The lights of ecstasy.

We're not dissecting age-old norms here.
Nor will we talk about how it was wrong for her to have gone out that night. How it wasn't appropriate for her to step out of her periphery of custody.
But the want for freedom sometimes, beguiles the most careful of them, eyes.
And I have, always, silently appreciated her wavering attitude to stability. I somewhere, saw my unwavering soul in it. The one that has always dreamed of quenching her faltering thirst, but has never been able to take the first few baby steps. I was in awe of her. But that was a feeling that I solely kept inside of me, and thus, forever, sealed my lips.
Well, so coming back to the spunk of it all, she silently averted our attention that night, and made way, to the acropolis where royalty waited for her with baited and nervous breath.
I have never been  able to duly comprehend the love that existed between them, but then, she once silently whispered to me that love was not to be understood, either way.
And as she made way to his ready-to-embrace arms, she saw the lights that had forbidden her all along. The lights of pure ecstasy.

The incoherent ripples of child-dom.

We've all been part of the same sweet game. 

Often, if not, always, when abundance of emotions prevail, and situations run high and dry,

like the demystifying eyes, that flutter across your troubled brows,

that are often shriveled, like the ripples that we made in the lake, in the days of yore.

When often, life was defined by the shoe-clad wriggly feet,

that were often pointed to the stars in the wavering nights of child-dom.

Oh, how often, if not always, my thoughts go back to the same incoherent folk-tales.

When the Maharajah extended his strong hands to the erstwhile princess, and how we blushed,

at the prospective love that was deemed to happen.

You and I looked into each other's eyes, and we realized that love is not what is spoken about, only. Love can exist, sporadically, insignificantly. And having made our compelling discovery, receded into the the same child-dom of blooming happiness.

When you and I were a little different. 

A bit more silent, a bit less coherent, slightly more eloquent.

Touch-me-not plants had a role to play.

Summers are not what they used to be.
When a pony-tailed girl with a punch serenaded in shorts, wildly running in a beaver of touch-me-not plants.
When mangoes did not induce pimples.
Summers were different then.
I remember, in the old fort, when time was consumed by idyllic banter, and when evenings receded into unpretentious excitement.
When buses were red, and so were telephone booths.
When taxis were royalty,
And share autos amusing.
And the baby seats, that you were so reluctantly made to sit on, even more so.
When cinema meant whistles in single-screen theaters.
And the beach was where, your mother never let you be tempted by the water, lest you drown.
And a coke placated your empty heart.
When running around in a towel was pardonable.
I think the touch-me-not plants had a role to play.
Their importance only grew, not in the mere presence of it, but it in mind.
They slowly meandered into the summery afternoons.
While the pony-tailed girl, stood confused, and bewildered.
Change took place.  

The cross-legged animals.

It should help, the indifference.
Or so, I thought.
You smile at me. I do not smile back. Silently hoping that you'd realize your bad. Do you? Maybe, maybe not. Do I care? You might say no to that one, but you see, that's the funny part, I do.


There is a garden, a pretty one. With flowers, freshly dewed, or maybe watered. A lot of green, red, pink, all those happy colours. Basically, its my place, the place I live in, in my dreams. I own it, and it houses my happiness. Not that I have any particular fascination with flowers. In fact, I hate them. So, let's just replace the flowers with different coloured chocolates, which taste like M&M's. You get the picture, right? I'm an awesome story-teller like that.


I sit in the garden, cross-legged, crooning to myself a very happy song. Maybe it's the Beatles. Cross-legged, because the world makes more sense that way. I see you, or maybe it's the silhouette. You won't come into the garden, cause you very well know, that the trespassers might just be killed. You read the devil inside me very well, don't you? But little do you know, that you own the garden as much as I do. The chocolates, we live on them. We both are cross-legged animals who croon along, together. 

If you want more love,

why don't you say so?

If you want more love,

why don't you say so?

We sing the same songs, almost in unison. If you want more love, why don't you say so?

Why don't you come out of the silhouette?

Why don't you step into the garden, which you own as much as I do?

Why don't you sit cross-legged with me, and help eat the flower shaped chocolates which taste like M&M's?

Why don't you talk to me, so that I start smiling?

With you, the world is a happier place, so why don't you be with me?

Shadows.

Slowly, with nervous, insecure fingers, she touched the photographs, looked at them, rather merely glanced. It was not the photographs that bothered her. Okay, they did, but only a slight bit. It was the uncertainty that was gnawing into her empty recesses. Is it possible for any person to feign anonymity? To block yourself from the prying eyes of the world, to wither within yourself, and then someday, die, a lowly, unimaginative, and neglected death. Well Sybil did that, but she had Dr.Wilbur for comfort for the most part of her life. But, she was no Sybil, not mentally disturbed as much as Sybil. A slight bit, maybe. Not much. Like her grandma would say, "not too much, not too less, sooogar". Funny, she was. She smiled.
The photographs reminded her of an eerie past. Eerie because she was happy then. Not alone and happy. Well, you might ask as to how happiness could be eerie, well for Nina, it could. She was not used to it, the happiness.
It was not too long ago, that the hallucinations started. Not too long ago, when she realized the presence of the very human shadows that kept following her. Not too long ago, that she started dreaming of her own death.
The shadows ruined it all, the happiness, the impending marriage with Aaron. She drove him away, yes it was her all the way, with a little help from the shadows. Trust was a word that she knew nothing of, not anymore.
The would kill her, the shadows. Humiliate her, make crap fun of her. And then ultimately bring her down.
The death was inevitable, now, even more so.

The Girl

His usual spot, his monotonous job. Belting out songs that weren't his, being hooted at, and the worst of all, observing the dirty side of the so called elegant class.

Well, when you're low, trust the beatles to lift you up. *

I saw a film today, oh boy
The English army had just won the war
A crowd of people turned away
But I just had to look, having read the book
I'd love to turn you on

"Hey mate, how about some zing?"

"Shut the fucking song up"

Well, 'twas but the usual.             

Perhaps, is was a whiff of intuition that made him look at the door.

She entered with an air of arrogance, sashayed across the room, made sure everyone was looking at her, men and women alike, and settled at the bar, unassumingly.

 She ordered a drink for herself, and sat, unaware of the ripples she had created in many a heart. Sensuously, her long legs slid under the table. Oh! What a beauty. He could imagine the rapid blood flow in the veins of all the wanting men in the room.

Is there anybody going to listen to my story
All about the girl who came to stay?
She's the kind of girl you want so much
It makes you sorry
Still, you don't regret a single day
Ah girl
Girl

Her eyes searched the room, every corner, every face. Not resting on a single lucky soul for more than a second. He wanted her glance, oh, so bad.

And she looked at him, and how! Her naughty eyes, played with his heartbeates.

I give her all my love
That's all I do
And if you saw my love
You'd love her too
I love her

He crooned. Her luscious pout twirled into a smile. An inviting one.

She gives me everything
And tenderly
The kiss my lover brings
She brings to me
And I love her

She rose, like a queen, and moved, softly. It seemed the air was moving with her. Her sumptuous curves moved in an epicurean fashion. Tempting, tantalizing, inviting. Her hair kept teasing him, his fingers went rhythmically on the guitar string, listless to play with her strands. She induced many sinful emotions in the hearts of the men, all incited to touch her once. Her heavenly beauty allured the gods, too. He was so sure of that.

A love like ours
Could never die
As long as I
Have you near me

Bright are the stars that shine
Dark is the sky
I know this love of mine
Will never die
And I love her

She stopped, turned towards an alluring picture of manhood, her long slender fingers touched him tenderly on his face, and they left, teasingly. Little did she know, she had left a man in love.


*This line, was made my a dear friend, Priya Sharma. How apt!