songs of togetherness

As you stand with me today, the wind blows my hair across my face, tangling it, untangling and making newer tangles.In the same wind that plays with my hair, I smell your breath, your smell. A little bit of the hospital that you carry along with you always, the smell that I leave on you, and your smell of you. Every time I've stood with you like this, I feel new,I feel different, and yet I feel the same.I feel happy and then I feel tears wetting my eyelashes. I feel like singing. Songs with no lyrics, no music, but still songs, inside me, that I know you will hear, without even having to listen hard...

the middle path

It’s cold and you put your hands around me. I brush it away. And wrap my arms around myself. You shrug but say nothing. I can see the wistful look in your eyes. I pretend to not care. In between hours divided for others and other things, this is some time we have together. But am not ready to be happy.
I can be content with more of this. Even nothing of this.
Its this midway that hurts.

!

There’s pleasure in waiting
It’s like licking an ice cream cone
Bottoms first.

clouded conversations

Its will be hard on him. But he has to know. After 7 years of living together I owe it to him.

She played with the sands around her as she sat leaning her back on to him. He was humming a song. She knew she had heard it somewhere. But couldn’t place the song nor could she remember the lyrics.

It was he who had pushed her into setting up her own business after her miscarriage. He had wanted her to take her mind off things that bothered her. And she was thankful for that. And she loved what she was doing. Interior designing had always been her passion. And making houses feel like homes gave her a great sense of accomplishment. Hers was a small business. Just 4 years old. A baby when compared to most other giant designing houses. But she did have a nice small set of clients. It was that He had come into her one roomed office and wanted her to do up his studio apartment.

How would he take it? Leave me probably? I guess it’s best for the both of us. Why would he want to live with someone who had almost betrayed him?

Anu?

She was startled at the sound of his voice.

I think am falling in love...

She couldn’t believe it

I...

Let me complete Anu...

I don’t know if you’ve felt this before. But I have. A feeling that life is dull, boring and aimless?

He continued not waiting for her answer.

She swallowed and waited with bated breath.

Well I have. Many times. Especially after what happened to us over four years ago. And every time I tried to pick myself up, I found that I couldn’t. But then there was this face that always egged me on, convinced me that everything was alright. And that life is indeed wonderful.

I wonder how we both can feel the same way and yet have been living under the same roof. Atleast now I don’t have to be guilty about breaking his heart. Probably he wants a way out of this too.

She thought about Him unapologetically, without a trace of guilt, for the first time since she’d fallen in love with Him.

I want to tell you anu, that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met...inside and out. Am so glad you are mine. Am so happy you are with me. Am so lucky to have someone like you...to fall in love with again and again...every single day...


She sat there by him. Not knowing what to say. The sky melted into black. The song that he hummed made their words clear to her

faces that tell

Its not that I've never felt it before. Its perhaps that I've never thought about it before. Or perhaps I've thought about it before but not really sat down and pondered about it. Haven't you felt that there are faces that tell a story by themselves? Stories maybe with no titles, beginning middle and end, no climax or an anti-climax, but still stories?

I've always seen him near the serving table. A dirty off-red apron around him, his eyes gently looking around to see what each person who walks by the table has loaded on to a plate. sometimes, when I stop by for an extra helping of something, or when I go back to get it, I see his face light up, I see his eagerness to serve, and I wish my tummy would be better equipped to feel hungry all over gain, just to see him smile. His smile is never different from the ones my ammumma gives me when I tell her that the aviyal that she has made for me is remarkably wonderful, or when I just simply wipe my plate clean, and burp unapologetically, after having enjoyed a full meal. Its then that stories seem to swim above their heads. I know that these people enjoy cooking, but more than just the act of cooking, they love seeing people enjoy it.It is appreciation for them when they see wiped clean plates, and hear burps. I wonder at why burps are so looked down upon, that's perhaps your tummy telling you that it is happy with what you have fed it today. And I think you have the right to hear it.

There are faces that tell you what they are. I had a teacher who could have been nothing but a very kind and lovely teacher, one look at her would convince you of the same. There are painters who just look like painters, people who look like their names- Renukas you know will just be Renukas, Varuns who look like Varuns, Georges who could have not been anything else but George, women who have motherhood written on their faces, shopkeepers who you know will give sweets free to children...how many such faces, how many more stories...

I wonder if you have ever felt this way. I wonder what story my face tells...

happy b'day :)

You may call it a coincidence, I simply smile in glee :)


The two men in my life celebrate their birthdays together, tomorrow on the 21st of december.

Acha, thank you for being the strong solid rock that you have always been. will always be proud of being your daughter.
Manu, for making life so beautiful and enchanting, always and forever...

Love you both, for being special in more ways than one :)

Of endings and storytellings

I have always loved listening to stories. When I was a small child, I used to have two rounds of story telling everyday. One by my muthassan and the other, by achan. Muthassan always slept early, and so the first story telling or rather, listening as it was the case with me, was always with muthassan.




My muthassan was never like other grandparents. He wasn't the stay at home person. My muthassan was always busy, travelling throughout the country, staying at home only for a couple of days at a stretch every month, and so for me, every minute with him was precious. Everyone was scared of my muthassan. He had a hot temper, and he lost it quite frequently. I confess I was scared too, but then I was a small child, and small children always manage to escape the wrath....of anyone.




Muthassan always told me tales from the puranas-The Mahabharata, Ramayana, Jataka tales, the Panchatantra...all the stories that has ever been published in the Amar Chitra Katha Series and much more. My muthassan always had the knack of actually telling stories and not just narate them. Through his stories, I saw Ravana with his 10 heads and twenty arms, I saw the sudarshana chakra of Sree Krishna, I saw visions of a little squirrel rolling on the sand, helping Lord Rama build the Rama Sethu...I would listen enchanted, as muthassan reeled off stories, day after day, one after the other. I still wonder how Ravan managed when he got a cold. Wouldnt all his 10 heads sneeze at the same time? I wish I had lived at the time of Birbal and Tansen, of Shivaji and of Hanuman, I wish I could see Lord Ganesa eat at a feast...coz muthassan always spoke of these people as real people, people you and I might have known, people who would have been interesting to talk to and meet up with.




I've told you that my muthassan wasnt always at home. So sometimes, he had to leave a story unfinished,beacuse he had to travel the next day, and wasnt there at home to complete the story...I didnt like this much. It meant I would have to wait days, probably weeks to listen to the rest of the story. In the meanwhile,I would conjure up endings on my own. I would make Rama and Ravana fight inside my head. I would end stories my way, and make new tales out of old ones. I would continue this everyday making up different endings everyday, till muthassan was back to complete his story with the real ending....




I miss having stories told to me. I miss making up endings to stories. I miss my muthassan...as i told you, he was the best muthassan ever...

flutter-byes :)

For a dull drab day that this was turning out to be, butterflies has done the trick...thanks a lot sashu for giving me this award :)

there are many tags that i need to follow, many more that i need to write and lots more i need to read...but before i do that i know i need to honour this..the second award that i've recieved after having stepped into the blogosphere :)

So here are the rules of the tag:

1. Put the logo on your blog.
2. Add a link to the person who awarded it to you.
3. Link the bloggers whom you wanted to share this award to.

i'd like to award the butterfly award to :
1. manu: The one who makes my heart beat fast and slow at the same time.

2. sujichettan: for being an unfailing reader of all that i've written.

3. zeinab: for being a very open and honest critic of my writing. I need to thank him, for all the little mistakes that i've stoped making.

4. poornima: a blog that i stumbled on to recently, and couldn't stop reading since reading since.

5. mind bedouin: for being more than a friend and also for finally putting up her writings on her blog. and also for the honest comments she gives me.

6. amu: for being special. in more ways than one

so...

“So, does your wife know you are here?”
She asked him, ruffling his hair as he lay with his head on her chest.
“No.”
“Would she ever know?” She ran her fingers across his bare back and wiped a few sweat beads away.
“No.” He wrapped his arms around her more closely, and buried his head onto her bosom.
“What if she does?”
“She won’t.”
“Hmmmm!”
“You are not convinced.” He lifted his head from her breasts.
“If you are convinced so am I. It’s just that, if she finds out; it’ll be bad for you. But nothing for me.”
“It won’t affect you at all?” he was looking at her face as she said it. She seemed to believe what she was saying.
“No.” She said grinning.
“Why?” He contemplated sitting up. But then her body was too warm to leave. He sank down again, on her side, one arm draped around her belly.
“Coz you came to me. I never called you to come to me. I was never after you.” She looked at him right in the eye.
“And does that make a difference?” He didn't understand it. He did. But then he didn't.
“Amir!”
“Ok. I get it. But I can always say that you enticed me.” He thought that was smart enough.
“Ha! You would never say that.” She laughed
“I wouldn’t? What makes you think so?” He removed his arm from around her tummy.
“Coz I know you.” She stated
“Hmmmmm...” he sank into her again. “Do you?”
“Yes.” He wondered how she could be so sure about everything. Something that his wife never was.
“What do you know about me?”
“I know enough.” She said winking at him. Gently running her long fingers through his hairy chest.
“That’s not an answer.” Her fingers were driving him mad. He caught it and bit into her index finger.
She laughed.
“I know that you do not expect me to say ‘I love you’ to you. And I know that you don’t want to say that to me either. That’s all that you need isn’t it?”

He made love to her till morning. She gave him what he wanted till he left for his home.

wishing

I go to sleep everyday hoping I'd be woken up by your knocking on the door. I wake up everyday and open the door, hoping you'd be there, waiting for me to come out. I keep my room neat everyday, so that when you come, you would want to stay and never leave. I put kajal everyday, hoping you'd be there beside me, whispering how much you like my kohil lined eyes. I wait for you to get a holiday, hoping you'd come down to see me. I cry to you that I miss you, hoping one day, you surely will come to kiss my tears away. I wish everyday would be my birthday, so that you'll have a reason to surprise me by coming to me. I drape my bed with blue bedsheets, knowing that you love blue, and hoping one day, you'd wake up with me on them. i ask you come to me, you find different answers all the time...



I tell you that I miss you....don't you miss me too?