't see. 

In a land of songs that you couldn't hear, in numbness that touch doesn't manifest, 

In browns swallowing withering whites, sunshine that didn't last, 

and my thoughts that you were dumb not to catch.  

And so, I end up seeing you as what I see you. 

Something that you might be or something that I only imagine you to be. 

Seeing little bulbs on a decorated deck like stars falling off the black skies. 

Soothing myself with talks that I proposed for you, 

listening to it all my myself. Seeing it run in my head. 

To the living boy in a muddled head of words, paint and music, 

who just crashed open, taking with him my hope. 

Something that was mine. Something that isn't him. 

Silence, splashed colours and crumbled words cried together,

in soft whispers as I tried to gather. 

But my hands are too small to hold them all,

to throw them back into the sets of my dreams.  

For now, there is nothing to bind them with. 

No him to put them behind and gaze at the beauty of it. 

So, i just walked on.

Catching them all in the soles of my feet 

hurting myself as I stepped over dreams that fell.

This was my entry at Saarang Writing Awards 2013

Rain dance

I opened my eyes to the lashing waves growing in unison,
syncing somewhere, to the calls of it's long lost waters.
They crashed, livid,  on the rocks jagged in it's shape,
not caring enough if it'll hurt, not bothering if it'll kill.
The azure spread ahead, merging with lines I couldn't see,
throwing about grey blotches of clouds, mizzling against the skin of my arms.
I stood rooted, under a pavilion ancient, taking it all in,
sights I saw and the sounds I heard.
Sea brought with her, winds so loud,
singing a song I had never heard before,
blowing into my ears secrets I haven't known so far,
telling me to get out and see all that I've missed.
I saw the music travel through the blues and reaching the black I wore,
which, held the drops of the misty drizzle concealed,
as the afternoon sun refused to show..
throwing at me a wash of blue and light, at my face.
I stood there against the slapping drizzle through the small marquee,
trying to pull me out, and away from the diary and a pen,
while I stood rooted looking at the foam hit the rocks,
staying on still until air broke it's soul..Staying..
until he beckoned me out.
Beckoned me out to listen to the tune of the wind,
the joy of rain and the price of the sight I saw..
He beckoned me out. Out of what I thought and held.
I flipped the diary on the granite table so wet,
and walked out into the open to hold his hand.
How long we were each other's hands I barely know,
how long we talked in hushed whispers, I never reflected.
His words reaching me in, one word a time,
one syllable stretching into echoes into the empty mind he recreated.
I clung to his shoulder in completeness, dancing to the whisting winds,
and the beating waves on the sands hidden, beneath travelling wetness.
 The moistened air held me to him, his hand gluing us together,
as he made me realize what I had just stared at for so long.
Terpsichore, it felt like, all elements bringing him to me,
as he further wet my lips, the call singing like an unknown force,
not to be heard, but to be felt. To be electrocuted with.
 I danced and danced, until my legs became too tired to stop,
I closed my eyes to take in the moment I had lived through,
to breathe and feel his smell upon my neck,
I closed my eyes to him, for that one moment, outstretching my hands,
to welcome him to reality. To feel the wetness seep through my skin.
An eon passed as I opened my eyes to see the agaze of my friend,
a smile on her lips, a question in her stare.
I ran into the shelters, grabbed my diary and ran downstairs.
Not looking back. Not looking up.
But only the ground, because it kept my feet fixed to the earth.
Not like him, making me fly.

This was my entry at Saarang Writing Awards 2013

Nirvana?

I saw her against the darkness of the space,
shining out as light, emanating radiance.
Her skin, fair as I can see, immaculate and smooth,
triggered off silver sparks as her petite hand brushed a speck of dust, off her shoulders...
Nude, in fullness of form and eternity,
she remained seated, her femininity aggressively delicate..
with the soft curves of her hide and the tender thought of her touch.
Her bare back I could see, like the path of a flowing river, smooth along its spine,
glossy, reflecting the light, and living, with a form so indescribable..
But there interrupted her massive wings accentuating her frame,
huge white wings, feathers showing off purity, embracing her back,
and elegance I envisaged, from the crouching figure so perfect.
Was that what defined her, a combination of beauty in form and strength at sight?
Her black mane flowed with the wind, every strand lustrous,
yet it's silky locks merging with the infinite blackness behind,
and creating intricate patterns when against her pale form.
She lay there, still, motionless, her hands hugging her knees,
her head down, looking like the acme of coziness,
of a package of all that is strength and power..
of femininity and grace.
Enchanted I stood, looking at the glowing form in front of me,
mesmerized, as the wings unfolded up into the air,
to reveal the majesticity she ruled..
..Throwing at me the visual weight and the lightness with which the ashen being floated.
I saw the alarmed countenance that she thrust into my mind,
a face of soft speech, its lines gentle as a breeze.
Nothing was more beautiful than what I saw, nothing much prettier,
Nothing more real and nothing more magical.
Her lips curled in a question, pink and lush,
that which appeared to speak only the truth..
She looked complete, her eyes hazel-brown,
Yet, there reigned a hint of sadness that I couldn't perceive.
Her eyes warmed down as she saw I wasn't a threat,
The hazed stare softening into a glance,
as the white weightlessness she held moved down in ease, calmly.
She looked at me and I saw something new,
It moved inside her eyes so beautiful and charming..
Until then,
I never knew angels also cried...

My Cindrella story

I stood next to her as she looked with eager eyes at those women,

with all of a hundred thousand butterflies trapped inside of her, 

A heart that only knew how to love and cry, unsummoned, 

Yet scared to show what she is, scared to err. 

Her eyelashes lifted up to call the falling snows, 

Rain gathered up in her cloudy eyes..

She wanted to hug and cry, like a little baby doe

Yet she fell at the bench unable to rise. 

This girl here, I don't know..

why she wouldn't live, why she wouldn't realize, 

that life outside beckons, that she needn't bow..

I don't know why she settled for her tattered disguise.

I placed my hand on her shoulder for her to feel, 

to know there was someone standing next to her that she didn't see 

Her moist eyes couldn't see me through, a watered veil

She looked trapped, with a face that said it'll never be free.

"Who are you?", she asked in utter astonishment.
"I am your fairy godmother, who else?", I said.
She stared at me from top to bottom, in dissent..
For, to her I didn't see godmother-bred.

"You don't look old, you don't have a wand,
Your hair ain't white, I cant see any cloak in sight,
How do you suppose I'll take you for real, for me to bond?
If you aren't all that, how are you supposed to be right?"

Her soul was searching for an answer I could envision,
for I was in front of her wearing a black gown, as dark as the sky,
yet with all the light it needs, I supposed, the vision.
I stood next to her, a girl, everything that she is, just standing by.

"I needn't have come in a cloak for you to reckon,
I needn't spin it high and low for you to believe, aurum..
I'm everything that you are, just like you, every other second..
For I can't see you sitting forever like this, always mum."

She looked up to see, what I'd do..
I only sat there, looking at her blue form staring at me hard,
I could see pain emanate, from what had been given to her, the rue,
She sighed, looked down at the winter daisy next to her, her air so sad.

"Don't you want to go out there, where they've gone?
It'll be fun. Lights, people and so many ball songs,
Your Prince Charming might be waiting, to take you, for him,you might've born,
So, you can't be weeping here, you can't take so long!"

Her eyes sparkled with a sudden excitement, and she looked up to see me,
"So, can you give me a blue ball gown to wear?
I want to see the whole world, for that one man-to have, to see,
That one man who'll find me in that blue, so rare!"

I sighed and shook my head, and saw her face fall.
and her hands fiddled with her cotton dress,
"Then how will I go to the ball?",
she asked, "how will I look the best?"

"What did you think my job was? It's not to give you a gown to wear
and a coach to ride, but to tell your heart to pursue what it desires,
for one day your bright blue dress may tear,
but your love will stand strong while your coach might expire!"

"You don't need that dress to see your love,
you don't need riches to make him see you, to love you,
If you can enjoy a sunset as they fly by, doves
so harmonious, he is there, your beau."

"But what if he doesn't notice ", she inquired,
"what if he doesn't know, oh what will I do?
If even I didn't know, that he's the one heavens have hired,
what if he can't see through?"

She was intelligent, but not enough for her mind to take,
for her heart was large, and it held thoughts too many,
I asked her to try her luck, to brush off the flake,
to live her life, go where her feet takes her, to find her silver jenny!

She got up a little better, to wash her face and get into another
simple green cotton dress, not torn yet..
She stooped to pick up the daisies,to place them on her hair. A smother,
and I sent her off by the lake, my sweet little pet.

He came by to catch a breath of fresh air,
Just in time, a man she had seen before,
Tall, handsome and fair,
during many days of her life of chores!

He was the man she saw dressed in simple clothes,
like a vagabond boy, running through the outskirts,
who had many a time stole her stares, from the corner roads,
his roadside songs of love, her concerts.

He saw her refection against the dark sky, a girl so bright,
the girl who he loved, the simple girl so kind,
A cheery song, her voice so sweet and his cherished sight,
His love who turned him shaky, his love who turned him blind.

"Would you like to dance?", he asked, his hand outstretched,
She looked at the familiar face with fear, scared to give,
yet he didn't give up, her hand, he himself fetched,
He pulled her close to dance, the song so faint and the life ahead to live.

She looked at his black eyes that pierced her heart,
"I've been waiting for you for so long, to see you like this,
As the little lass I love, who didn't know I'm a prince, a bart,
to take you in my arms, oh, this must be bliss!"

"I'm no princess, as you can see", she exclaimed.
"just a girl from the houses, where you'll never be,
I didn't expect you here, I don't know what to say,
but whatever it is, in your arms, I find glee!"

I looked at them dance and as he walked her in,
she turned back to look at me, and smiled in full,
suddenly, she told him something and walked towards me, with a grin,
and she hugged me hard, like a strong little bull..

"Tell me, my friend, how did you know?
that he was here to see me come, that I had him in my dreams?"
I told her I was her godmother and that I'd know,
that I know more than her, what does happen and how it seems.

Yet, after that she asked me a question, that made me cry,
"Are you also in love?", she asked me so cute,
I looked at the moon flying with the clouds that went by,
I thought of the man who did, have my heart, who did loot.

"Yes, I am, but it won't make any difference now,
situations have gone beyond my control,
So, for now, in, you have to go,
there is something written for you inside that scroll."

She saw me look her through my brown eyes  blurred,
she hugged me hard, something that no one had given me,
and said, "You may be my fairy godmother, but love has incurred,
and like you said to me, you'll never know, until you jump into the sea."

Tears ran down my cheek as I let her go,
and as she last whispered into my ears, a farewell note,
Just then, it again began to snow,
"Go tell him,I know he loves you too, just as you float!"

I saw her smile and I knew,
she was my fairy godmother, that the heavens had dewed !

~Hemu

Pages, Conversations.

"Dearest Ishaan,
Today, quite a long day. I met Aishu at the park. We spoke for a very long time. About me, about him and how I feel for him. I didn't know what to say. I felt there was so much to say, yet I found no words trying to seek recognition. I was scared of what she'll say. I feared she'll tell me it's happening for real and that I'll have to face it. I'm still frightened to face reality. I hid behind the screens, hiding tears from a close friend..."

                                                                   ********

"...is pathetic!",she said.

Daksha turned around in her direction, breaking free from her still world and thoughts, just as she heard the last word uttered, in extreme exasperation.

"Huh? What?"
"Ducky! You didn't hear a word of what I said?!?"
"Err.. I did.. But..."
"Why man?"
 "Eh? What why? I don't get you!"
"You mean, you don't pretend to get me?"
"Now, hold on. What do you want me to say now?"
"Please! Why don't you just speak it out?"
"Speak about what Aishu? I told you everything that happened!"

Aishwarya looked at the lake ahead of them. It glistened with dancing diamonds balancing on its ripples. It seemed like she chose words from the waters..with uncertain behavior. Sometimes smooth, sometimes harsh, and sometimes breaking all the rocks..
She looked at her friend trying to read her thoughts and then, returned to her gaze to the jeweled lake set amidst the crowded park..

"Yes. You did,", she said, pausing after every word, "But, you haven't told me how you feel."
"I'm fine. I can manage!"
"For how long?"

                                                                     *********

"I'm unable to hold the feeling back any longer. That's always been the case with me, hasn't it? Earlier, I refused my every idea of telling him how I feel. And now, this. It feels abrupt, like something has popped out of the blue to break my dream bubbles. I wanted to tell her that. That, I am heart-broken. She looked at me with such a piercing stare that almost bore through my air. I wanted to break down, that one moment.To let all my locked up sorrow, disappear like fireflies flying under sunshine. I would've, had I not looked away.. But something inside me held me back, Ishu. I don't know what.. I don't know what you'd name it.. Ego? Helplessness? I really don't know, still. I could only speak in accentuated silences, not knowing how to respond. Not knowing if I'd be able to hold back wet eyes if I told her..."

                                                                     *********
"It won't hurt you Ducky,holding back tears. It isn't wrong to cry. It is pretty much natural."

The wind blew across Daksha's face pushing back her wavy hair to fall against her cheeks. Her small eyes kept gazing at the setting sun. Disappearing light, she thought.

"Yeah.", she said.. not turning.."like every other thing that's happened to me."
"It happens to everyone. You're not alone, you have to trust me with that. I've been through the same phase. So has everyone."
"But I'm me at the end of the day, Aishwarya. And I can only see loneliness and despair. I'm here with you, not everyone else."
"It'll fade."
"When?"
"Look, he's your first big sweetheart, dear. It'll take time to fade, sweet monkey.. but it will."
"Don't say that!"
"Don't say what?"
"That he is my first big sweetheart.. and that I'll grow out of it. I don't want to. I like him, still."
"Why don't you just let it out, what you really think and feel about it?"

                                                                    *********

"I feel dejected. Like someone has stripped me of my dream.. of my love.. of my child. Though I've never really been with him, gone out or taken care of him.. I have done it all. Imaginations. Fantasies, Dreams. So many dreams where he was there, where I told him that I love him.. where we made out in the dark.. where everything I felt, felt real. Though those were dreams that were woken up to reality, I had a smile in the morning, hoping he would see, it's because of him. But now, I feel ripped out of everything I ever had. I've lost myself, spacing out inbetween conversations and happy moments... of others and the fake me.
       I felt cheated. My wishing star didn't bring my love to me. Instead she separated us. She put another girl in between. She holds both her hands now. Not any longer though, because I ran away..I ran away the moment I saw whose hands I was in..."

                                                                  **********

"Well, they didn't work for me!", she said as a matter-of-fact.
"It will, you'll have to wait."
"For how long?"
"How much ever long it takes for the true one to come by. You'll learn to appreciate real love, when it comes by."
"You think I like him as in, for a past time!?"
"No. But there is a time for everything. There'll be someone who'll love you for all the wishes you make on that star you sit under, every night. There'll be someone who'll come, who'll sweep you off your feet."
"But, what about Him?"
"It'll be hard. But even this will pass."
"But, I don't want it to Aishu..", she said, her face taut, bereft of a smile, a tear.
"It'll heal."
"It'll leave a scar."
"Well, you can't live with a wound all your life."
"Maybe not."
"Please Daksha, why don't you just spill it out, just once. I won't ask you questions. I'll just sit beside you here. No one can see us here anyway. Just cry it out of your heart."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't cry in front of others except for Ishaan."
"Diaries don't respond back to you,Daksha."
"Diaries arent mere books Aish!", she flared.

She sighed.

"Yes! I know, but now, you've forgotten how to talk to people. And to cry on shoulders. "

                                                              **********
"She thinks you don't talk back, Ishaan. She doesn't know you does she? I love the way you respond. A silent listener, yet not indifferent. I talk to him through you. I talk to everyone through you. But it confuses me, she writes diaries too...
      But,yes, sometimes, I do wish you could hug me to sleep... on your lap.. "

                                                               **********

"Move on, sweet monkey."
"I am."
"Stop lying, I can see through your eyes."
"I'm moving within inside."
"You seem to be stuck with thoughts of him."
"I'll learn to move."
"What thoughts do you hold of him still?"
"All my memories Aishu. All that he said to me. As the boy I liked, who, still doesn't know I love him."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Oh, why do you lie to me?"

Daksha turned to face her serene face looking with compassion and love. The night moon had emerged running along the night sky. Moonlight fell on her friend's face illuminating her aura. Those inquiring eyes through those rimmed spectacles.
    And it blurred. She felt warm hands hug her. Her eyes closed. The tears fell. she grasped to hear soothing sounds inclining her. She cried harder, like she had,never before. Shedding all tears she had so long swallowed. As the moon ran behind the dark clouds, the breeze flowed by.. carrying the tears of not one young lady, but two.

                                                                 ************

"It is tearing up my insides to see him with another girl. To see him love another like how I wanted to be. I still like him hoping against every fact and reason that shines, that shows he is head-over-heels in love with that other girl I feel so jealous of. Of every reason that shows he's in love with another girl and not me. Throughout myself, I feel this searing pain shoot up... like blood flowing through my veins.. except with an illuminating and inflicting feeling. I've tried to come out of it, but sometimes I get so reminded of him, his smile and all that he's said to me.. that I'll transcend on from reality. Fantasy overpowers me and I think of him... Reveries.
                      I still under the stars talking to you.. Strangely, I am not weeping as I do, when I want to cry. I'm writing into you with a sane head, but full of emotions. Not crying, because, there are no more tears for today. I've split it all on her shoulders.. I didn't say a word. But she understood. I was alone and she came there for me. She made me see, I wasn't alone. She told me, she loves me. She said I'll find a boy who'll love me more than anyone else in this world. She said he'll sweep me off my feet...and make me feel like a princess..that He'll understand me more than anyone else..that He'll love me for what I am. And that, he'll replace you.
       I lost myself and felt better. I never knew tears could heal. That crying in someone else's arms could heal even better. I don't know if he'll come by, to love me.. don't know if he'll ever hug me better.
I had never wished for her on my wishing star, but she gave me Her. Probably, the stars know what I need. I only probably know what I want.
Good night.
I love you, Ish!
Daksha. "

~Hemu 

Grace

He lifted her chin up for him to see her moist eyes pour. Glassy as they were, the tears reflected his eyes as they rolled down her pink cheeks to reach out to the ground. It hurt him to see her that way. To see her cry. To see her in pain. He dragged the rattan stool near the bay window she sat by. She could see him settle down below her sight, for him to place his hands on her lap... to look at her with concern. She looked around his room to find something that'll stop the fall of misery from her brown being.. to find something to look away, from his inquiring stare. She could find nothing that could hold her back and her glance fell down.. to the hands that were holding her, in pain, in silence.

  " What happened baby?"
  "Oh.. Err... nothing. I'm.. I'm.. just thinking..", she stammered.
  "And you expect me to believe that?"
  "Why? Why won't you?"
  " Because, I don't usually see you cry. Tears are usually your last resort. So, why don't you just stop overacting and tell me what's bothering you?", he said.

    She kept mum. He sighed. A long day, he thought, as he got up to sit on the cushions, next to her. He took her hands into his, for her to see that he was right there, next to her. She looked up to see the sinking sun's evening rays hit his face.
    He didn't say anything. He just looked right into her eyes, boring for some truth out of her heart and some words out of her lips. He just sat there, next to her, for several moments, waiting for her to speak.. to pour it all, while, she stared back at his patience. Finally, she spoke..

   " It was this boy at college..", she mumbled.
   " Our college you mean?"

 She nodded her head in response to his query.

   "What about him? Who, anyway?", he asked.
   " Names aren't very necessary, because a lot of people say such stuff about and to me."
   "Who said what, my dear?"

   She reverted to silence for a minute, looking at some faraway doves flying against the orange-red sky. There was a raging fire excogitating in her eyes, yet something that flowed with the calmness and serenity of a flowing river.

   " Grace.", she muttered.
   "What?"
   "Grace. They say I'm not graceful. Not womanly."
   "And you feel bad about it?" he asked, his eyebrows arching upward in wonder and astonishment.
   "No, I don't always feel that way, but sometimes...", she said, dragging her words into an endless pit.
   "..But sometimes you do feel bad about it, right?", he finished for her.
  "Yes!"

     He sighed and looked out of the window. For a long time, he didn't talk.. It sounded like a silent predecessor to something deserving of crowning glory, in all quietness and suspense. Like the descending sun that was going to plunge the world into darkness. But, darkness just throws more light, she thought. Darkness is where people strain their eyes to see the truth...to put in more effort and to grope the idea of reality.

    She waited for him to speak, to break the pounding sound in her heart. He looked up to see her expectant face.. after she broke the silence, no longer being able to bear it.

  "Did I sound too silly? Are you angry that I feel this way?", she exclaimed.
  "No, just exasperated."
  "What?"
  " Yes, I thought a girl of your caliber would know much better than that!"
  "Don't I?", she beseeched.
  "No, I just saw that you don't."

        Her face fell. There was some sudden feeling of increased fear, anxiety and loss that radiated in dark circles from around her face. A feeling of being lost. A feeling of hopelessness in a land where she felt she would never get to know people, their ideas and conceptions. He saw her face muscles strain and her throat swallowing a gulp. He smiled, looking at his girl, that left her puzzled.

   "Do you know, baby, what it is to be graceful?"

 She thought for some moments. It sounded like a posed question in an exam hall. She wanted to make sure she had the right answers.

  "Hmmm... to be graceful.. is to be feminine? Walking and talking like a typical girl would? To be interested in  shoes and 'girly' stuff and not football... Everything that...", she paused for a moment. "Everything that I'm not.", she said, breathing out aloud.
  
   A clear ringing sound of his laughter rang in her ears. Startled as she was, she looked up to see if he was faking it to make her feel better. She saw, that it was pure unscathed laughter from the bottom of his stomach and soul. As genuine as melting gold. Nonplussed, she kept looking at him. wondering what she had said, that made his sides tickle so hard. He caught the look of question and confusion on her face and tried to subside his moments of roaring source of joy.
  And at last, he did. Slowing down, speaking carefully, his every word weighed against his heart and reason, he uttered..

  "Oh, how much you make me smile. Is that what you think grace is?"
  "Errrr... yes. Is it not so?", she asked her eyes wide with innocence.

 He smiled yet again.

   "Oh, my baby.. I wouldn't say so.Not exactly. It's a very superficial and dumb way of looking at it."
   "By that you mean?"
   "By that I mean, walking on stilettos, living on girl gossip or being fragile and petite, is not, being graceful.", he said emphasizing every word. "Grace isn't all this."
   " But.. but.. this is what everyone calls it to be. And that's why everyone calls me masculine in a lot of ways... because I live on sports, hang around in shorts and tees! Sometimes, I even feel scared you'd leave me and go because I am not elegant or graceful."

    His jaw dropped as she said that. the smile vanished but a hint of the smile remained.

   "Oh no," he said, "Don't even think like that. That, is not how I perceive you!"
   "Then, whatever do you mean by grace in a woman? I still don't understand what you're trying to say!"

He took a deep breath and spoke...

     "Grace is that abstract and innate aura in you that shines out brightly, from everyone else. It is the principles you hold and the deeds you do. It's the heart of yours that doesn't mind blood on your clothes when trying to help a hit animal. It's that smile of yours so passionate as you pass a child and the kiss that you give her, kneeling down on your knees.. going down to her level of thoughts and fun. It's the way you hit me, in full knowledge of being strong enough to hit me such that it pains, yet, pretending to be less stronger so that you wouldn't have my ego hurt. It's in those powerful strides in spikes across the stadium's track, those legs moving in expertise, living in its fleeting space in air.

 It is in that loud laughter of yours that lets out happiness without being bothered about another person's opinion... it's in your eyes that I see true joy and bliss, when you smile! Your, eyes, that smile. It's elegance that pushes you forward in a crowd of hundred to dance first.. a confident woman... It's grace, the way you ride my bike, which other girls might not even try, It's your hot temper that I see, and annoying nature that makes me think you're adorable. It's the guts with which you stand up for, when you know you're right... It's graceful, when I see you walk from far, waving to me.. and the jumps of a kid that you possess. It's that factor, that makes you go haywire and do things, gracefully, in a way, that other people are too scared to attempt.

   It's that grace in you that makes me love you. It's that grace that made me see the truth. It's that grace, which is you.!"


      He beamed, in seriousness. She saw the soft lines of his face and the curves of his smile. She squeezed his hands in gratitude and understanding. Looking down at his hands, she smiled and cried, a moment to herself. A moment to cherish.

   "So, did you now, my love," he said cheesily, "understand what it is, that's, grace and what makes you a woman more than anything else?"

   She smiled. the sun was fast setting and his face grew decreasingly visible. She knew, he was waiting for her, to speak. To reply.
And she did..

   "I don't know if I exactly understand,what that grace is, that makes me a woman..", she said. "But I know, now, what it is, that makes you a man."

Even in the darkness, she knew,he smiled to himself, satisfied and absolute.

~Hemu