A Special Constellation

 A Special Constellation
A lot remains to be said when we part every day. Both of us talk  a lot, quite a bit of the load on my heart evaporates by virtue of the tete-e-tete we have, but somehow, I always feel I still have a load on my heart when you rise to leave.

 

There is still a lot more to be said than I have already said.

 

I do feel good when we are together and we talk, a typical catharsis is certainly effected within me, a lot of my heart is certainly rendered lighter.

 

Simply being with you lifts a heavy weight from my heart, but a heavier load remains to be lifted from my heart when we part.

 

It is not something you say to me, but it is that you insist on leaving at the end of the day and I still have a lot to share with you that makes me feel heavy. The most successful weight-lifters will find it impractical to deal with this load.

 

These moments we spend together are simply not enough to discuss all there is to talk of. I think of hundreds of topics to discussing with you before we meet, quite a few are like drops of water in a pipe meant for filling buckets with water.

 

They wait for their turn to come out, but can’t make it to the outer world.

 

An eternity isn’t going to be enough to spell all my thoughts in words. There simply isn’t time enough when we are together.

 

Time flies to another land when we get together. I wish I could clip its wings. I want to be with you forever and a day.

 

I wish I could talk to you forever and a day. My heart is full of so many emotions and feelings all of them are bristling to come out.  

 

I manage to let some out while you are with me, but there remain a lot more emotions and feelings to be shared  when we part.

 

I think of so many issues to discuss with you when you are not with me. This is when I feel an eternity is going to be insufficient to say all of it in.

 

Moreover, I fail to find words to articulate all my thoughts in. There is always a lot more to be said. A cacophony of words is going to be miserably insufficient to say it all in.

 

There is  a deep silence confronting me at such a time. It threatens to shatter the fabric of peace and harmony within me with its sharp pitch. It is quite a delicate and fragile entity, which  I want to preserve.

 

The gossamer fabric of peace within me is symbolic of the peace everyone can see when they look at me. It makes me feel good, it makes me feel  better than anyone else.

 

I owe all this to you. I wish I could make you too feel good and happy because of me.

 

I wish there was some other way possible to articulate all that I feel for you. I wish I knew a metaphysical language that has all the words required to say everything I have in my heart for you.

 

There isn’t a single appropriate word in the lexicon to convey all I feel for you. A truck load of words are going to be insufficient. All the same, being with you is quite like taking a bath in an elixir.

 

All that is exchanged between us is smiles and nods when we are together; we hold hands quite tightly, and I firmly believe the fist is a conduit-pipe for our emotions and feelings.

 

The tighter we hold each other’s hands, the faster is the flow of emotions. I want to keep holding your hand tighter than ever everyday.

 

There are more than a billion stars in the galaxy and you stand out of all these as a special constellation.

 

I wish I could tell you how special you are for me. Words are simply not enough: I wish I could spell out all the metaphors and similes that cross my  mind when I think of you.

 

I wish this were possible in something more than words. I feel language is insufficient to express all I have in my heart for you. I feel like  a volcano on the verge of an eruption.

 

Lava is dying to jump out of it. I badly want to share all that I have in my heart with someone, I want to share all of it with you.

 

I sometimes wonder why it is so important  to say it all in words, why is it so important to convey my feelings for you.

 

I shouldn’t let you or anyone know of my feelings for you; these are some special feelings I have for you.

 

 I don’t know if you can say the same for me. I do wonder if you hold similar feelings for me. I can only hope you think of me sometimes.

 

There are times when I feel you love me, but there are also some occasions when I feel you don’t love me a bit. There isn’t a way of knowing anything for sure.

 

It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I feel quite  strongly for you. the only problem is that this feeling can never be repressed in any form.

 

It manifests itself in a pristine form every now and then: I want to be with you. I  simply want to be in your company. Your company seems to be the only solution there is for all my problems.

 

There won’t be anyone or anything between us, I can assure you. We shall form the entire populace of the world  we live in and we are in.

 

My world already begins with you and it ends with you. I often feel stifled in this small world, but the consciousness of your presence in it fills it with joy and happiness the  next moment.

 

 

A Beautiful Moment

 A Beautiful Moment 

We held each other’s hand quite tightly while we  walked along the pavement. She was married, I knew, and not married to me.

 

I was aware I was committing a cardinal sin by holding a married woman’s hand. To cap it all, there were no fraternal feelings alive in either of us at that time.

 

She wanted to be with me, she had seized my hand with the alacrity of an Olympian athlete making   a dash to the finishing-line.

 

There was a typical appeal in the warmth of her hands: it articulated her wish to hold my hand forever.

 

I was a bit surprised at this informality on the part of a young lady. I am not young, I am not very good looking, and yet she insisted on holding my hand, and she grasped it quite tightly!

 

On my part, I didn’t mind giving her my hand. A feminine touch is a novelty for me and I didn’t want to let go of the novelty: I didn’t want her to leave my hand.

 

She clung to my hand a bit tighter than I held her hand. Apparently, she badly wanted to feel the warmth, comfort and security of my clutch very badly. She was perspiring all over as if she had been running a 100-metre race.

 

She had left all other competitors behind her: it was written on her face. She had run away from someone, I felt sure, and had clutched my hand for security.

 

For a while, I wondered what exact prompts were responsible for this typical behaviour. It had to be something more than lust. Her face glowed red with excitement, quite a bit of which was transferred to my hand through her fingers.

 

She was quivering with excitement, and so was I! and This was the first time I was getting so much attention from a feminine quarter. 

 

I was a bit embarrassed at first, but it didn’t matter for I enjoyed the attention she gave me. I couldn’t help smiling with joy. I wish I could jump into air.

 

I loved every single moment of it although I knew she was going to let go of my hand in  a while. The joy was going to fade into oblivion soon. This was why I held her hand as tightly as I could: I wanted to hold tightly to whatever bits and bytes of joy I could extract from her hand.

 

It was hot, it was very hot. All diamonds in the world would have melted at this temperature, I felt sure. A typical flame burnt in her even as she whispered her name to me.

 

Her name said she was a Zoratrian, a fire-worshipper; no wonder her hand felt so hot. Its temperature was enough to melt all social and ethical norms standing between us.

 

Its warmth created a new paradigm between us: we didn’t remain strangers. A loud silence between us had been shattered while we held hands.

 

I was about to leave her hand, they had badly scalded mine, but a typical adhesive held them together. Heaven and earth came together during those moments.

 

She held my hand a bit tighter. I began to feel uncomfortable at her frankness, but she only tightened her grip.

 

Practically, we were strangers, and yet there was a spontaneity typical to close friends in her grip. Her hands felt a bit rough as if they were habitual to manual labour.

 

She inched closer to me; I was taken aback at this, but I let her come closer to me. I was enjoying every bit of our proximity.

 

I looked quite closely into her face: she wasn’t very good looking, but she had a sharp nose and mouth set into a fair complexion. They stood out of her face like mountains standing on a plain.

 

She was blushing: her face was turning from crimson to pink alternately.

 

It took me back to an experience in my youth when  a fair classmate had reacted to some words I had said in her praise in a similar manner.

 

I never held her hand, she never held mine, but her reaction was quite the same.

 

A few words were behind her reaction, while this time, another lady was holding my hand, and blushing all over.

 

Even as her fingers closed into my hand, I felt blood rushing through my hand at a typically faster pace. A connection was certainly being formed between us.

 

It was to be stronger than all other connections I had formed till that day, I knew. My heart began beating faster to keep up with the excitement pumped into me through my hand.

 

My other hand was a mute spectator while this drama was being enacted. It had to join the applause that was to follow the performance.

 

The performance was not going to be repeated ever again, I knew. We were to go our own separate ways in a while.

 

This realisation made me hold her hand a bit more tightly than before. An ecstasy was rushing through our bodies at a speed faster than what could be initiated by all the psychotropic drugs in the world.

 

I was blushing as a rose with excitement while she collected herself from the adventure. She was preparing to leave me.

 

There was embarrassment written all over her face too, but there was a typical glow of satisfaction in her too: she had found quite a bit of the relief she was looking for when she grabbed my hand.

 

Quite a few wayfarers had slowed down their walk, while many had even stopped to witness  a rare phenomenon. No one knew our marital statuses, but even a slight intimacy between a man and a woman in public does raise eyebrows in our society.

 

Ultimately, she shook herself away from me and we went our own separate ways in a while, probably never to meet again. I still wish I knew a bit of her secret behind her strange behaviour.

 

I hope some day we meet again.

 

 

 

We Met Today

 We Met Today

My face brightened as I pictured the joy of a rendezvous with her today. An eternity seems to have gone by since I saw her, and yet her thoughts are as fresh as  dew.

 

I do wonder what changes time has propelled into her through all these years. She used to be quite good looking; I know she still retains a bit of her charm.

 

It was a long time since we met, yet quite a few bells still rung loudly in my memory. They were still chiming a dirge when I was apprised of a meeting with her.

 

I blessed my stars for this. I felt sure she still didn’t know of my feelings for her.  

 

There wasn’t a way  she could get a whiff of what I felt for her; I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve.

 

To be very frank, I myself wasn’t sure if it was love or another of my infatuations. There have been quite a few, and this could be another of them.

 

I like being with her. All aeons of time I spent with her are like a gold-mine for me. I did my best to preserve the sanctity of all those golden moments I spent with her for a longer time than their shelf-life, I did succeed in my endeavours, but I never let her or anyone except me know I love her.

 

I never articulated my feeling for her in words. There is so much to be said, it was so strong; there are absolutely no words to say it all in. All my efforts have ended in a loud silence.

 

I end up with  a lot of feelings and emotions, but with simply no words to articulate them in.

 

Language fails in its basic function of communicating one’s feelings when one’s feelings and emotions surpass a certain level. I shall have to bank on something other than language.

 

I wish I could say all there is to be said in signs and signals, but I don’t think all symbols to convey all I have in my heart for her have been devised.  

 

I try to create some signs of my own, but soon realise the worthlessness of my efforts; my emotions overweigh all signs ever coined.

 

I love her so much, and I  badly wish I could express my feelings for her. I sometimes wonder why I can’t store my feelings for her within me. 

 

I wonder why I can’t be content with the conviction that she is happy; this is, after all, what I want.

 

I want her to be happy and content. I want her to be happier than anyone else. I want to reserve a special place in my world for her.

 

This place shall be exclusively for her, she will be the only one to live  here. She will rule my world from this place.

 

All this is going to stand true even if I don’t articulate my feelings for her. So, I don’t think it is necessary to say it in so many words.

 

Our hearts beat at the same pace, speak the same language; this should be enough.

 

On the other hand, words signifying my feelings are like  a lump in my throat that insists on coming out as soon as possible. I feel like someone who needs to throw-up to expel some extra food he has eaten.

 

I know I will feel better after vomiting: I will feel a lot better when I have confessed my feelings for her.

 

No amount of words were going to be enough to convey all I feel, I know. Precise words that dig into my heart’s depths and shovel out my feelings for her were never coined. I don’t think I can ever articulate these words. No one can.

 

I will have to coin my own vocabulary, my own lexicon. I only wonder if she will be able to comprehend my typical language.

 

A possibility of her inability to comprehend all I have to say pushes before me a dilemma whether to tell her or not. I don’t think it is important  to tell someone how much you love him or her as long as there is a mutual understanding.

 

I wasn’t sure my love is reciprocated in any form. She too had never said so in words. There wasn’t any way of deducing the truth. I wonder if it is appropriate to love her even if she didn’t love me.

 

I began to wonder why her feelings should dictate my feelings for her. Why should it matter to me if my love was reciprocated in any form or not? I should be content in affirming the fact that I loved her.

 

On the other hand, if she didn’t love me, my affection for her would be wasted on her. But then, it isn’t necessary that she should hold affinity for me only because I love her.

 

Somehow, I felt sure she loved me a lot though she doesn’t I know how much I love her. I love her with all my heart and soul.

 

I wish I had two hearts and two souls to love her with. One heart doesn’t seem to be sufficient to contain the excitement I experience when I think of her.

 

A scale hasn’t been devised to measure love, although poets have been to the moon and back in their efforts to make it scalable.

 

She is to be with me in a short while, and I can’t help jumping into air with joy at the mere thought of it. She is the only entity required for me to be happy.

 

I wonder when this change occurred, I wonder what became of other elements that were once incremental to my happiness.

 

A lot is to happen when she is finally here in a short while. Each aeon of time marks a milestone as it passes; a climax approaches.

 

I see a glimpse of her as she draws nearer, and a lot happens.

 

 

 

My Dua For Her

 My Dua For Her

She was a dream I saw a long time back; time passed, the world changed, and I let her go; I opened my eyes, and I now realise that I had stopped dreaming a long time back. I grew up and I grew out of my infatuation. It is a long time.

 

For her, it isn’t a dream she is going to forget in a hurry. I do feel honoured when I realise she hasn’t forgotten me even after all these years. She didn’t stop dreaming, never.

 

For her, it was a never-ending marathon which she is still running with me. There is no end to the marathon for her, although I got to my end a long time back.

 

She paused for a while to consider the track before her: many dreams we had seen together were still fresh before her eyes. We didn’t need to close our eyes to see them; they flickered before us as we walked along holding each other’s hands.

 

They gave us wings to fly over large tracts of unnavigable land and water. We flew in the skies over swamps and oceans for quite a while. It was the best time of my life, but I descended to the ground a long time back; she insisted on being airborne for a longer time, probably forever. She kept clinging to an ecstasy she felt to be eternal.

 

After  so many years and despite my refusal, she still clings on to several events in our past that I now look upon like the events that had happened in my childhood. Like several other events and dreams that couldn’t come true, these have also been relegated to the back of my mind. They were now like the toys I played with in my infancy and childhood. A typical dissonance rears itself up within me even when I think of them.

 

She is of a different mentality. She gives a lot of importance to some hazy and yet prominent visions of her future that once appeared before her eyes quite frequently. They repeated themselves so many time that they assumed a shape of reality for her.

 

She probably still saw many of the plays enacted before her on the ground even as she flew over them. I wish I could pull her down to the ground.

 

The parks we used to meet in had lost their attraction for me. To me, they appear as puny and insignificant remnants of my youthful adventures.

 

I find myself laughing when I think of the time we spent on park-benches holding hands. I’m sure the park-benches miss us as much as I miss them.

 

I often find myself smiling when I think of these days when we used to be on park-benches holding hands like  we held the map to Eldorado in our hands.  I have moved on from that stage, but she hasn’t.

 

I sometimes do pause to wonder what would have happened had we walked to the gates of Eldorado and even entered it. We would have been in a completely different world from the one I am to find myself in in a few days.

 

Eldorado would have been beautiful, I’m sure, but its beauty would have lasted only for a short while. I feel confident she would have got over her infatuation in a few years.

 

The truth that there is nothing in common between us would have come before her in a few years.

 

There were several tunes we used to hum together. Although these tunes do strike a typical chord in my heart when I hear them being played, they appear as burnt-out and obsolete as nursery-rhymes meant for babies.

 

They lost their charm and novelty a long time back. She still attaches a lot of relevance and importance to them. I wonder why.

 

I feel she doesn’t interact with many people. Social-interaction is what builds up huge mountains of memories over mounds of our past in our intellect.

 

They don’t completely erase our past, but certainly brighten up our memories. This is how we tend to forget our past  and move on to  a future.

 

When we grow up, we leave a lot of our past behind us. There are so many events in our past; a lot of them are for us to learn lessons from.

 

There are important lessons of life all of us learn this way, but these events should be held important only to the point of whatever lesson there is to learn from them.

 

They should not be given any more importance. This was the important lesson she had to learn, just as I learnt an important lesson from her; I wish I knew why she still holds anchor in seas that are along forbidden lands.

 

She should move on from these lands. There are a lot of greener pastures and better lands waiting for her. She only has to move on.

 

I’m sure she will find someone better than me, and some day, she too can also laugh over memories of our infatuation.

 

I had moved on from these forbidden lands a long time back. I live in a real world where the sun still rises from the east and sets in the west.

 

There was a time when a passion ran wildly through my veins, but the ardour cooled down a long time back. I wish I could be the breeze with power enough to douse high-rising flames erupting in her heart to this day.

 

Even a strong gale isn’t going to be enough to change my mind. I am not in a position to change the world around me and mould it to my liking.

 

I have to accept the world as it is without changing it a bit or without changing myself a lot. This is how I am supposed to find happiness and this is why I didn’t want her to enter my life as someone of relevance.

 

I hope she understands my reasons in a few days.

Am I The Culprit?

 Am I The Culprit?

It is getting cold as December is closing in. A typical chill will soon set in. I met her in the morning today after a long time. It felt like I had found a lakh rupees I had lost some time back. I still liked her; it didn’t matter if she liked me or not. She was still quite good looking; I wondered if time had indeed wrecked havoc through her character as was rumoured about her.

 

There were no apparent signs of a storm. Trees had not been uprooted, lightning had not struck: nothing of this kind had happened. Apparently, she was quite calm and quiet like a mouse even as several blizzards surely ravaged her soul. She stood before me in the cold weather without shivering like it was  a cool day in March.

 

A lot had changed for her, I knew, although none of the change was transcribed on her face in any language. She was adept at concealing her emotions right from the outset. It didn’t surprise me.

 

I wish I could forget the time when we met each other every single day, spent hundreds of hours together, and yet she didn’t let a whiff of the storm whirling about in her life get to me. At times, I blame myself for not being able to sniff out her woes; she was so close to me, I should have got to know about it a long time back.

 

She was engaged to be married to him rather against her wishes. It wasn’t that he had forcefully slipped a ring into her ring-finger; no one could do it, but she didn’t want to be affianced with him. She couldn’t find a logical reason to refute the choice of her parents, he was quite good looking and well off, but she didn’t want it to be with him; she simply didn’t like him.

 

And yet, there was a thirst for love which she wanted to quench. She wanted to be loved by someone. She was beautiful, she knew, but she wanted someone to make her all the more beautiful by telling her so. She wanted to be made to feel important and wanted.

 

Somehow, she couldn’t visualise him working at all this. A spiritual meeting of souls was what she was looking for. Somehow, she knew it couldn’t happen with him. His soul had wandered too far away in a wilderness even to be close to her. She didn’t want to enter the wilderness in its search.

 

She only wanted to be loved. There was a deep crater created within her by virtue of our company. I was aware I was the only one who knew the exact quantum of love required to fill in the abyss that had developed within her over the past one year.

 

Our company had managed to dig a deep pit within both of us. It was a deeper pit she found herself trying to fathom when she wanted to quantify my love for her; she tried to discover its bottom, but she found herself struck by vertigo for she was looking into a bottomless pit; no one had ever loved her this way; she felt sure no one was ever going to love her this way.

 

I had given her more love and attention than anyone could possibly give her while she lived. I loved her more than I loved myself. For me, she was a word with more meanings than can be found in a dictionary.

 

She knew all this. She didn’t want to create an affinity with him. Her engagement was a declaration of war on me. She wanted me to be jealous; I did feel a bit jealous of him, he was on his way to hold  a trophy in his hand while I won’t even get a consolation prize.

 

I dimmed the flames of jealousy leaping up within me with a lot of deliberation and thought. We were quite different, and she loved me despite all these differences. For a while, I wondered if it was going to be enough to lead a happy life.

 

She wanted us to be married as soon as possible regardless of all differences we had, and irrespective of all familial objections; it looked like if the world was going to end tomorrow, she wanted our marriage to be the first thing to happen today. She didn’t believe in tomorrow, a tomorrow when the world would end, terminating her love for me.

 

Despite all this, there was a typical glow lacking in our love-story. By getting affianced to him, she wanted to punish me for not taking an initiative where matrimony was concerned. On my part, I was quite unsure if a matrimonial-alliance is really the utopian end to all love-stories.

 

Very frankly, I don’t believe all lovers I see on the silver screen find eternal bliss and happiness in marriage. Her company pumped in a typical ecstasy within me. I wanted  to preserve it in a more tangible form than matrimony could provide.

 

When we were together, I wanted the moment to last an eternity. I yearned to be with her when she wasn’t with me. Her thoughts took her place on such occasions, and they created a louder jingle than her presence or even her company did.

 

Getting a husband for herself was her way to punish me: she knew that by punishing herself she was punishing me. I was also going to suffer while she suffered, she knew this, and she wanted me to suffer.  I wonder if a lighter punishment could be meted out for me.

 

After all these years, she has a doting and loving husband and they even have two kids. I don’t figure anywhere even in the wildest of her dreams now, I know. There was a time when I couldn’t imagine a day without seeing her, and one fine day, she moved on to brighten up someone else’s life.

 

To this day, I wonder who is to blame for this mess.

 

                       

 

An Implicit Metaphor

 An Implicit Metaphor

She turned to look at me while she walked out of the door as if she wanted me to say something to her; I didn’t know what to say. We had been talking for quite a while,  we talked of everything under the blue sky, but there was still a lot to be said and much more to be heard.

 

Words could no longer fill in the blanks left gaping in whatever time we spent together. There had to be something more concrete now. She was walking out of the door quietly, she wanted my me to say words signifying the concrete entity, something I didn’t know how to articulate in words: I remained silent despite her questioning look.

 

This went on for quite a few seconds. She knew the very words that were supposed to emanate from my mouth, she only wanted to hear me say them. I didn’t know what to say to her.  An implicit metaphor had been exchanged between us on several occasions. Their actual concrete form was an enigma for me; I had had the feelings for her for a long time, but I had never expressed them in so many words.

 

The incumbent situation made it almost impossible for me to confess all I felt. She knew the presence of so many strangers in the room created an awkward situation, but she wanted me to say it to her all the same.

 

It was quite a challenge for me, and I wasn’t in a position to take it up. It wasn’t difficult to articulate all sounds she wanted to hear, but I was wary of the consequences. It was to mean an end to many queries echoing in her mind, while it was to mean an initiation of a new phase of my life.

 

A lot was to be said and a lor more was to be  heard before that phase was be initiated. I felt sure it had already been said in a typical manner; words were not required.

 

I had called out her name loudly when she had entered the hall, she had heard me, but I was   struggling with the exact words she wanted me to say to her. It was as if I owed her a sum of money and I couldn’t find the money in my pockets. Coins were jingling around, I knew they were somewhere around me, but I couldn’t lay my  hands on them.

 

Even after I had found the coins, I couldn’t be sure of the sum I owed her. I wasn’t sure if I owed her any money at all. I wasn’t sure if I should be saying it to her, but she seemed to be cock-sure of my debt to her.

 

The truth is I wasn’t sure if she was going to take it quietly if I uttered those words. I wasn’t sure of her reaction. My mind was in a tussle: while  a part of it was thinking of throwing all caution into thin air and confessing my feelings, a part of it was still considering the appropriateness of my confession.

 

If she didn’t react adversely to my confession, and if she too felt the same way for me, it was going to spell ecstasy for me. If my words were not taken in their proper context, if it boomeranged, it was going to spell disaster for me.

 

I didn’t have a valid reason to be negative about it, but I didn’t have a reason to be positive about it either. Her thoughts and feelings about me were submerged in a deep ocean of emotions like a submarine patrolling a deep ocean.

 

They had made their presence loud and clear in an implicit manner, but she wanted me to be the first to confess my feelings, and be explicit about them. She was waiting for me to do so even as she was moving out of the room.

 

I was supposed to take the initiative. I began to wonder why she couldn’t be the first to take the plunge. The waters were certainly cold, the weather was certainly frosty, and it was going to take a lot of courage for whoever takes the first dip. This wasn’t a test to evaluate each other’s resilience, I know.

 

My mind went back to all similar instances in my past. Consequences of so many adventures littering my history have been so ugly that I find myself shivering in my pants when I even think of taking up another adventure.

 

I didn’t want to take an initiative in this case, but sometimes, we are pushed into a boiling cauldron full of oil even if we don’t want to. The oil in the cauldron was scathing hot, and I was wary of jumping into it.

 

It was to be quite hot. All my body was going to be burnt, my skin was going to peel itself off. I thought twice of it.

 

If I didn’t confess my feelings before her, she was merely going to walk out of the room, and out of my life too, and shall probably never be back in any form again.

 

I was going to lose an important anchor in my life. She had held me tightly in a grip while strong winds blew around me.

 

She was a shield which had guarded me when the weather had taken a turn for the evil. She still formed an important part of me. I couldn’t let her go.

 

On second thoughts, she was leaving me because she knew I couldn’t stand against societal-pressure and parental-objection. I am certainly not strong enough to bear all this stress and strain.

 

I am more likely to be grounded like an airplane that has run out of fuel. Even the thought of a mid-air refilling is like a pilot’s nightmare turning into a sweet dream. It is not going to be feasible.

 

At the end of the day, both of us jumped into the water together, and it wasn’t that bad after all.  

 

 

 

 

 

A Sip Of Water Is Enough
She was with me the other day when there was a formal function in the community-hall. There were a lot of people, but she was the only one I saw in the crowd. Everyone else only added to a crowd in the hall. She was looking gorgeous in her resplendent bright red dress.

 

 

We were in the same hall. There was a steady hum typical to a crowd of people gathered in a hall; it was accompanied by a soft rustle. There was someone moving around  near her. With a typical feminine glance she looked around. I wish I knew what shape the curiosity of a beautiful woman takes. I am sure it too is something beautiful.

 

 

Anyway, I was asking her to move around a bit. I wanted to go over to the other side of the room where water was kept in a water-filter: I was thirsty. She was blocking my way, but in reality, she was showing me the right way. I didn’t go to the other corner of the hall where drinking-water was also kept, the water-filter kept there wasn’t working. I was moving in the right direction.

 

 

A look from her was enough to quench all my thirst forever and a day. I wished she would keep looking at me forever; I wanted to be the bottomless pit aab-e-zamzam is out to fill. I was prepared to drink from her eyes forever and a day. Although she doesn’t realise it, her presence before me was like a beacon guiding a ship over rough waters. I was aboard the ship, and it was heaving up and down in a storm.

 

 

She seemed to be quite excited and happy when she saw it was me who was pleading her to make way, although I can never be sure of the exact source of her excitement; for a while, I wondered if the music emanating from the speakers caused her face to light up. I can only be sure her excitement was raised when she looked at me with love in her eyes. I jumped up when I saw this. The storm blazing within me began to abate a bit.

 

 

She looked at me for a mere moment, but it was enough to propel me to heaven: here was someone who thought I was important. I didn’t exactly crave for attention, I got quite a bit of it from all those around me, but this time, it came from someone who thought me to be important. Her look pushed me over seven skies; this is where the Quran was brought down in its complete form: I swelled with importance. Apparently, the moment she looked at me meant a lot to her too because she blushed.

 

 

It indicated her excitement, she was happy when she saw me, I know. Excitement didn’t make her pant; there was only a momentary blush on her face signifying a  positive entity. I wish I could capture the moment in a permanent form, I wish I had a camera to click her picture, but like all good things my in life, the moment too faded off in a  while. All the same, it made me  feel so good.

 

 

I didn’t want to move on to the source of water at the other end of the hall; all my thirst had already been quenched. I didn’t need to drink water for a long time to come, I knew. I kept looking at her for a longer time, some more dregs of elation might drip from her. There was excitement dripping from her eyes long after the blush on her cheeks had faded into oblivion. I didn’t blink my eyes lest the miracle should disappear while my eyes were closed.

 

 

Thankfully, it didn’t. None of us blinked our eyes during those moments, but a thousand queries rushed through my mind. I wish I knew what she thought of me. Her blush indicated some positive thoughts brushed through her mind when she looked at me. I wish I could elongate the moment till infinity.

 

 

I wonder if it was love. I can’t be sure.  I was jumping to conclusions. I began to wonder if it was only her embarrassment that made her face turn colours. She had a beautiful face and the moment was a beautiful one. while her face changed from crimson to pink, I was begging her to move around. I felt like a pauper supplicating before a queen.

 

 

Practically, I didn’t hold any significance for her, we were strangers. I was no one,  although I wish I meant something for her more than another mere attendee of the party.  I wanted to be the king of her heart. I wanted to reign over her heart. I wanted to live in it like I owned it. I wish someone would introduce her to me. This way, I would have at least a name to miss her by.

 

 

There were speakers installed in all corners of the room to convey announcements to the gathered gentry. The hall was often used for such gatherings. There was a soft music being played through the speakers that day. Her heart was also playing a musical instrument; it was loud enough to be heard loud and clear by me. I only wonder if she too heard the music my heart was busy playing.

 

 

I heard all those notes of music she didn’t even play; they were loud enough to reverberate through my mind for quite  a long time. Their permutation and combination produces some beautiful notes of music, but right now, they were insisting on marching on despite the pause time  insisted on. I did wonder where they were going to take me.

 

 

I wish I could take her to a world where no one knows us, where no one recognises us, where there will be only the two of us. I want to be in  a world without any boundaries, a world we will live without an iota of sorrow ever touching us.

 

 

The music from the speakers reminded me this was not possible.

 

 

While I Held Her Hand

 While I Held Her Hand

She didn’t have the faintest idea of all the storms ravaging through me while she led the way to a distant corner of the park. There was a bench waiting for us, and I followed her through like a lamb. She appeared to be perfectly calm and quiet, but I felt sure she too trembled and shivered with excitement. I wish I had at least a basic knowledge of the secrets held in a woman’s heart. A thousand and one queries were revolving in my mind; I felt sure she couldn’t answer any of them.

 

We were strangers, brought together by my inclination for an evening-walk, and her affinity with flowers. She found a lot of them in the park, while there certainly was quite a bit of ground for walking in the park. She set a lot of puzzles and ciphers in my mind while she walked with me; I wanted to break away from her if only for a while, to collect myself. It wasn’t possible now. 

 

She wanted to walk with me in the park; I found it quite surprising, but it was true. We were walking along the gravel footpath. I had jumped into a well, and there wasn’t any way to come out of it till I was completely drenched in its waters.

 

They weren’t very cold or very hot; they were quite good to be in.  it was only for a short while I was to be in the waters, this is probably why it felt good. I was shivering in my pants  while I considered if I really wanted to dip into these waters for a while or remain immersed for a long time.

 

I walked along, for a long while I avoided looking at her as one avoids looking at the sun, but furtively looking her, as one does see the sun sometimes through the corner of one’s eyes. She had a fair complexion, and a tall stature. My heart was pounding with excitement and thrill. The moment hit me like a situation where results of a lottery were trickling in; I looked at my ticket-number with a bated breath. Beads of perspiration trickled down my neck; I knew she could see that I was nervous and excited at the same time.

 

I wondered if her heart too was throbbing as wildly as mine was. There wasn’t a way of knowing this. She didn’t show  any signs of excitement on her face. There was certainly a secret spiritual bond throbbing wildly between us. I wanted to grab her hand and hold it in mine for a longer  time, if only to make the bond stronger with each step we took. I felt sure the very contact was going to spill out all secrets trapped  in her heart. I wanted to dive deep into the ocean of secrets her heart was.

 

I was a bit surprised when she gave me her hand to hold, I grabbed at it, and we set off side by side, going faster and faster. The more rapidly we moved ,the more tightly she grasped my hand. I almost  broke into a run, I wished she would hold my hand a bit more tightly, but soon became conscious of the fact that there were quite a few eyes closely studying each and every move we made.

 

A delicious feeing of purity and freshness rushed through me all this while. I went through a catharsis I experience while in a mosque; I was walking out of the mosque. I had offered my namaaz, and I looked forward to the next time I was to be there.

 

Her company effected quite a few checks on several values and ideals I had in my mind. For a few minutes, she was better than the goddess of love, Aphrodite, I had visualised in my dreams. I was preparing to kiss the ground beneath her feet. I badly wished for some divine powers to bless her with eternal bliss and happiness.

 

I felt sure she was also happy while she held my hand, although she didn’t give any apparent signs: she was a perfect master of disguise. I did my best to completely immerse myself in the elixir flowing out of our communion.

 

It was dripping on the ground through a shower from the heavens while we walked along the gravel-footpath.  A  typical warmth flowed through her hand all this while; she  connected fantasy with reality while she held my hand.

 

She maintained an eloquent silence all the while, and so did I. None of us uttered a word, and yet we understood each other’s heart’s language quite well. A conversation was being conducted in a syntax of smiles and grins, the pattern was new.

 

Their sounds were louder than all the words that could ever be articulated using a loud-speaker. A lot more was to be said by both of us, although none of us had words enough to spell out all that went through our hearts.  I wish I could ask her if she understood the jargon of gestures.

 

The conversation couldn’t be carried on for a long time for we soon reached a bench in the park. It wasn’t really a long way off, but I wish the bench was a mile away and we could walk together holding hands for a longer time.

 

It was a blissful time when the children within us had died out, and we were stepping on the first few steps of youth. The track ahead glittered with a typical radiance emanating from our eyes.

 

Practically, we were strangers to each other. This was the first time I had held a feminine hand in mine with such passion. She was blushing all over and it made her all the more beautiful.

 

We went different ways in a while, but she left her typical warmth in my hand. I still think of her when I hold something in my hand for a long time.