Into Our World

It's not often that I have this jittery feeling bubbling & frothing in this strange brew of thoughts & real events unraveling before my existence in this very moment. The paintings adorning the wall in front are dark & brooding. The coffee is dark too, as if mirroring the art it pays for. The illumination though, is tastefully radiant, leaving faint, soft glow on the obscene display of opulent jackets. Amidst the serenity of sounds pervading the atmosphere, the constant sound of text notifications on my phone was making me conscious of the imaginary eyeballs trained towards my direction. I quickly switched the sound & vibration off.

The conversation from across the table was still interrupted by the constant blurb of green flashing at the top of the screen. The feeling inside intensified, almost to a point of immense yearning to flick across the screen and make it come alive. Or to atleast pull the notification panel down. The pair of eyes in front of me were full of unanswered questions and screeching silence. Afterall, it's not often that we come here. What can be of greater importance than the conversation in this very moment between the two of us. I insisted on this place and time, she took time out of her busy schedule and here I am, dazed and confused, lost in my own world of whipping imaginations of what's hidden beneath the darkness of my screen. It's a definite betrayal of our time together.

She just paid the bill, scribbled on the document patiently perched atop the table, pushed them in my direction, slowly and carefully pushed her chair back, shot a farcical smile and left.

I walked out soon afterwards onto the smooth, velvety grass in the park outside. I subtly seduced the force of gravity from head to toe as I finally rested my head on the lap of her source. Nothing is going to come between me and those unread, unanswered thread of texts on my screen now. The glint in my eyes, the width of my smile, upon reading the sweet nothings, the subtle teasings, the mundane, the restlessness of my absence, the fading memories, the distant unrealised dreams, the pale shadow of our art, the often repeated slices of our lives. This secret invisible world that we slipped into, where no one could enter and discover the concept of us. Even time couldn't escape the depths of our world, it couldn't do us apart, even though the space between us contrived with our circumstances.

Finally the wait was going to be over. We could experience the same rays of moon showering us. I am finally going to show up with the tiny sparkling stone and metal circle and do the stuff I have been really shy about. Grand gestures that we never desired and vivacious accompaniments that we cringed on. Right here, in this worn out vestige of a decaying park that was once a lush green beauty. Did I tell you the grass was velvety? Well my sense of perception and memory is in a fragile state.The remnants of that grass is still here, the world around us has shifted its sediments, shaped and eroded by the slow urgent flow of time. That piece of paper in my hand is a receipt of all the shenanigans that I signed up for. I could barely have any say, I was lost in that strange brew in my mental scape.

The skies overhead were filled with dark, grey clouds. The sombre sound of Ending Credits tickled my ears as I followed the direction of its source. A couple, barely into their twenties, weaving their moments of magic, probably a story they are never going to tell anyone else. At the same place that we inhabited. Forty two melancholic autumns have passed since then with each rustling autumn breeze keeping the embers of our flame alive.

Saawali Si Raat (A Peek into a Vivid Dream)

The spring was in full swing with signs of blooming across the fairly wide alleys of this vibrant city. The city our slightly younger, less scarred versions dwelled in. In separate dwellings with our own people. Trying to leave our imprints on the world in the wilderness of the city splashed with a naked spotlight. Yet, unable to make a single dent, amidst our claustrophobic anonymity.

Still, we stole moments of fleeting togetherness from the watchful eyes of our source and the city. Perhaps we were still to step into the deep abyss of cynicism. That night, in the sparse periphery of the perennial citylights, our silhouettes and a faint gleam of moonshine kissing the crest of our foreheads shrouded the two wheeler beneath us, as my arms were firmly crossed and clutched your belly. The parkland nearby was nearly deserted. Suddenly, you wanted to catch the latest romcom from the posters you caught a glimpse of in the evening. Who was I to say no? Surprisingly in that universe, in that city, night wasn't the time when demons lurk around, serenity instead of fear was the driving force, and cinema halls were operational at the dead of the night and even in ungodly hours of 3 past midnight. 

We booked our show and embarked on our two wheeler, with the unusual, unearthly air drag making it a long, arduous journey in slow motion. An unremarkable residential styled building enveloped in dull cream welcomed us with couple of staff members doing their thing. We entered the softly lit corridor towards our auditorium. As we gently pushed the doors open, our eyes swung towards each other in a shared suspirium. It wasn't an auditorium but a home theater with a cozy bed. It does sound like a scene from a horror movie, right? But in that universe, in that sphere of sentience, it was anything but that. Sense of fear and danger didn't exist.

We stretched out on the bed, completely oblivious to our existence and the sense of our coordinates in the fabric of time and space, completely dissociated from the relational realities of our universe. Shrouded under the sheets, completely dressed, with palms clasped. We watched -- beads of tears forming and seeping through our eyelashes -- as the scenes unfolding on the screen stirred our vulnerabilities, raw and unfiltered. As the credits rolled, the imagery vanished abruptly. 

I woke up at the break of the dawn in our world, trying to make sense of what my subconscious mind conjured up from a state of absolute numbness. I couldn't do so, couldn't make much sense of it, however I could recall the details of it in unusually vivid manner.

The Lost Hope

Stars are shining, on a marble arch,

Hope dividing the sun from the stars.

A day it brings, a rise it rings, a light it impinge, through the heavy clouds.

The darkness, in its absence, the dusk letting access, to the demons, we can't see,

The stars are shining, but the hope is drowning, the boy still whining, why he's dead.

"The day is lost and the night has fallen, the stars just shine, they don’t give solace. 

The glitter is no way akin to the hope, 

The zappy harsh rays of sun is the force,

That destroys the demons in their abode.

But the night has fallen, the stars won't save you,

The time hath cometh, for the world to bid goodbye, to you."

Said the mother of the dead.

The boy, still shocked

From what he heard,

Called her, a liar,

A victim of the fire,

The fire, he says, blows the mind of a face,

The face, which face, its fury and its flames.

This fact, he says, told to him, in the days of hay,

By his mother who faced, those scary flames.

But the mother of dead, laughs a bit, cries away,

As she turned on the trail, of fury and distress. 

Before she turns her face, yells at top of her voice,

“The fire is a myth. To hide, a trick,

They say we are mad, by the flames' wrath,

But we'd foreseen truth, the world would come to,

And here's the day, my son is dead,

You still call me victim of fire, 

You are the one who'll face the ire,

Once we reach on our heavenly abode,

And the justice will be done to our cause,

Billions like you'll be held to the chains of truth,

And few like us will still rue your lack of trust,

In us, in the rules of nature, the myopic views of your truth.

The world is destroyed, the hope is gone, the demons have arrived, to gorge upon,

The Beatles' pride, would have died again, had he still been here today,

To see the world come to this, after what he 'Imagined' through his texts, 

The dreamer in him, failed to bring

The people in sync, and the world could never be one.”

And as she ends, this gloomy tale of futility and fate,

She yelps, to the sound of another wave,

Which hits her right on her face,

And made her, a thing of past in this tale.

The boy shuddered, to the scene in front,

The shine of the stars have faded to the back,

The dark clouds of smoke and the electric smell,

The swarms of blue bottle fly, ready to mutilate the dead,

Unaware of the fact, that they too soon be dead.

The mushroom is there, in front of his eyes,

The boundaries of nations, now a blurry line,

As Lennon desired, once upon a time,

“What a conflicting lie!”, a terrified sigh,

The hint of life, just his pair of eyes,

The final countdown has started, of his tender life,

A light has started to pierce his eyes,

A boom has busted his tender device - the gift of listening to The Beatles' song, has just gone, to oblivion.

The gamma rays, piercing the flesh, choking the heart under his chest,

"Chester will be there, and I'll ask, 

Not why he died and left this world,

But why did he sang those precious words,

To the crowd so delusional they couldn't understand,

And why didn't he tell the truth of this world,

To the powers who'd believe that lady's stance."

"I am arriving at your beautiful world, where 'the end doesn't matter' and 'imagine' does.

We'll envision a world, where there'll only be the scatter of melodies and harmonies,

Not rays of scars, no glittering stars,

Where the sun will stay, forever in its place,

Where love will rule, and the days of hay, will never end..."

The life's gone, from this place called earth,

On a journey abroad, in its victory march,

All is left is the distorted face - the boy's mask,

As he left to meet his stars,

The un-shiny, real ones...

Into His World

INTO HIS WORLD

A murky day. A decent yet unspectacular arrangement of concrete and bricks. A modest table in a shady corner. Couple of flickering candles. A strong aroma of caffeine effusing through the nice looking room, gradually working its charm on its sober consumers, who were spending the gloomy afternoon warming their self and soul, after being numbed by the chill in the atmosphere. The soothing melodies of Yiruma dripping, from the tiny speakers surrounding the room, enhancing the silent serenity of the place. Only occasional whispers were breaking that serenity.

An old fella was sitting at the corner table just besides the glass pane, gazing out thoughtfully, probably contemplating the life bygone, and the end that beckons. A young girl, dressed in a Victorian gown after the warmness of the heater forced her fur jacket off her pretty self, was sipping her coffee, on the table just behind him, as her red cheeks glowed with a cheerful smile, perhaps engrossed in the thoughts of her soulmate, appearing in stark contrast to the weather outside. A family of four, the once pretty mother in the days of her yore, still beautiful though, gulping her tea scattily sitting in the middle of the room, lost in her seemingly complex world of worldly stuffs. The little boy was carefully inspecting the discrete droplets dripping from his dad’s frappe glass. The wiser sibling was whispering, barraging her dad with her curiosity about the barely visible picture of a strange exotic looking dish pasted on the wall in that dark corner and the blissful chords in the melody. Dad was equally clueless about the former. On the other side of this tiny world, was sitting a lovely couple, immersed in each other's eyes, the lady owning a pair which were a shade bluer than her companion. Perhaps weaving a world of their own, oblivious to the vagaries of this world.

This world and its surreal reality had enveloped his world, who was sitting in that eccentric table in the shady corner. the other tables were glistening and seemingly well maintained, and had an aesthetic charm which would rush in the nostalgia of old world design for those older folks, who as often visit this serene café, as those delicate lovebirds. But this one was utterly out of place, as if existing on an estranged island in this small country boasting exquisite array of caffeine. Surprisingly, both the chairs are drawn out, as if he was waiting for some special one to join him. His rugged appearance had an air of unsettling calm, as he silently scanned his co-customers. He was facing the reception desk, eyeing every ongoing activity with a curious detachment. He suddenly clasped both his hands above the elbows, pulling his pullover closer to his body, yearning for more warmth in the warm confines of the air heated café, as if his soul is still wandering in the chilly street just behind his back, separated by a pane of transparency. The luminous presence on the table, was the trademark of this place though, as his eyes, for the umpteenth time, casted a glance on the artistic fonts of the centre text engraved on a flamboyant and vibrant menu card, reading “Lonrúil caife” in bold.

The thoughts in his mind were on a constant loop, reminiscent to the piano music playing there. He was not being able to pause the train of thoughts, which was sucking him again into that excruciatingly familiar world. His simple and sublime world was the first link in those chain of events, which had nestled him in its inexplicability. What was he like, in those days? Yes, he vividly recalls them. The new, unexciting job in one of the most illustrious restaurant of Dublin was not what he had foreseen in his meticulous upbringing, as he always wanted to pursue his academic ambitions. Until one day. After his grandfather immigrated to England two decades back, in an era when it was not quite the norm, he managed to run a successful business there. Though things weren’t quite the same for his father, as he couldn’t get a hold on his father’s business and eventually, they were facing a survival challenge, as they lost almost everything. He wasn’t quite ready to share his father’s financial responsibility, until one day. That day came like a rampaging tornado and ravaged his life. Both his parents had gone for their jobs, which were quite low paying and unsecure, to somehow meet their ends. He couldn’t really experience the deafening sound of the blast as he was giving finishing flourishes to his Biology project, so that he could earn the scholarship on offering in the science exhibition and ease things up for his parents, who were struggling hard to allow his studies to continue. The IRA had cruelly snatched his world from him and he was too stunned to react, stranded in an unfamiliar world, no one to hold his hand. He couldn’t manage to continue his schooling, had to leave his home as he ran out of finances. He couldn’t manage to find any work to arrange even a proper meal a day. One of his distant uncle, who was a family friend and who was himself not in quite good shape financially, convinced him to go to Dublin. He even helped him in finding this apparently trivial job.

After the initial shock and pain subsided, he accepted the bitter truth that he is all alone in this unforgiving world and it’s for him to ensure that he could take care of his needs by the virtue of his abilities. As the sun rarely appeared in this part of the world, dark grey days were trailed by the darker evenings. And as the last ray of sun would touch the stylish fonts of the words engraved on the upper wall of the elegant restaurant, his tedious and unglamorous job would begin. Those grey chilly days were the setting for his other job though. A wooden box, on which his mother’s initials were engraved with an intricate design of folk art accompanying it, was specially designed by his father and was presented to him on his last birthday before they went to their abode in heaven. It was one of his very few precious possession. The box would be kept on a platform constructed in the side walk, its cover placed neatly beside it, as the coins and notes could make their way to its inviolable confines. And why do they come there? In appreciation of his hair raising, emotional rendition of soul songs and Irish folk songs on his battered guitar, another of his prized possession, his parents had left for him. The busking was, any day, more satisfying than his paid job in the restaurant. He continued doing both.

Then came the person, whom he was not expecting at all. That unmistakable Indian face, a faint dimple on her left cheek as she smiles, those ever talking eyes and neat eyebrows, the black hair among the infinite auburn ones in the city, falling over her forehead from one side and exposing the other side, forming subtle locks on her right ear, that proud yet pretty nose flowing from her forehead until stopped by her stretched lips, as that smile was so overwhelming, an unknown bunch of words and a never before used combination of chords started making their way through his vocal chords and his strumming. She stayed, long enough, to witness his whole array of performance that day. And that was one of the most remarkably beautiful days of his life. She worked in a tailor shop and got a day off after her owner’s grandfather died. She’d to take responsibility of the family after her father died in a rampant attack of Tuberculosis. She’d to support her mother apart from herself and she was somehow managing. She was fascinated by his music and they started a conversation, as both exchanged their struggles. It was cut short due to his primary work commitments.

Days went uneventfully, as they got engrossed in their work. Though he hadn’t forgotten her face and exclaimed in joy, the moment it appeared in front of his wishful eyes, on a chilly Sunday morning. He won’t stop busking even on Sundays as it was more than just a work earn aspect to him, it was the source of joy and contentment in his difficult and lonely life. She peacefully sat on the platform, besides the wooden box, spellbound by his music. As he stopped for lunch, she approached him, “Hi!” “Hey! Nice to see you ‘gain.” “That was honestly, exceptional.” A genuine expression of appreciation appeared in her eyes. “I appreciate that.” He said with a sublime smile. “Would you mind having a cup of coffee?” She asked in a delicate manner, so as to expel the hint of awkwardness that creeped in asking out a stranger. And those words were melody to his ears, he had already had a sense of restlessness, which was there in his heart from the day he had first saw her, but realized that only now. “Now?” “Yeah! Nothing better than a dose of caffeine in this cruel weather.” “Great! Let’s go.”

She took him to “Lonrúil caife”. A modest café, which was affordable and even though was utterly unspectacular with its ordinary aesthetics, tables and chairs, the lit candles on each tables was what they based their USP on. She was quite fond of that place. They sat on the table right across the room on the farthest corner from the entrance. A silent gaze into the depths of each other’s eyes followed before broken by the waiter, who’d come with two shabby hand written menu-cards listing the wide array of hot beverages available. “Good afternoon sir! What’d you like to order?” He asked, his eyes scurrying through the rates as it kept increasing as his upper eyelash started converging towards the lower one. “Thick Irish Coffee! It’s my favourite.” He casted a quick glance back on the card and calculated that he’s five bucks short of its price. He hadn’t receive his wages yet and the earnings of busking had been spent too, all he had was that day’s earnings. In a dilemma what to order, he chose simple coffee. She was looking outside the glass panes as he was mulling over any way to pay for that coffee date, suddenly she said, “We’d pay for our bills. Each of us won’t pay for the other. I don’t want those absurd niceties to creep between us.” Her definitive tone had an inherent charm associated with it. He really wanted to pay for her as it was his first date, but her words relieved him from the constraints he’d put himself into. Still he insisted, “We’d share the bill.” “Then, effectively you’re paying for me.” “Not exactly! Not the complete expense.” “Fine. As you wish.” The coffees arrived and the conversation flowed like a river meandering and warbling through a rocky plateau in its endeavour to ever move forward.

It was the start of many such Sunday coffee dates and both of them would spend the whole week yearning for those couple of hours of bliss, as they entered deep into each other’s soul. There conflicting working hours ensured that their meeting would remain confined to Sundays only. The weekly treatment of her mother had also ensured that they don’t have the Sunday evenings to spend together. A pity it was, as the attachment grew stronger and deeper. Both of them now had a knowledge of each other, inside out. Even though they couldn’t visit each other’s home, they’d discovered a way to remain in contact. They started exchanging notes by the kindness of the café owner, who’d assist in the exchange. Her birthday arrived on a Saturday. The burdens of their lives had coaxed her mother to forget it and she herself hadn’t remembered that day, until her shop owner called for her. As she emerged from the inner room, contemplating the possible mistake for which she was being summoned, her jaws remained open and eyes gleamed with an unforeseen joy. He’d somehow located the shop following the references she’d keep on dropping in their conversation. “Many many happy returns of the day! Always stay blessed.” “Oh my! Actually… thank you so much!” She suddenly realized the day before responding to his wish. He wasn’t empty handed. As she excused herself from the shop for a moment and held his hands to take him out under a lamp post, she noticed the package in his hand. As she unravelled it, a beautiful black gown emerged. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she run her palm through the attire. Black was her favourite colour. “It appears expensive, why did you spent your hard earned money on it?” She said in that subtle, gentle manner, which’d sway his heart away like a gentle wind sweeping the dry leaves away. “Don’t worry. I’d received a bonus for my sincere job and I have spent just some of it on this.” He said with a genuine smile, as his arms started stretching out. Impulsively, she leaned ahead and rested her head on his right shoulder. The warm embrace ended swiftly though, as her owner called her name. Before she honoured her employer’s call, she placed both of her palms near his ears, half covering them, before leaning forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. He bid her goodbye and started walking down the road. As he reached the place of his busking, he opened his wooden box, which was empty. Five months’ earnings of busking expended on a single gift. Though nothing was more important to him than her happiness. Those gleaming eyes and warm breath were infinitely more worthy than his earnings.

   

As that vivid imagery was about to reach its climax, the waiter interrupted. And in his thick Irish accent asked, “Sir! Is there anything you want?” He definitely knew him. How wouldn’t he. It’s not the first time he had appeared in that shady corner. It was a routine, a ritual, the devotion to which border-lined on madness, sometimes. After casting a vague glance at him, he waved him off accompanied by a feeble shake of head.

They didn’t have to wait long for their next meeting, in fact the next sun rise brought the opportunity to immerse into each other’s soul, again. This time, they planned to do something different from their lovely little coffee date. Not that they were bored, but for an unusual request by her. She loved water balls and though the probability of getting them in Dublin in those days were almost nil, fortunately, her mother had the skills, among much more superior cooking skills, to make the floury dish, which she learnt long back on a trip to India, when she used to go nuts for them in those unhygienic stalls. She wanted him to enjoy something really indigenous and although there were innumerable more sophisticated options before her, she chose her favourite snack. After she disclosed her plans, he gave a bemused expression. “What? Do you really mean we’re eating water balls in this chill sitting on an Irish pavement? No way!” Her smile vanished and her eyes dropped a little, though words flowed from her mouth as sublimely as ever, “Ma has made it after a long time with so much zeal, has sent it especially for you…” Before she could finish, he interrupted, “Wait, wait, wait! What did you say? For me? Did she know me? Have you told her everything?” “Yeah! I tell everything to her. She’s the only one, apart from you, who makes my life as wonderful as it is.” A warm smile had appeared on her dry and cold lips. He couldn’t help himself giving a smile too, a genuine smile of appreciation and satisfaction. “Thanks for the compliment. And when would you allow the kind lady to see this poor soul’s face?” A giggled dropped from her mouth intensifying the dimple before it opened to utter, “Soon! Very soon indeed. Be ready to face a barrage of queries in a matter of minutes.” “Always be at your service ma’am.” He produced a fake receptionist’s tone. Her chuckle was met with few faint droplets, as the dark, pregnant clouds could no more bear the attraction of gravity. “Let’s go to the café, we can savour your mom’s speciality there.” “Okay!”

He really savoured the taste and both started devouring the water balls before the curious owner inched towards their table. As he enquired about the dish, in no time she’d pushed one into his hand and the cumulative taste of its various ingredients swept over him. He really liked that and to their surprise, a guy, must have barely experienced thirty springs of his life, approached them. He was damn curious about the content and arrangement of the bowl in front of him. In no time, brushes, canvas and oil paints appeared out of his bag, as the budding painter painted the amazing scenery in front of him. And his focus were not the lively couple, but the fascinating dish in front of him. “Can you make one for me?” The deep voice of the café owner requested the young man in a typical Gaelic accent. “Sure.” He seemed rich, passionate and importantly, quite jovial. In no time, a replica had been produced. Though he wasn’t accepting anything in return, he bought it from him at a token price of couple of bucks. He straight away called his assistant and instructed him to hang it on the wall adjacent to the table we sit on, without fail. “I’d have stories to tell to the curious lot of my customers about this mysterious dish. Besides, you two are the perfect representatives of this poor little café.” The old man turned away. He definitely had a special spot in his heart too, for them. Their eyes and smile met in a perfect straight line and he saw those spiralling black locks in front of her left eye, for the last time, probably.

She neither left any notes on any of the days of the week, nor did she appeared on Sunday. He continued strumming the chords as he thought it to be a one off goof up. But the weeks after followed the same trend. Neither having any means of contact, nor knowing her address, he reached at the shop she was working in. He found out that she wasn’t coming from the following day itself. And they never cared to find out why, as apparently, there wasn’t any dearth of good tailors in the city. He stopped busking and searched around the city, but to no avail. Apparently, everyone was oblivious to her existence. Besides the city was just too big without any solid reference. He desperately went to the café and asked for that picture, explaining the situation to the owner. He readily handed him over and though the faces weren’t quite focussed, it had enough sharpness for anyone to recognize if they knew her. He was in complete disarray, had stopped eating, tears were unstoppable, sleep was miles away from those tired eyes. He tried and tried, in vain. He filed a police complaint, but accounting for an ordinary tailor, having very little information about her, was never a cake walk.

The wait just continued. The tired eyes grew drowsier before they lost their ability to get tired. The inexplicability had been replaced by a lingering, undying hope. That, she’d come, emerge out of nowhere, maybe from the painting, which was again hung in its place. The owner had appeared again to satisfy his curious, wise little customer, saving his father from her persistence about the picture on the wall at the shady corner. Life went on. But not for him. Nothing compelled him to continue his paid job. Those stretched vocal chords and battered strings could only create songs of melancholy and pain. The kind owner honoured his request to let that shady corner of fond memories untouched, as the low key café carried out its transformation to a nice hangout destination in the fast changing city after it overcame its overwhelming prejudices and limitation. Eight chilly winters had passed but not a Sunday passed without his visit to his temple. And this murky day was one of those.

He was trying to decipher the face of everyone sitting there, whether their life were as miserable, or he was the only one, facing the consequences of his deeds in previous life. Suddenly, beads of sweat started appearing on his forehead. Is it the heater? He was contemplating, before something twitched beneath his pullover. A familiar face superseded every other visible entities out of his eyes, that resonating voice consigning Yiruma to a distant background. He was on the verge of being overwhelmed by a combination of joy and anxiety, before that face turned towards its left and the façade unfurled. He couldn’t clearly see the face as the guy in that aristocratic greyish jacket turned past her in a blink of an eye. The immediate instinct was to run to the farthest distance possible in that room from where he was sitting, and finally unravel the inexplicability and this added layer of exploding eccentricity that grey jacket had covered his life with, quite reminiscent to those grey clouds out there. Though, suddenly a switch flicked in his mind. The past vanquished beneath layers of myths and mistakes and unfortunate was the only word pounding his active memory. A swish of his palm was enough to extinguish the rays of his hopes, the symbol of their blooming love, as the blue eyed couple instructed the waiter to reignite their pair of candles. A wave of inquisition was nipped in its bud, as his rationality and yearnings gave way to his detachment. His pen had stopped scratching the soul of the poor paper. He rose slowly, walked for an eternity, the last drop of attachment left in him yearned to see that face of the possessor of that grey jacket. Though before it could be quenched, the waiter appeared between him and his line of sight. . Even before his exit, the bending of the waiter to arrange the candles robbed him of the chance, though he had a close look of that familiar face, as her eyes moved downwards on the menu-card. Nothing had changed about it. Before losing his control, he moved quickly towards the door and pulled it.

“Good afternoon sir! What’d you like to order?”

Before they could’ve a glance on the menu card, a voice from the door emerged, sweeping the land beneath her feet, and sucked away into the chilly air of Dublin, “Thick Irish Coffee…”

Tears started welling up in her eyes. Before her partner could’ve noticed it, she made an excuse of going to washroom, and immediately walked up to the shady corner. As she unfolded the poor paper, tears stopped dripping, they started gushing out…

If I could see you again

I would tell all those were lies,

The tinge of unknown pain that I gave to you

And the words which I said to you.

If I could see you again, somewhere in the next lane

I would cry, for you ain’t my best friend now

That you didn’t mail me once, to ask if I’m alive

That you didn’t miss me, missed the misery of mine.

If I could see you again, on a different plane

I would smile, ‘coz I’d seen you again after a long time

I would hide, ‘coz the awkwardness would be hard to fight

Yet all I want is to see your smile, once in this lifetime.

SORRY

Sorry.

That’s the only word
Would I say.
When I meet you
Someday.

Someday, out of blue,
A slice of luck, comes my way
Be the ray, of hope and faith.

A hope to quell the rain
A hope to see you ‘gain.
A hope to right the wrong.
A hope to play that song.

A song that touched your tender heart,
When we felt the same moonbeam, last.
Those strings of melodies,
That sublime, yet ritzy riff.

Sorry.

For those galling and gloomy times
And I still hate those crimes.
Could one be so naïve?

Sorry.

For wasting your time
In your days of prime
How am I so late?

Forgiveness is a thing bygone
Destined to be lost and lorn
Forever and ever, in a world so cruel
Lost my cool, see I’m lost in rules.

Sorry.

Life is worthier than I’d thought.
That day is never lost, on me.
I was so wrong, a moron, in letting fly those things
The exodus of emotion, was way above the sink.

The worst mistake, I’ve ever made
I know it must be hard to take,
Sorry isn’t enough mate.

Still, Sorry.

Just a word that makes
Perfect sense, another day
When you living out those moments,
Of love and grace.

Now?
Sorry,

Not a word anymore
That stirs your soul
It’s all just cold
It’s all just cold.

Doesn’t matter.
‘Coz as much I try
Turn your feelings, so wry
You know?
I just need a cry.

Sorry.

For saying I love you
For saying way early too
For making the 12’o clock, in your face
For breaking your faith thru disgrace

Sorry.

For being a whiny child
Over obstacles so placid
For the dawn, on a sombre note,
Our journey of friendship.

Remember? We used to say each other
‘Best friend’ you’re mine, ‘Friend forever’ I’m yours
But time spares nothing
It erodes the best of things
You refuse to ever hear me again
I carry that arcane shock and pain.

I know it’s destiny
Never imagined, blunders cost so much
I was having the time of my life, with you
In a moment it all got broken and crushed.

Sorry.

For being layers behind my phone screen
Underneath those walls of lies that floats in
In the virtual world of social network
The demons of delusion seeps within.

If we come ‘cross sometime
I would say, don’t love me.
Just be my friend and bring back the rain
Fill this vivid void, create that charm again,
Which went missin’ with you.

Though I know, It’s a distant wish, now
Which’s never gonna be true
‘Coz I‘ve broken the rule, somehow
In moments so unfortunate, I’d rue.

I’m Sorry.

‘Coz I still ‘member you
Couldn’t brush off you
From my thoughts and dreams.

I’m Sorry.

For I still recollect some things
You love black not green
I hope you recall mine,
Though,
Doesn’t matter at this time
As black, the new orange for me.

That day, still come so vivid
I was down on my knees
On the terrace of my home
Staring at the phone.

Shell shocked and jaded
The whispers within my head,
You said some things right
Still you pushed me aside
Out of your mind,
Out of your life.

The tears just choked inside my eyes
I couldn’t let it all flow out
I just knew one thing by that time
One dream died before it sprout.

I just went back to bed, never cried
‘Coz you made me believe, we don’t cry
It’s an exclusive right of yours
Rational as you’re, still it flows.

Admired that rationality, adored that humility
Just wanted to be part of her beautiful life
A heart as pure, a bond so divine
Just cut the thread of it with an obsessive knife.
So Sorry.

You know what? Still I never said die
‘Coz I want to see more sun rises
And walk the steps of your advices.

I don’t become sad, I don’t lose my heart, anymore
I don’t look at the past, I promise it will last, forever.

Sorry.

For talking too much, you were kind
About that futile search, I was blind
Of a person so worthless.
‘Coz one with the worth, is you
Friends and fairies, no dearth for you.

You’re the one with countless traits,
Veiled inside, yet shines through your face.

You come, you go
You stay inside my soul.
The warmth of your heart
The cheer of our past.

At last, I cried,
After how many times, I tried.

That realization hit the cores of my soul
I need to sustain the drive, to my goal.

All I wanted is this chance
The Almighty conspired to provide it
As I came close though
The destiny kicked in, erased it. All.

Still I dream of it
A wish that might come true, someday,
As I traverse my path through life
Know what I want to do? One day.

I just want to go there someday
As I am standing in front of you,
Just a smile and a nod of your lashes
I will treasure that moment,
Forever,
With you.

Conscientious Existence

                       CONSCIENTIOUS EXISTENCE

She was. She is. She always will be. But she isn't all the same. Yeah, time changes, people change with it. But some change for better. And some become worse off. But amazingly, she seemed to change for no apparent reason. And she still seems to adjust for no apparent reason. It was inevitable according to her. It was the obvious thing for her. To constantly evolve her among the various echelons of our culture, the good old Indian tradition. And it used to be a matter of privilege for every girl, to imbibe in her, the ethics and etiquette of socially acceptable norms and supposedly spiritually fulfilling life. 

And like in the case of any normal sane Indian family, sans cosmopolitans, she is the epitome of our success and well being in general. The relentless approach, a tireless job and deriving happiness from everyone happiness are such admirable traits, yet in-discernibly underrated. 

She spent her entire childhood, enjoying one of the most spectacular lives, the life of a carefree child, who is as comfortable in her urban confinements, as in the rural fields. Who didn't mind sharing their time with sibling and cousins, plenty of them are there. And growing up was fun. What if the mother was a bit strict, “let's head to college!” were some of the instantaneous reactions. And college too was one hell lot of a fun for her. New friends became good friends, good friends became best friends & best friends became friends for life. And the religiousness with which they entretenir their friendship, is a great example of the values she has earned from her childhood and which serves her in good stead till now.

The life full of sweetness and innocent mischievousness conspired to transform itself into a long, endless trail of heightened wisdom and responsibilities. That elevation of her simple, carefree life, gratified her to oblige to the demands of the new role of her existence. Really, our life is like that. And as Shakespeare once said, it's a stage on which we play various roles and show varied emotions to underline the antics of our current character. And she transitioned smoothly from a happy go lucky college goer to a responsible bride, still possessing the naivety and anxiety of a teenager, though slowly developing into a mature head. Still her innocent charm and a zeal for shouldering the burden of an entire household. 

And since then, she never shied away from those responsibilities. Those tireless hours of seemingly unending work, day in day out, were gradually taking a toll on her. Still, she never complained, completely content with her job. A job with no payments, no perks, no holidays, no status. But a job of immense value, sheer hard work and some ingenuine management skills, of which even an MBA holder would be proud of. All her world was now comprised of her family, the family she originated from, to the family she stepped into. 

And few years down the line, her greatest and most valuable possession are her endearing partner and her kid, the kid she had brought into existence and nurtured him to grow.

And then started a life. A life full of selfless service and sacrifice of her own whims and wishes. A sacrifice of her priorities, to prioritize her family. And gradually she became a super efficient human machine. A machine, as multitasking as you will ever see. 

It was inevitable. It was destined to be like that for her. Was it so? At least she thinks it was. And contrary to have regrets of losing that freedom of childhood and a seemingly boring job to do, she feels absolutely at peace with it. In fact she derives all her happiness from this supposedly dreary and drab routine. 

And she is proud of being a mother. A mother of a boy, who according to her has given enough reasons of pride and happiness. But that doesn't stop her from expecting more. Expecting more from his abilities. All she wants is taking as much care of her better half and her son. That's all she loves. That's all she wants.

She changed for no apparent reason.

                                                                                                                    

                                                                                                                                      

                                                                                                            -GEET BEHERA