The deal about saying “I love you” out loud.

April 20, 2014 § 6 Comments

She’s drawn to me just as I’m drawn to her. She can’t keep away. She circles, forced to keep her distance, afraid of abandoning her husband and, even more, her son for too long. But she keeps coming, like a moth to my candle, staying longer than she should, leaving late for dinners and birthday parties, singeing her wings. She’s risking her marriage for me, her family, her reputation.

And I, the moth circling her candle, realize that she’s not just a candle. She’s a moth as well, circling me. I look at her and see myself reflected, my feelings, my desires. And she, looking at me, must see herself. And which of us is moth and which is candle hardly seems to matter. We’re both the same.

That’s the secret.

What moths never tell us as they whirl in their dances.

What Manucci learnt at Pak Tea House.

What sufis veil in verse.

I turn her around and look into her eyes and see the wonder in them that must be in mine as well, the wonder I first saw on our night of ecstasy, and I feel myself explode, expand, fill the universe, then collapse, implode like a detonation under water, become tiny, disappear.

I’m hardly aware of myself, of her, when I open my mouth. There is just us, and I speak for us when I speak, and I must be trembling and crying, but I don’t even know if I am or what I’m doing.

I just say it.

“I love you.”

And I lose myself in her eyes and we kiss and I feel myself becoming part of something new, something larger, something I never knew could be.

Union.

There are no words.

***

But after.

“Don’t say that,” she says.

And faintly, the smell of something burning.

-Moth Smoke, Mohsin Hamid.

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Hole-d.

March 12, 2014 § 4 Comments

So i decided to not wear my
heart on my sleeve again.
You taught me that lesson,
the hard way. I tried to
pull it out of the pink
colored stitches I’d made
on it.
It did come out.
And it’s left a hole in me:
something that can’t be
filled with blood, sweat, 
love or music.

Unreachable.

March 5, 2014 § 8 Comments

I never wanted you to be
Just another heartache
Another broken promise
While i am constantly trying to get to you
I cannot
When others have said i ask too much
You see i just want to be heard
But tears sting my eyes
Seeing how we connect,
Yet we’re so distant
And i wonder
Will you turn into an automation
Smiling and carrying on
While your heart yearns to reach out
Or is it just me over thinking, again
While you’re living your happy-go-lucky life
How would i know what the real-side is
Now that you’re faraway and unreachable.

Bruised Lips.

January 24, 2014 § 15 Comments

There was a strange calmness
i felt as i gazed into the
night sky, when you’d asked me
to. It killed all my demons
momentarily, as i you ran
your slender fingers through
my hair.
All thoughts of the world were
dumped into darkness
as you took me in your arms.
My insecurities and fears
vanished as you touched me
at places I’d long forgotten
existed inside of me.
A small portal of joy
opened up as you kissed
these parched lips and gave
me memories, with bruised lips.

Perceptions.

January 5, 2014 § 17 Comments

My idea of relationships has been formed on the basis of long discussions with friends, observing some and then certain realizations that come while you’re growing up.

There isn’t anything such as moving on, if you’ve been in love. In the sense that you just don’t get over someone you’ve been romantically in love with. You just let other people in and fill up that crazy little void in your life. If it IS indeed love, that is.

I don’t know how you would describe love. But how I see it is that it’s that phase where you’re crazy about someone. Where all you want is the beloved’s happiness. Where you’re ready to fight the whole world for the silly grin on their face. Where you lose your essence in them, and become who they are. Where physical boundaries or distances are just a state of mind. Where his breath becomes music to your ears, his words poetry. Where you love everything that the beloved loves, no questions asked. That space, I call love.

However, the sad part of love is that it does require reciprocation. No matter how selfless a lover you are, you do long for arms to hold you on some nights and tell you that you don’t necessarily have to do it all by yourself.

Another part I’ve understood is that the part of you with which you love someone becomes unavailable for the rest of the world, for the rest of your life.
Think of it like building a castle in the air. Now if you put your bricks in it by investing all your emotions, and the beloved doesn’t put his bricks; it’s your castle. It’s not “our” castle. Which means that those bricks in that castle of yours are used up. You can’t use them with another person.
But here’s the deal: You can never run out of bricks. Sure you might have lesser bricks compared to the previous castles, but you’ll always have some more.

What would you do?
Build castles in the air with the beloved without a base, or a mundane house with someone else on the ground?

Guest Post: Mohita Raghav.

December 18, 2013 § 3 Comments

Etched in Aeons

In life, we always find that one person; who makes that moment of discovery seem like
a dream. They are like the surreal aspect of our forbidden dreams come to life. The
moment they enter our realm, they spread their surreality into every aspect of our
entity.

We have seen them. We have known them from eons; from the beginning of time. We
have touched them with our dream fingers. We have laid bare our souls to them already;
in an inexplicable realm of which we were the masters. We created them for ourselves in
moments, wherein we thought that we were destined to die alone. We invoked them in
rituals of our carnal fantasies. We have already slept a hundred nights in their arms and
have woken up on their spectral kisses. We have spent a million tender and vulnerable
moments with them already.

It has become hard to pinpoint that dividing line between them and reality. It has
become hard to tell whether we created them in a magical bout of imagination or they
came as an idea destined to strike us. It is nearly impossible to delineate whether we
morphed them according to our whims or we metamorphosed according to them; to
become their’s.

Lines smudged a long time back.

We committed ourselves to the fantasy and damned ourselves to a long phase of
hermit-like searching until we realized the futility of it all. We, then, pulled ourselves
together and consoled ourselves that such people only existed in fantasies…
Until they walk into our real lives; in flesh and blood, better than we sculpted them in
dreams.

What, then, can be done?

I could not decide. I was transfixed, looking at him with a mindfloating upon
numbness like a water-baby.

He was sitting alone on a table; with a half-finished sandwich, coffee mug and an
open pocket-diary. He was bent over his laptop, his long fingers flying over the
keyboard.

I stood upon the threshold of disbelief and panic. Already vulnerable to him.
Defenceless. Thrilled and flabbergasted altogether. I wanted to run away. I wanted
to run to him. I wanted to brand him with a kiss. I wanted to hide. In a bout of
seemingly sane self-defense, I even wanted to kill him.

It was at this moment when, prompted by something palpable but unseen, he raised
his eyes to look at me. And smiled a knowing smile. As if he had been waiting too. As
if he knew we will meet.

It was at this moment that all avenues of escape closed faster than they’d
materialized…

And I was lost.

About the Author:

Mohita is a wonderful person I know from Twitter. She writes stuff that you ave to read more than once, so you can grasp it. So you can absorb it.

Read her blog here. I insist.

Lover’s.

December 2, 2013 § 6 Comments

When you touched my face with both your hands
When I caressed your hair with my fingers
When our bodies felt as one
And we looked at each other
In an all together different light.

That’s what has made our evenings memorable
The beauty of twilight
And how we became more than friends
We became lovers.

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