Friends...

Light-years then, we were old friends

sitting on the last bench

Making paerboats and making paperplanes

gazing outside waiting …

waiting for the class period to end.

Old friends, school friend’s many years then

exchanged tiffin boxes, pencils and time spend.

Exchanged our deepest secrets, love and fear

Of parents, of Teachers and of bullying friends.

We had all the fun and frolic together

playing hidenSeek on terrace,

in the school playground and bus stand.

Growing with every passing years, growing mush

and beard strand ,we were oblivious, of time

we grew mentally watching

 “A” ratedMovies and hearing rock bands.

Time and again, I recall those time now

 when we are old, of our old friends.

On hearing the hustling vehicles

walking on the roads bend I recall,

I recall those time bygone of

my summer holiday companion and Christmas holiday friend.

Lost in our latptops and lost in the sound of key strokes

that type emails to our bosses and press “Send”,

I reminisce that when we are older, draped in

winter coats, do we need a photograph to

recall the innocence we shared with our friend ?

to the falling Leaves of Indiranagar...

Lingering with the freshness when the 
Air was cool and crisp, I strode.
One fine Evening on 12th Main, by the 100ft road. 
Between the woods laden with golden
Orange and silver leaves,  peeped the sun ray. 
As I sauntered feeling the wind, passing by 
Mansions, Crossword and Coffee Day. 
A gust of wind blew, tearing a leaf from the tree.
It rolled, danced and perched on my head
careless and free. I cherished the
Lonely lean leaf on my lanky hand. 
I Kissed it and brushed it
and caressed it, with my bearded cheek.
High on the bough where other leaves cling, 
Tweaked with envy with a desire to fling.
just like that  lonely lean leaves in my lanky hand.
With a desire to get touched and caressed and
Lay with piece on the coal tarred indiranagar land. 


I kept strolling as I heared the rumbling sound
of leaves that fluttered craving to comedown. 
There were thousand and millions of them 
craving to be touched, craving to be cherished 
and let it self-fall but I am limited, I
 Couldn’t catch them all.
I wandered on the road, where other dead leaves 
Lay. Oblivious it sailed with a desire
 to be touched  and caressed but got crumpled 
at feet, by the people who strolled by the
Indiranagar street. And as I walk by the road 
that wind and bend, past the bakery where 
It lead to bus stand. I pondered if I were a leaf 
and fall, would someone hold me or let me fall?

PaiN pAin Go awaY

Hey, it 20 fourteen and the first Saturday of the year,
It’s time for Salsa classes to resume, to smile, to cheer!!
But I am frowning my face and looking into the space,
I don’t know what to do while sitting in this boring place!!
I feel sorry for little finger in my feet, for it had a corn
That that tight dough of skin was like a cruel thorn!!
I hurried to a doc as he got a knife and scissor 
And he slashed that corn barbarically like a butcher!!
He then flashed his yellow teeth and moved his stoutly lips,
“You will be fine but keep some pain killers some band-aid strips” !!
Its paining like hell but I am not gonna yell,
It’s a matter of couple of days and I will be well!!
Chatting, Reading and Facebooking has spoilt my mood,
May its because its 12: 30 now and I dint had proper food!!
Chhh ! I wish someone would gets a car without fail,
For I would go and shop in this end of Season sale!!

But I can’t do anything but hum these today:
Pain , Pain go away !
Never come again on New Year Saturday
For I want to dance all the way!
Pain-Pain go from my vein,
Do not show your face again!

Thoughts that Matters

Everyday , there seems to be a script planned for chore we do, and one of the best lines are "Thank You Lord for this refreshig cup of tea", as i couch in my blacony after my work overlooking the horizons ligh years away form me just as I am tryign to look my GOD on the other side of my balcony.

I feel if the sucess is not shared with the people you love or your colleagues or be it a needy on the street when you are travelling back home and if one does not that thank GOD for gifting one the most intentellegent and invinicible computer in form of brain , then one is really not sucessful.

When people think u r really gone crazy for someting, then one must understand that u r on the right path to success.

I know Monday is blue But sky is blue too and this color is reminds me of serenity and calmness of the sky. Lets make Monday a joyful day to work on :)

Why SMokE and MiRRorS Strummed Everyone's Heart...

He dared to drew line with smoke and was smitten by unlimited charm of Bollywood while doing so. He outsourced his music to Indians and that mirrored huge success. Yes, Drew Smith would not have imagined when he outsourced Smoke and Mirrors to I can Dance 2 that it would bring laurels not only from people of his own land but from people across seven oceans. And Ironically I can Dance 2 did not imagine that they were on the cusp of making Next Kolaveri di. What you call matchless geography between India and Canada was actually turned out to be a perfect match of Indian Dance and Western music.

Perhaps why the video clicked was, out of box thinking and an exquisite mix of each and every frame that were meticulously shot.I mean what would you think when you get chance to make a Bollywood video for a Western song? Just an Indian dance would not do. Neither would sheer costume nor would mushy love story like DDLJ. The onus was to burst a Big cracker in small packet and I can Dance 2 cracked it with panache. There were obviously umpteen ideas storming in small teacup and after a lot of “This” and “That” the foundation was setup. It was in a small hamlet just a few kilometers near the suburbs of Bangalore. The broken paintings on the village hut were repainted, the lights were setup into a marvelous tapestry, the dancers warmed up for the shoot and the Cameraperson fixed his lenses. One, Two, Three were the counts and everyone worked in flawless harmony that made Smoke and Mirrors a masterpiece. For what I thought of just a bland dance in the beginning came out like flying colors of Indian culture. The bolywood dance were there, the colors of holi, the Yakshangana dancers and our patent hero and heroine just like in our own DDLJ and finally the entire song was wrapped under hues of Indian rich culture flavoured with Bolywood dance.

Within a few hours when Smoke and Mirrors was uploaded on you tube, the traffic to this site incredibly jammed and the counter read on this portal pointed a whooping 60,000+ in few hours. The number of hits now, which is near 2 lakhs is a testimony that how much people loved the video. When Ananth and Asha were basking in the glory success then did not realize that it’s just the beginning and soon it would be viral in all the leading newspapers of India and New York and they would be interviewed by all the local channels of the tinsel town of Karnataka. This achievement is undoubtedly a golden feather in their already feather-full cap.

THoSe MagiCaLThiN AiR BetwEEn Anurag and Shweta....

The next few days Anurag kept browsing her profile almost every time he logged in but her profile never turned green. Hapless he re read her message more than a thousand times and each time he thought, did he reply her message a bit too long ? What would she be thinking? Did she come online and never replied to him? Is she ignoring him? Curious he checked her activities on her profile. To his mercy there were no updates on her profile too. The last one was the day she had sent him a message.

“ Shweta Vishwas likes P.S.I Love you”.

Then one day while he was in his room couched on the floor stroking his pencil featuring the eye lashes of Shweta ,he heard his dad summoning him

“Anurag You need check with one of our client that the paintings are correctly installed”

Anurag was busy sketching his master piece, he thought he would gift it to Shweta this weekend.

“Can I go tomorrow dad, am a little busy today”

“That’s fine Son, I would go to Maheshwari house and check it myself” came the voice approaching towards him.

Anurag paused his sketch and looked into the air and squeezed his lips before he repied

“D-Dad,...Dad !I think I can go, I need to buy ...Umm …some of my painting brush on the way.”

Anurag could barely say without controlling his excitement.

“Really! Or something else cooking in the air. I knew you would never deny going there.”, his dad acknowledged with playful smirk for he knew Shweta and Anurag were kindof having a nice time ealier when they met together at her house.

“D-d-dad” he stretched his voice. “You know me…I am ....I am not ….”

“Take my car and come back soon my boy.”,His dad interrupted.

“ Thanks dad “ his voice trailed as he left his house

********************************

Anurag stopped his car just by the side of white duplex house where two-limousine kinds of car were parked royally. He ranged the bell.

As the door swung open he was startled to see Shweta.

“Hi”

“He-e-e-y”, she dragged her voice as pleasantly surprised.

“ I need to check the installation of the painting… Hope am not disturbing you”

She shrugged her eyebrows.“You are disturbing Mr.”

Anurag couldn't control his blush as he scratched his head.

“Come ... come inside”, she chuckled playfully."was just kiddin"

A slightly nervous Anurag walked in. He was amazed to see the opulent caricature stuck on the wall while climbing to the first floor.

“Where is Maheshwari uncle?”

“O, papa and mamma had gone for a meeting they organize in our community. He is the president there”

Anurag’s heartbeat hastened up as he heard she was all alone.Nevertheless he pretended to gaze around trying not to look Shweta.

“What are you staring at?

“That girl in the painting " he paused

"by the dining table, I mean,Isn’t she pretty?”

Shweta cupped her lips and with a playful smile she raised her voice “That’s all, you can’t see any other beautiful girl around?”

Anurag shrugged and smiled at her and then pretending to be normal he said “Can I see our painting installed? I need to go before its starts raining and my dad asked me to come asap”

Anurag scrutinized the painting, its symmetry with the background and the screws that had been drilled to the wall. It looked fine and for few minutes none of them said anything and in this perfect silence many questions swirled around his head.

“How come I have nothing to speak, am I that nervous because she is alone? Should I kiss her? No, that would be too much. What would she think?”, Anurag was lost, his eyes still at the painting making different eyebrow shapes as if analyzing the painting very seriously.

“Hey what’s there in your hand”, Anurag tried breaking the ice

“Love Story, by Eric Segal, I kind of like this book …reading it for the third time ”

“Oh! Nice…I like reading too…but that’s a sad book”

“Sad Books make good read,” she chirped coming closer to Anurag For the first time his eyes met her for a little more than what you call briefly. Anurag could smell her hair. It was exquisite and he noticed how she looked even more beautiful when she was alone.

“I think the painting matches the color of the façade of this drawing room.”… He took a deep breath as he continued.” Hmm…I think am done…Everything else is perfect. Can I have a glass of water?”

“Sure”, she called her servant.

There was silence again. However the moment was not as nervous as before. He wanted to defy the norm. He thought he wanted a little more of her now.

“Can I ask you something if you don’t mind”, Anurag broke silence again.

“Ummm” she uttered pulling few hairs behind her ear.

“Whose that guy in your facebook album… You never said anything about him.”

“O… he is my cousin from States. I had been to States last year when we clicked this”.

“By the way, don’t tell me that you are already jealous… Mr.” She squinted her eyes mischievously “No… O C’mon! Why should I? I mean...I dint that..." Anurag tried to fool Shweta.

Outside the overcast weather had suddenly transformed into sheets of downpour. They could see the straight lines of rain diagonally hitting the street lamps. As Shweta turned to shut the window, he could see how her salwar was semi-circular near her neck leaving generous amount of skin. The strap of her bra was thinly visible and he noticed a beautiful mole on her nape.She looked surreal and he was lost.

“What are you thinking… you are awfully quiet not like the Anurag who chats on Facebook ”, she questioned giving him the glass of water.

“Oh-No, I was just thinking about How…How I..”,Their fingers brushed gently as he took d glass from Shweta.

“I hope you are thinking good things Mr.”, Shweta Interrupted

“O good things of course, I was thinking when the rain stops and I go home.”

“O really”, Shweta folded her hand with a smile,

"I dint knew you are such a goodBoy...Anyways...Ok...Tell me soemthin?”

“yes Off course?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Well that was out of blue. But guys generally have a supernatural perfect reply for this, leaving the women mysteriously confused.

“No… I mean I dint knew but I had a friend a couple of years back but…. but I dint knew she was my girlfriend.”... He measured his words..."and on a serious note....none! I never had anyone in my life."

They continued talking thier sweet nothings and what you call "eventually" they dint realize that they were so close to each other.Perhaps both of them sensed that but no body tried to move back. Anurag's throat had gone dry. He saw how tresses of Shweta had artistically curled down scarcely covering her sleeveless shoulders. He felt the heat in his heart, as he wanted to hug Shweta tightly ,move those extra strands from her neck and kiss the mole on her nape. This could perhaps break the suspense of his love in a spur and he could relive this one moment for more than eternity. But he remained quiet for he thought some Love in life needs a little more time and it grows more intense and seems aesthetically pure if its not touched sometimes or may be he just wanted to caress those magical thin air between him and Shweta that was even more enchanting !!!

********************************

To be continued...

Love by the FaceBook 2

This is a short story written in continuation with Love by the Faceook I posted almost a year back. However it can be read as a separate piece of story also.

The next morning Anurag woke up as thought he never slept. His hand pillowed his head, his legs were crossed over and his heavy eye fixed up reminiscing her Facebook acquaintance Shweta . Her eye smudged with kohl , her manicured hands clung with wooden bangles and her golden necklace hanging along the curves of her chest. Gold against White. His heart was totally shuttered with her imaginative beauty as his musing suddenly broke when his daddy calling forth his name.

Chandok Soni was an artist and had a boutique in the heart of the city. He was famous for selling antique paintings that stretched back during the era of early Britishers and even before. His handful clients would buy paintings for high fortunes that would be umpteen to sustain even if he would be without sales for one season.

“You are flattering me, I just love to do my duty”, said Chandok.

“I am not.”,replied Chandok's new client Maheshwari

“Your collections speaks volume about you. I tell you one day your paintings gonna hang in the house of our prime Minister”

He then turned towards Anurag and put his hand on his shoulder

“Are you not proud of your Father?”

“I am very much”, I replied coyly.

“Thats my boy” .

He complimented Anurag with a pat on his shoulder. His talks told that he was very much impressed by Chandok's collections and he was looking forward to buy some more in future.

“Daddy, you forgot your coffee”

That was a young female voice. Anurag sneaked little towards side. A slim hipped girl in salwar topped with a yellow duppata. Her hairs curling exactly twice before leaning down to her shoulders and her skin milky white.

“That so dear of you, Thank you so much”, said Maheshwari.

As she came near her father and handed his coffee she looked even more attractive. She appeared like a dream of every artist as if she was carved when God was on a sabbatical. Her duppata was modestly hanging over head before falling down to her shoulders.

“She is my daughter, Shweta”

Anurag lifted his head and their eyes met for a couple of seconds.

Both of their hearts skipped a beat it and for flash they felt they just survived a magnanimous turbulence. It was like collusion of two invisible Titan without making sound. They in their most craziest dream must have never thought once a Facebook acquaintance would meet like this. She looked tensed and Anurag saw how beautiful she looked when there were streaks of concern on her suave face.

“Well, its time go “, said Chandok as he shook hand with Maheshwari

Later when they were driving back home Anurag tried to gather a little more information.

“Who's choice the painting was dad? Was it Uncle Maheshwari or his daughter?”

“I don't know, but how does it make sense, when your paintings are sold?”

“Hmmm”, Anurag cleared his throat.

“Are they from a very aristocratic background. I think the choice of the painting was of Shweta's”

Chandok swiveled his steering past a speeding truck and when the road appeared more serene he said with a gasp:

“Hmmm ! Why do you ask ?”, he looked at Anurag coyly

Anurag shrugged and fought back a smile.

“Just like that, dad”

“O, really? Or my son has hot a shot on someone!”, he said with a playful eye lingering on him.

Anurag rolled his eye with a sheepish smile as they drove all the way on the highway.

That night Anurag felt insomniac. He looked at his watch. It was 2 AM. Not knowing what to do, he logged into facebook. There were 2 notifications and 1 message flashed in red color. As he clicked on the icon, an array of updates rolled down.

“Sudip has sent you a farm ville request”

“Raju gandhi also commented on his own photo"

He squeezed his cheeks in indifference and heartlessly clicked on the message.

“Shweta has sent you a message”

Suddenly his eyes widened up as he checked her profile picture.

“Shweta Vishwas” , read the name. His energy pounced back. Protruding his neck closer to the screen and with an unimaginable gleam in his eye, he stared at the screen.

“Anuuurag ! Cant believe this... you were at my home! GOD ! ! ! for a moment I was blank… something I can never imagine… And thanks for the painting you sold it to us. Its amazing. Love you for this. My dad liked it very much. Thank u Thank u Thank u :)”

Anurag could sense the excitement in her and he too felt his heart pounding again and again as if something can work with her. He clicked Shweta's profile and scanned her details meticulously. About her, her favorite movies, her favorite books and when he saw her relationship status, he felt a tremor in his heart. It was SINGLE. Loud and clear. And when he browsed her album he saw her snap with a boy whose hand lay on her shoulder. With a tinge of green in his heart he clicked next. He was surprised to see the scanned portrait he gifted it to her. A girl in black sleeveless dancing under the rain with her arms stretched wide. Her hairs loose open in harmony with the cool breeze and droplets of water kissing her suave white skin not willing to fall down. She looked beautiful but Anurag thought he could sketch her even more angelic. But one thing kept bothering him.

“Who was that guy in the previous picture”

Nevertheless he clicked on the message and read again and again, God know how many times before he replied back to her.

Dear Shweta...Thank you very much...”

Too clichéd, he thought for a second and then rephrased it as

“Hey there, u don' t need to be too formal. I am glad u liked the painting and even more glad that I saw u. I thought serendipitous situation only happed in movie. But yesterday it happed in real life. Hey...and Shweta I knew you belong to well-to -do family but never thought your parents have such a warm heart. I specially liked your dad, he was very friendly to me and your mom... you mom looked beautiful. Well I wish I could gift your painting yesterday but thank GOD I din’t, for I got a reason to meet you again... and one more thing, You know what...now I came to know why you look so beautiful”.

Guys generally make a mountain out of molehill. He could have just replied her in a simple one liner. But his heart never wished so. He was excited and without much mulling over it he sent the message.

The next day he woke up a little late, as it was Sunday. He kept switching sides reading Shweta's message in his mind. What did she say? “Love you for this.” Is she trying to tell me that she loves me or she just liked the painting?

But she could have told “Like you for this”, then why did she use “Love” and who was that damn guy in that picture. But her relations ship status told she is Single. A million such questions swirled in his head.

To be Continued...

An Old man's Christmas

By foot of the church he stares in a cold

December night. Huddled in the swarm of

peddlers by the tree filled with stars bright.

He eyes at blissful children caroling in joy

as they yell for Chocolate, for Cake and Toy.

As the old man looked at young people bliss,

(A doubly edged bliss, whose duller side was pain.)

And Lone he waited for someone greeting him

“Merry Christmas” but in vain.

His skin wrinkled and his shoulders bend. Like

a wilted Rose without a support can’t stand. He

ponders over the park being filled by young

men. How he wish he could don nine suits

and look young again.

Boys and girl jostled in a Halloween.

Some became an angel and Some looked like pumpkin.

He smiled faintly lost in his own time like this,

when his kin would greet a warm hug and

he would hail a Christmas kiss.

He stood with a stick stiff but fragile. Decked out

in White shirt, Black hat and White tie. The veiling

silence then rolled with Noel words,

as his aging legs sauntered into the church.

He prayed heartily with a heavy breath.

And pondered, “Was this my last Christmas before

my death?

He wished to live more and make more memories to cherish.

As the Vicar in the church chanted:

"For God so Loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son

For who so ever believe in him

Shall Not Perish."

And he believed in the word of GOD and prayed for his happiness.
Astonishingly there were scores of children then, 
who wished him"Merry Christmas", as he replied simply,
"GOD Bless"

My School 12th Reunion...( A story of love)

When I woke up this morning, I felt something unusual, as if I was racing thorough my life in a train leaving behind a collage of images of my home, my family, my dance class and my school friends. Was it because I would be turning 28 in week’s time? Or the desi bland air that was hung with smell of guava leaves and rain coming from my balcony? Or the letter I received from my alma mater of its 12th reunion? It was a Sunday morning of languor as I kept changing sides creating wrinkles on my bed, recalling those days gone by.

“Nilu”, her name was. How I smiled when I first saw her. A chubby girl with exactly two ponytails, her school bag stylishly resting on her right shoulder walked into the classroom. I wish I could relive those days of adolescence yet again but then I have to endure the time of pain that were hidden in my joyous childhood as well…

She had an unusual haughty vibes telling her early education was at some posh boarding school. Her skirt was neatly preened, not very short like those of Delhi girls and the contour of her spotless white shirt told, she had caressed the warmth of teenage life. I dint knew the first poem I penned up for her, would make her cheeks turn red … “Roses are s red, Violets are blue and now I See u, in everything I do…”

I kept thinking as my life was rewinding like that in a videocassette and picture frame around me turned into black and white. I started climbing down stairs from 4^th floor of my apartment facing opposite direction, boarded train that zoomed in retrograded motion as if the last compartment was pulling its engine. In minutes time I hit my country road, I see the newly built malls turning to tea stalls, the tarred roads becoming earthly where sounds of morning fruit seller echoed. My mush starts turning smoother as if I had never shaved, I become more leaner and shorter and then there I was in St Paul’s school, exactly 12 years back, my last day before the boards. It was English class, when Father Thomas was construing the lines of Merchant of Venice and whose beard just turned black from grey as he became younger just like I did a few clocks back.

“Antonio: In sooth I know not, why I am so sad, it wearies me and you say it wearies you, but how I c aught it, found it or came by it, I am to learn…”

As Father was engrossed in teaching the excerpts of Shakespeare’s play, I was staring at him pretending to concentrate but moving my eye balls sideways tying to sneak into Nilu’s eye. As I was about to hurl a paper ball to her, Father knew there was something cooking as he eyed me up with ferocious steps, held my cheeks with his old stubby thumb and pulled it a zillion times. And then raining spit he hurled his clichéd words, which he had already uttered a thousand times…

“What’s wrong there?…Whaaaat is Wronnng there?”

“ You rotten sac of potato, don’t build castles in the air…I feel sorry for u !!! Study hard or else your carrier is ‘goona be marred”.

He continued reprimanding and I continued lending my ear bowing head down until the bell had gone for lunch.

In the break, at the corridor just outside the class, many students gathered. Some threw pranks laughing and pushing each other. Some just stared at the girls with budding round contour clad in tight sweaters and some for no reasons. Few paces away Nilu stood looking for a moment to console me. She looked beautiful as she came near me. Her white bra was thinly visible under her translucent shirt. It made me yearn for more. I waited for the school to call it a day, when I would meet her over a date and that would be more intimate unlike few furtive kisses earlier. I knew she would never say a “ No”. Nevertheless I cheated everybody eye as I nimbly handed over a chit asking her to meet me after the last period.

I ran to the football ground and so did all the guys. Yes, “Game’s” was our last period. It was battle between red house and blue house. All the twenty-four of us frantically ran after one ball. Some girls went for a stroll gossiping and some peeped us from the class window that over looked the ground. I saw Nilu stealing a glance from the sidelines of one of the window. Her boy friend was not less too. He was an exhibitionist and boastful. When I had a chance I dribbled the ball first left and then right, hopped it more forward, fumbling to beat another one but some one from behind always snatched the ball. I used to whack the ground in abject but Nilu would giggle cupping her nose enjoying my hopelessness .It did not matter to her whether I was a “Pele” at the game or a mediocre, after all she had fallen in love with a guy who cuddled her and kissed her at times she was most forlorn, talked whenever she needed him and when she was happy, he multiplied.

Finally the last period called it a quit, as I waited for Nilu in an abandoned room just behind Father’s quarter. It was sheltered with unlimited mangroves from the top and school boundary wall from behind that just separated our school from the railway track. This was the most risk fully safest place at the bay of our campus. Safe because no one dared to saunter at the circumference of father’s quarter and risky because after all it was by the shadow our principal’s home…

Each second of her delay made me more restless. The hands of my clock ticked as fast as the beat of my heart and there she was tiptoeing towards the most mysterious place of our school. Her almond like eyes gloomed like never before. Thoughts of the afternoon stormed my mind as her pony-tailed head lay on my lap. I cleaved a few stands of her hair and kissed the black mole on her nape. We lay among the dusty bench as my hand trailed on every detail of her neck and shoulders. I unbuttoned her top as I saw the strap of her bra that firmly shaped her authenticate curves. My heart pounded unusually faster and our breath became shallower.

“You fool, did you locked the door”, gasped Nilu as I saw twinkle in her eyes. I dint not wish to offend her as I run and twisted the lever of the door. We had devised our indigenous of locking the door from outside.

She looked more tired today as there were streaks of perspiration on her chubby cheeks-but that only made her look more stunning. Even I reeked of the playground smell as my temples were smeared with dust. But where do these impurities matter when your are in love. I kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips and I dint knew when I had cuddled her bosom. She did not stop me for sure. I set aside her necklace and left a trace of my wetness on the lines of her neck and more below. My hands then fondled her back in circles as I unhooked her bra.

This was the last time Nilu was so close to me. The door which was confidently locked from outside was cruelly broken and there stood a tall figure named Father Thomas with a fury in his eye. We froze with terror and the next morning there was a letter of or suspension on his table. I picked up mine as I kept mulling over the tragedy of errors.

There were many days unfolded since then and after the boards I tried to contact Nilu… But each of my phone call were received with silence and every letter of mine were unanswered.

To be continued….

*************************************************************************************

Drinking beer on a Sunny Sunday

One fine Sunny Sunday in the month of

June, we played a match in the scorching

afternoon. First we ran for runs and then

for catch. Lazily we bowled and finshed the

match. And when the Sun held high in the

Bangalore town ,we decided to have Beer

on the cricket ground. Corona it was so yellow

and clear, like a mellow sunshine bottled in

form of beer. We raised our bottles, and some

their plastic cups. “Cheered” in chorus and

gulped the first cheering Bottoms Up.

“BurrRRrrr”, we howled and squeezed our

lime. The first bottle, the first one

we finished in no time.

The Second pint was smooth and slow.

The Only one who’s’ high was Joe. His eyes

Was fixed and voice numb as he frantically

went on scratching his bum. Ananth too hit

his guitar down , strumming “You spin my

head right round”. Sandy was quiet and

the only sober one, for he was used to drink

Old Monk rum. By and by we drank to the

Core, we counted the score, it was not one or

two nor three but Four.

As I was on a fifth bottle embark, Varun

snatched my drink and hurled his remark,

“Dude, What the Fcuk, this is not fare”,

that bottle not urs, that’s my share.”

“Jack are You ?” , i said, "I can see you through my

hazy funk, Gimme my drink ,am not so drunk”.

His parched soul then headed towards

Karthi ! But he said Sorry Macha, am sharing

my drink with Parthi. And when he was left

with none, He joined sandy with his old monk

rum.

We played a lot of prank, some I cant recall,

For my mind was tumbling under influence

of alcohol. Suddenly came with another bottle

Murali aana, I said,” Sorry brother, too much

Now, I don’t waana”.

At times I ponder, I am doing too much drinking,

So I advised my mind, better quit…….. Thinking.

I poemed this incident on that moment spur. I dint

knew I would mix beer and metaphor. I waked

the sleeping poet within me. Like Frost Robert

writes word and talks like a simile.

The deep were lovely dark like woods

For promised are broken for goods

And smiles to come whenever u drink…

And smiles to come whenever u drink…

*********************************************

************************************

*************************

Emotions

A feeling disguised that sustain in heart abyss.
No one can touch nor can see, no one can encage nor can free.
A sense that can be ecstatic and times eerie.
A rhythm divine and simple but herculean
to unravel its secrecy. Like a string they bind
beads of relationship With the pearl Of love Of separation
and eternal Oneness. They make a famished
mother cry for her dear child amidst all opulences.
Memories linger on and on which haunts the halcyon
days of joy and bliss and nostalgic souls
cry for the patimes that they miss.
Drenched in these ecstatic feelings
Lovers swear to be one and restless they shed
oceans of tear at time of separation.
Sometimes they replete soul happy and gay and
sometimes they cause them dismay.
Presence of which makes life beautiful and
as beautiful it can be. It bring
love, care and empathy when clad
For that is the dichotomy between living and dead.

Love By the FaceBook

“Excuse me, Can u hear me ?”

A voice seemed to fade into the air...

Lost in the oblivion of solitude, the world to him seemed so mundane and hollow. Couching on a lone bus at Jeevan Bheema nagar , Anurag kept mulling at every raindrop that kissed the ground and slitted into several smaller drops. A few sporty ones cruised on a roller coaster ride by the rim of the window pane finally dropping on his elbow. He had given hope that his Face Book acquaintance would ever be his friend and date him...
She would ? She would'nt ?....She would ? …..But why not ? After all she had promised him when he last pinged her. His mind was playing a tug of war with self inflicted questions between Would she or Wouldn't she...

SHWETA, thats the name, he typed searching for long lost class mate.
And FaceBook recommended him a bunch of Shweta Aggarwal to his confusion...Many of them sporting a beautiful profile pictures but to no avail. He browsed through one of the profile with no picture but a big yellow color circle that was happy smiley. Suspecting Shweta he was looking for he sent her a message...

Hey Shweta...
This is me...Anurag !!!Remember ? GOD...where on earth I did not search for u ? Where are you and how u doing ? Remember...u said me... We will always be in touch...But it seems the day we parted from school, we lost our connection...Hope you are the shweta one am looking for 'o else I am sorry !!!
Reply in haste...
Anurag

Hello Anurag
I am sorry...I am not the one Shweta you are looking for....But your message was sweet indeed and I see your are a wonderful artist...One of the sketches in your Photos , where a couple is dancing on white cloud... that sketch...it really touched my heart. I would not mind making you my acquaintance.
Love
Shweta

Acquaintance and Love she had used both the words in her short message. Well, for a moment he felt something unusual under his belly. Nevertheless both of them added each other as acquaintance and as the day passed by they became good friends and as more days passed they became a little more than close friends, if you understand what I mean.

******************************************************************

Shweta tiptoed towards the terrace hiding the piece of paper in her bosom which Anurag had given her this evening. It was a starry night with the wind just blowing to soothe her cheeks. Gingerly she unfolded the piece of paper. It was a sketch of a girl in black sleeveless top which looked exactly like her. Her hairs loose open, strands flying in the air, hands strethced wide emracing the rainfall. Droplets of water hanging aoround her nose and cheeks, as thought bidding the last good bye just before falling down and her dress fully wet hugging her body as though taking the warmth of her ethereal skin. In the background there was a coconut tree bowing down to her as if for protecting her from the storm and there was a streak of lightening in the sky which she was not wary off. Completely independent, Jovial and full of frolic she was lost in her own world of dance.

The sketch was just out of the world. Her lips arched from one end of her cheek to another smiling with unlimited blush. She felt very happy that someone can imagine her so beautifully. But there was a tinge of concern as her heart ached for a moment. She never danced so freely and what if Anurag had fallen in love with her ? It was not that she did not like him but she couldn't imaging getting married to him. She was daughter of a millionaire builder while he was just a meager earning artist. She pondered for some time and decided to suppress her happiness in her heart she felt for the sketch and for Anurag.

******************************************************************

The next afternoon she waited for him at Costa Coffee house. Getting down from his bike, he adjusted his hair . She could sense his anticipation of getting tons of compliment from her....

“So, How was it ?”

“It was good”, She said, “But not like me, u know”....

“But Why not ?”

“The girl in your sketch it seems... Seems like very much younger than I am ....plus she is stupid. She could have at least taken a shelter, how can she be so careless to dance in rain under the coconut tree when its lightening.”

Shweta kept speaking and Anurag kept listening as his eyes sinked deeper and breath became shallower.

“But I dint set out to make you stupid. I drew you as you came to me”

A voice from her heart was telling her to keep mum, but she decide not to listen to it..,

“Did u know, my daddy has never ever let me walk in the rain”

“No But-”

“Did you know I have never ever danced in an open area, like you have depicted ?”

“No But-”

“You are completely mistaken about me. I am rich Anurag but I am not as free as you think. My daddy is really strict and he never let me alone anywhere except for when I come to college. He is like that not because he is thinks I am girl but because he cares for me more than anything in the world.”

“Osh...I am Sorry Shweta...but can you give me a chance to fix it....Can I make the real you ? The one which you like to be....Confident ,Careful and your daddy's daughter...I promise...”



“Daddy' Daughter”, these words from him stole her heart. But she was silent...She knew she has spoken so much for no reason and it was indeed a beautifully sketched herself. She felt sorry but she never expressed her apologies.

“OK”, She replied, “But I don't like wearing black top u sketched ”, She tried putting in attitude.

“You don't have to, I gonna clad you in the blue embroidered salwar, with dupatta hanging very carefully around your slender neck. Your ears Jewelled with the perfect gem hiding between your well groomed strands falling on to your shoulder and your forehead dotted with shinning bindi between your eye brows. ”

Anurag was talking about one of her profile picture on FaceBook that she probably had clicked in one the wedding cermony.

“and I dont want to dance under the rain and my hands should be well poised”

“Sure, you will not...I will make u sit on a chair , a well manicured hands perfectly crossed over your knees. I love it when you are like that flawlessly sitting on chair sporting a smile that could make a sad person like me smile too”

“and I love it when my eyes are Kohled and my feet ankled ”

“Your eyes are beautiful, that is perhaps the first thing I noticed about you. I can imagine how pretty you would look, like when your eye rim would be accentuated by shades of Kohl and how good it would sound when your anklet would jangle as you walked effortlessly”

Shweta sensed her cheeks getting redder and her heart pounding unusually extra as she never ever imagined in her sweetest dream that someone would describe her so beautifully.

It was time for them to part. They bid good bye to each other. Anurag promised that he would paint her exactly the way he told her. Shweta smiled for the last time as she turned to go. Suddenlly she became conscious of her dress she was wearing, the melody of her anklet as she stepped each time and her eyes that whether she forgot to smear it with the Kohl today.Was she in Love too?

To be Coninued....