Untitled II

Can we start everything all over again? Can we go back to those days, when I was a loner in the middle bench, and I found you beautiful but couldn't compel my heart to think that way, only because you're too charming, too sought after, & too out of my league(I dint even have a 'league').

Can we go back again to those days? Days I thought we could walk, hand in hand, endlessly through the city-smoke and the fast running cars; the only moments I could brush with your fingertips was when we were crossing the roads? The only thing in my mind, playing endlessly, was how not to say something stupid, but make you laugh?

Can we again freeze that hour? The one we had spent, inches apart on the two li'l steps, talking endlessly about our passions, our whimsical dreams that our minds could conjure from the bits of cultural affinity that the City infected us with.

Can we again stop those minutes? Minutes that we had spent over endless calls to mend our broken hearts from the wrongs done to our innocent lives, or later, the catharsis over our wrong-doings to others.

Can we again live the moment? The moment when I, looking into your eyes, running my fingers through your hair, listening to you hear the truth of my self-obsessed life; the one moment when my mind was shouting inside me, to tell you that I need you, to be who I want to be...and I couldn't utter a word.

Can we turn back time...or let time turn us back...together?

Untitled I

I know that you should follow your heart. It says what it means, and leaves the rest to you. If you think it over, you may misjudge what it wants to say. You may take peoples' opinions, go for a cost-benefit analysis, ponder over the fact whether its risky, or otherwise willingly try to procrastinate your subconscious decision with your intellect. That's where the problems start.

I have tried to break free from over-exerting my brain with such reasoning, but not following the heart had'nt been a choice. A choice that I had'nt taken alone. 'Coz, I am not alone. I may be the decision maker for my life, but I will not face the consequences alone. Thus I think.

Well, its what I have been doing all the way...

A Christmas Carol

I did'nt stop cursing them as I banged open the door to my mezzanine floor. Infuriated by the lesser mortals that I have to share my living space with, I cursed my life thinking how I would...and then, I saw it!

A Christmas tree put up on our table. Standing on a corner beside the heap of old, torn magazines and cover-stripped old books, just where the glass top refracted out the tube-light rays through the brown semi/quarter circles of teacup stains. Cheap, brightly colored paper balls, crowding the tapering top, with two red woolen Santas; the tree wasn't any longer than my arm. Bells and stars, with the silver dust slowly falling off them 'coz of the cheap glue, sharing the little space in the arm-long wooden stick, with frills of green marble-paper leaves. A small teddy cutout and a single Mentos lay underneath, the only gifts to be opened. It was one of the best Christmas trees that you would have seen that day.

I feel, still, that there is hope in this world. And a wish for a brighter day, and maybe, a better tomorrow.

City...of joy?

My City. She's like my ex-girlfriend. Howsoever much she's hurt me, however much we have been there, done that, however she might have shattered me into pieces at times, and did'nt let me go beyond the boundaries of expected realizations; I just cannot move on. I still cannot get over the silly bits of comfort and the familiar imperfections, that make her mine. My joy. My City.

...the same bits of chayer bhar still go into my mouth, with the hot, over-sweetened tea and the warm, corrosive smoke of regular-sized cigarettes; beside the same doorsteps by the Academy canteen; where two souls can only sit together if they are in love, or one has to stand.