Category: Love

A woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.

A woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.

So as known, I slept very early, woke up in the middle of the night, lazed around watching random stuff, read random pieces from my diary, sat across the balcony. Having fallen asleep there, I wake up disoriented.

I get up and I make tea. As I wait for the water to boil, I vaguely go through a few random memories of her from the past.

I am thirty one years old, I have been alone for almost three years now, I have dated no one since-the-last-almost-three-maybe-four-years-of relationship/being-together/knowing her. I know her for the past six years. I fell in love with her, yet. She could have fallen in love with me; may be, she did. But, she avoided it. We were almost in an almost relationship, but we averted it.

Sometimes I like to be alone, I come into my bedroom at the odd time of the day, just to lie down for a moment. I Look out at the light coming through my window, it gives me a feeling of solitude filled with hope. It seems the most human thing, i can learn to live with.

I realise how, some mornings never dawn in a man’s bedroom, the drapes of a morning never unfolds till a woman arrives.

I remember a portrait of us together in a friends house. Probably the only picture of us together; me in a white tee and a black shorts after giving bozo, the chocolate lab, a shower and she in her pantsuit. The picture is a testimony of our worlds apart, Yet S’s mom finds that a cute picture, “No two same people ever fall in love”

There are times, I feel so ditsy, dizzy and disoriented. I do take refugee with some of my couple-friends, Three to two to be precise, for they make you feel better and humane. I remember once at a late dinner at their place, I could hear their baby whimpering from the bedroom. I was about to stop my story-telling as she paused for a second and asked me to finish first. I was a bit taken back, She got up as I finished with the anecdote, Winking at her husband V, she said, “I will get the baby, you take care of this one.” I am grateful in life for a few deep friendships that I had earned till now.

Sometimes all I do is sit at my sofa or lean against the counter in the kitchen or even without realising as I open my fridge or when I am about to leave for work, I start to think about the home that I have made in the last lustrum. The guest bedroom, the way the laundry bag is hidden from the view, the way the bamboo plant is kept facing the sun, the arrangement of rugs.The idea of an hand-sanitiser within the reach as you snuggle onto the sofa. The chair right near the front door so that one can ease into it, as reaching for the footwear. In some ways every little precise detail matched the version of you in my head.

At times, it gives me an immense feeling of a home, a family, when there is someone sleeping in the next room, the way I tip-toe across the entire house, the way a door should be closed with a silent hush. Something I picked up from somewhere,

just like this weird habit of mine – Celebrating either a 10,000th day or Eleven thousand eleven hundred and eleventh day of someone, I missed the first. So i planned the latter on April 1st 2014. How I bugged her all day to bunk, just to cancel my plan on the last minute. Yet Fahadh came to the rescue, planned the whole thing, A cake, a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, I do have the small video of someone, mellowing down, the welling up in the eyes and a slight smile of mouthing the words, Thank you.

I imagine at times, the house filled with people, the two kids and the dog. As I have this space below the window sill, large enough to fit a small bed for a dog. Of her in the study, pacing deep down in concentrating on work, the kids sleeping, me sitting with the dog, talking to a friend/student. May be its a way that one is growing up without a family around.

May be somewhere a home awaits you, as the woman I loved is coming for dinner tonight.

 

 

 

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To be Cared for,

Here I am back to my blogging life, interspersed with random thoughts, frequents cups of hot fluids, evading abstract memories of fading yesterdays and an impending finished PhD dissertation, nursing myself back to health, like an wounded animal in a battle for survival.

My mind chose this night to recount a few memories, draped in a moon-lit solitude and a flickering candle, I sit helplessly and sleeplessly ruminating over a few hundred moments of what could have been the point of breaking down. Writing could be a wonderful way to exorcise past and to confront the violent ugliness of reality. Its the point in time, when people see that lane of exit of the past, parallel to their actual days of life.

Most times, our lives are never about ourselves alone, it is so more about a few people who do become a part of you and your everydayness of life. It is strange when people decide to leave, all of a sudden. The silence, sullenness, the aloofness, the cold distance, the indifference and all of that together in a single look, word or a phrase, and to realise at a precise moment in time; to be left alone,

” I was certain he would turn my way. He would look at me. He would flatten his ears. He would growl. In some such way, he would conclude our relationship. He did nothing of the sort…
…. I was weeping because Richard Parker had left me so unceremoniously. What a terrible thing to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. where we can, we must give things a meaningful shape.. It’s important in life to conclude things properly. Only then you can let go, otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did and your heart is heavy with remorse, that bungled good-bye hurts me to this day.. But I hope you will remember me as a friend. I will never forget you, that is certain. You will always be with me in my heart…So Farewell, God be with you..”

– Life of Pi- Yann Martel.

The adolescent longings of an unrequited love seems much more of a mirage in the scale of pain as one grows up to be an adult. Those winter evenings as I stay hidden on the sides of the wall, looking up on balcony for a sight of her. The exhilarating joys of a puppy love, the rush of hormones, the inevitable shyness even to look into your eyes as we speak. The innocence of then love held a promise of being cared for, with no apprehensiveness. Was it the age? was it the heart? Was it the mind?

Life then sucked too.

Yet.

The promise of a love and a faith in the togetherness of a tomorrow was quite reassuring.

I vividly remember a new years eve. Following a promise made to A, I began to read my first Classic, Of Human Bondage. Any plans for a celebration looked futile. I was half cursing and sulking at my room-mate who left earlier that evening.  I took my pills, covered myself with two sheets of blankets and held a book on top of my chest.  It was cold and difficult even to hold the book and worse it wasn’t a book that seemed to move forward as one reads. I remember this place in the book, where an unhappy orphan kid feeling far worse alone and painful as he couldn’t be consoled by his care taker, a barren elderly women who never had a kid. The kid shouts out his vengeance”I hate you, I wish you were dead”. The poor lady who never knew what it is to be mother breaks down at her failure. She breaks down and sobs as the kid reaches to kiss her. “She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer”. That was a moment of a sublimeness and I was overcome with such a spiritual feeling. I went off to sleep, closing the book and remember waking up far better in reality.

I knew very little of A’s own journey from her childhood. She married young and got divorced with a little boy even before she turned twenty five. Having lost her father at a young age, it was her mother who raised her; and life can be indeed cruel when you are violently brought back to square one. I knew somethings about her life as she told me, what she had to fight everyday and what follows her like the shadows of demons. I know our lives are not destined to be the same in our adulthood, yet I know, how I once felt close to her as how I would have for a sibling.

At times, life spins a tale, a far fetched joke, taking someone far away from everything they knew and they loved.

I remember writing once in my diary, “Love is an ability. An ability to be humane.” I have had known, what is when people leave, when they grow up and move on. Yet some times, when few memories catch you, so off-guard.  A trembling moment of resonance as one sees, when things come crashing down. Stay put. Hold onto your ground. Look up as they soar high and smile, knowing deep down, they are not coming back.

May be. Sometimes they do.

Sometimes this wound occurs at the moment of birth, sometimes it happens later. We are all fixing what is broken. It is the task of a lifetime. We’ll leave much unfinished for the next generation. 

Cutting For Stone – Abraham Verghese

 

‘My Sister always thought; you were a complete mess in your head.’

That is something probably he is used to hearing from F, whom he considered more of a Kid Brother. “My Sister always thought you were a complete mess in your head.”

Something that stuck with him for life. There is a stagnant place in life, just like we all believe there must have been a simpler place in time. Strangely life takes you more often there, leaving you bewildered.

Like the tempting waves of the sea, as one steps into the shore, the water soothes you, caressing you and thereby slowly touching each fibre of your soul and wading you into it. There is a moment when you let go of the fear and step into the horizon of the unknown as the ocean engulfs you into it completely. Few people rarely get into ocean that way, to completely give into it.

Those countless hours they have spent on the sea, her fascination for water as F puts it. He was taken completely by the charms of the siblings. They are quite apart yet they are so similar. As we all grow up, we outgrow the intimacy of being brothers or sisters. What charmed him more, is that he can see himself as the brother and the sister and how much he miss being a brother to his own brother. As D puts it often, “Cranky families produce better children” Yet they are his own dysfunctional idea of family and love.

The girl that he fell in love, a girl who who grudgingly yet soulfully built a home in a house full of strangers. A girl who painfully transformed herself into a woman, having fought for a place in the world. A woman who with an easy smile and with a sip of wine can be dismissive, “Yeah.It all happened. Everything was given to me at the right time.” He did wonder at how many people, actually would be so nonchalant about growing up.

A few remnants of the residual love, the slight amused tilt, “You are so much a kid, still.” the smile she had for him through the side mirror as she parks her car in the reverse, a momentary pause to decide whom to greet first, the dog or the guy. The way he longs for those rare moments when she leans onto him, the smell of her morning shower, the smell on her hospital dress, when she is back home. The way she closes her eyes as a test and a thought to decide how much water for the rice to boil. A tired greeting on the phone at the end of the day. The twinkle in her eyes at his every gesture of love and surprise. Her resignation for his ways into the future, “You are still a student, bubby” Her habit of flicking off the TV for a second to see him in the screen, sipping the cup of tea for sweetness. The way she raises her voice stern and firm, when he is all bugging about ,”Bunk today, Please.” The memory of a woman checking her Kohl in the mirror as she gets ready for work.

Those evenings, when they all huddle together on the floor around the sofa, Tea, snacks, Wine, endless chatter and banter, the movies, the cards, the board games, those dumb charades. Its the time, when all he looks is for a moment when she would little brush against him as she gets up to leave or snuggle quietly into his lap, humming along a song quietly, as she winks at him. Those myriad memories of her. As F teases him, “You are way too smitten,” And remember, “My Sister always thinks; you are a complete mess in your head.”

To meet and part; To part and to meet. And the final memory as she closes her eyes and sings in a soothing voice and in tune with the pitch as she raises in the timbre,

Kaatru Veesum Veyyil Kaayum Kaayum Athil
Maatram Èthum Illayae.. Aaaa..
Vaanum Mannum Nammai Vaazha Chøllum Antha
Vaazhthu Oayavillai Èndrendrum Vaanil..,”

In that Ephimeral bubble of eternity, he rests his life as she opens her eyes with a smile. The unmistakable sad silt of her head with the twinkle of a small sigh.

in the inner sanctum of the darkest night

an anonymous night

went unheeded…

two souls delved deeper

in the piercing cold,

hot,the glistening beads of sweat…

in the unspent hour hurriedly,

i searched for a known semblance…

of the crispness in the wild air,

the mud patch of the wet earth,

the whining moon light,

the unmistakable sad tilt of your head…

in the inner sanctum of the dark and coldest night,

embers of romance are still warm,

a flame of nostalgic love will now be lit

for the memories of unmade love…

Does the night still possess the love to serenade the moon?

New Year, New Dawn and New Hopes…

Let all that remain aside,
but what concerns me more these days is you. Just you.

I had been merely just lazy and have thoroughly neglected you. I am sorry baby. I promise that I will make up and be the best to you in the coming days. Promise to take you out for more, random outings, random restaurants for an eat-out and posh places once in a blue moon, More Walks, More movies, More Shopping and I need to earn for that.

It feels good to sit and write a letter, a post just for you. And more than anything I need to spend more time with you, to re-discover you, discover you and to fall in love with you once again… and that’s a promise now.

Love,
From Darling Me to Darling Me…

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A new beginning

My Sixth day of staying at home. 
I felt different, for all other times, I had been home. It was just the company of three dogs, a few dozen books, my Ghazal collection, a few friends hanging by home and the otherly men stuff. This time it was all different. Dad called me up, before I left to home. This was our conversation.


Me: Hello dad,

Him: yup febi, how are you?

Me: I didn’t want to make it difficult for him, so I chose to speak for what he had called me in the first place. “fine, I got your mail.”


Him: “I’m sorry about it, hope you don’t mind.” I did sense his hesitation. 

Me: I really mind dad, I just cannot entertain them. (though I felt like shouting those words at him. I didn’t) Instead, “Fine by me, dad”

Him: Thanks Sonny, I appreciate that.

Me: Not a problem, dad….

Him: hmmm… what?

Me: “Drive safe”, I don’t know why I spoke those words.. I never ever remotely spoke to him, liked I cared, in all these years. 

It was a week back.  Dad came home and left. I am here, with his family. It sounds strange to know that my dad has a family, to which I don’t claim to be a member. It was a thorough discomfort to be put up under the same roof, I did felt bad for me, for them and then for us.

Initially.

I chose to be myself, slept and woke up at my own. She had been not so pushy, but made sure that I was looked after. She got milk to the bed in the morning, prepared vegetable/fruit salads in the noon, got curd and rice for dinner. All through her stay, she avoided rotis, which I’m sure dad would have informed her about my hatredness for roti and aloo. It kind of made me difficult to be at home, for all that she had been to me, I never had a kind word or smile for reciprocation. 

It was good to see a new warmth-filled touch to home, which only a woman-mother can give, the sight of kids at home, running around, keeping Tuffy, leila and Yoppy busy all through the day. They were a bunch of never-tiring-souls. Seeing them in action made me feel good. I remember one noon, when I was about to leave somewhere, I saw the younger one, compelling her mom to take her out to the nearby lake, to which she was blatantly refusing. As I walked by, the little one, shouted, “Can’t chetta take us out in his bike?” 

I noticed that the girl spoke to her mom in Hindi. Till then, I had been in an illusion that she was a Malayalee. She spoke a perfect malayalam. Then I remembered dad, asking me to help her with anything, if she wants, as she was not so fluent with the local language. 

The girl, then  burst into tears and sobbed into her mom’s lap. I looked at her mom, she gave me a embarrassed smile. I went to her and patted the little girl and asked her if she wants to accompany me to the lake. She was all smiles. Before I could turn around, there was the other kid, who ran up to me and held my hand. And she had this beautiful pleading smile on her face, with which all my defense melt away. I suddenly felt like that big bro, whose only duty was to love and give. 

As I kicked my engine and veered off to the gate, the kids were waving frantically at their mom, I saw her, wiping her eyes with the corner of her pallu. It was the first time, I noticed the similarity.  She always wore a cotton Saree. 

I was mad at her, the second day, when I saw her getting out of the master bedroom. I Know it was no business of mine, where she stays, what she does at the house, which ceased to be a home for me. I was frowned up  and I snapped at her the full day for no reasons. I felt bad. I know that I cannot go to her and make it up for my rudeness. 

I had been waiting to grab a chance and these kids made it. 

we returned around five in the evening, with the kids dresses fully wet and smudged with mud. They were holding a bag full of chocolates, cakes and other fruits picked from our woods nearby and started to tell their tales. All through the time of the kid’s narrative excitement, she was looking at me. I could sense the gratitude in her glance. Then I realized how much grounded the kids would have felt, being put up at home. 

Next day morning the kids came to my bed to wake me up. It was nothing new. It would be either yoppy/leila/tuffy who would be doing that every day and wake me up from my paradise-sleep. They woke me up and urged me to get ready, soon they were in the bed, playing and three dogs took turns to lick me out of sleep. I could only choose to get up. 

They took me out that day and wanted me to play with them. I felt awkward first, then felt the child leashing out of me. We were playing football and Yoppy out of no-where brought the water-hose. That handsome-brute loves to get spoiled in water. All through the time, we were playing in the garden, their mom was watching us from the porch. It was the same what my mom did when I played with friends and my kid bro.

That day evening,  I got down to stay in the porch for a while, as it was a moonlit night.  She was sitting at the porch. She greeted me, with her warm smile. I sat beside her. We spoke for the first time.  It was quite a natural conversation. It wonders me to know that she knows a lot about me more than my dad could have ever bothered to know about me. 

It felt good. She thanked me for taking the kids out and playing with them, telling me that they really liked being in my company. I told her that I felt really good and more alive in their company. Then I saw the book  in her lap, “One hundred years of solitude” by Marquez. It was a surprise for me to know that she is a reader. I had seen her other times, either in the kitchen cooking with music plugged in, working in the garden, playing with the dogs, attending her kids, knitting, painting, All these days, I had never seen her hooked to the TV, not even a second.  Something that I had seen only in my mom. 

Could it be that, my dad fell for the same woman in her too as how he fell for a woman thirty years back in my mom ?

For one-thing I never realized that I started considering her mom. And I don’t want to do what I did to my own mom- To hate, for all that she had been to me. It is quite complex to explain everything. The way I loved my mom and the way I wanted my dad and my mom to be together. I didn’t understand them or their love. All I had been was rude and arrogant. I never showed a inkling of love and care to my own mom all through her living years. For all the time I cried every-night, with her next to my room, and never showing my love. My one act of Kindness would have made it easy for both of us, would have healed our bitter-past. Yet I didn’t. 

I don’t want to do the same to her, my mom. My sister’s mom. I don’t want to hurt her anymore. I don’t want to destroy the family as How I brought my own home to ruins. I want to love them. I want to love my dad, love my mom, more than my own mom, as I understand that’s the only way I can seek my mom’s forgiveness. 

I’m tired of a life without a family around. I Hope my dad lets me into his family. 


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The God of small things

No!!! This is not a review of the book, or Am not gonna talk about anything related to the book, There is always a coming back for everything on earth and for everyone… And So for me, for someone who didn’t write anything for ages, It is something little that does the wonder in life,

For I believe that little things matter the most in life.. THE MOST… And I greatly adore/admire/love/respect Arundathi Roy, who christened her book, The God of Small things… Happyness like the sands of the sea is made up of numerous little things, Life is made up of such numerous beautiful little things which make the short while a worth while occasion.

Be it watching a sunset, a cozy conversation over a cup of chai or a little shared dinner, a late night coffee or spending an evening with friends … And when I say friends, It sounds a little tricky… for What is a friend and who is a friend differs a lot in every one’s perspective. Someone who makes you feel good, someone who brings you a smile for no reason, someone who makes you care, go for him/her. Nothing great can define a friend and a friendship … It is often the overstated or the understated…

An unexpected catch up in the canteen, leading to an idle no-sense/no need of a sense/all sense conversation, a small walk the talk/hey am leaving/ hey see the sun/

A path through the dried grass, thoroughly littered with shit and shattered glass, and the tall bushes and tress, a careful walk among the once lush greenery, leading to the lake, the dried patch of the earth, a small make-over place to sit, a amateur flutist trying his level best to play sound and a musical response from the cuckoo or a peacock…. Watching the blue hues turn to the orange hues as the clouds magically sweep the sun home, the birds flying home in the V direction, the frogs croaking in the lake, a duck paddling its way to and fro, a small bird searching for the fish, the buffaloes grazing lazily, three friends chatting over, one desperately trying to play flute, the other playing and singing songs and the third other ever innocently watching the stupid acts of the two guys… One thing leading to the other, a talk about Tamil movies, One animatedly talking about her love for Tamil movies, and how she likes the dance of the actor Vijay *Sigh*,, Hey indeed Vijay a great dancer, but actor….. oh My God……

Then a photo session to follow, Oh! how much I love to click people,,, The most beautiful moments captured in the camera and frozen in the mind and every picture tells a story, how the picture was taken, what happened before, during and after… Listening to the old songs, the English rapp, malayalam Naadan pattukal, the Hindu devotional songs, Suprabhatam, “The best way to,” ….. get up in the morning, completes your friend.. How true, The joy of getting up early in the morning to the sound of the magical muse…. Some things just happen… The accidental meeting, the unplanned act of sitting together and watching the sun-set…

An unexpected Gift(s), The most beautiful thing in life is surprise, and the next wonderful thing is being surrounded with people who surprises you… An Unexpected gift, that too a book, It indeed feels great when someone gifts, and then a long ago requested cloth bag…. I felt so good…. An unexpected phone call, when you were busy sharing dinner, what feel is that when you turn into kids and share food, in spite fighting over the fish pieces and still sharing leaving the little for the sure-late-comer….

And a phone call to talk/share/ramble on about the recent Jayakanthan book read.. The Characters Ganga/Henry/Ranga/Kalyani who teach you what life is, An author with a fatherly concern who teaches you the healthy view of life, a non-judgemental writer, the greatest humanist-ever, and therapeutic words brimming with love. Jayakanathan, You made me a human… And tons of Thanks to JB Ma’am for having introducing this legend in my life….

What more can be asked in life than love, people, books, music and certain other little which you love the most and that makes life the more meaning full… They make you passionate and compassionate enough. What more is needed in life than to live life with love? What more can life be? when you’re surrounded by people whom you love and people who love you?

What more can be asked in life, when you know that life is in the little moments of happyness and life is only when you live, As Anu akka says,”what more life can be, when you have learnt, how to romance life…”

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a “small one.”

P.S1.Well I Thank Nikhil for His , Honest Blogger Award that He bestowed upon this Humble Blog And his Cho cho cho chweet words for me

“the tamil payyan-most men aren even half as honest as he is in his space,the longest posts in ma blgroll which is quite superb though you tend to struggle for words thaks to the sheer magnitude of his posts,fun loving,humorous and sexy.. :p).”

P.S2. And if you have noticed I had changed the blog name from Musings to Musings of a true believer. People Who knows me well, Know well about this Incurable optimist too and I believe that I’m a true Believer, an Inspiration from Nicholas Sparks..

P.S3. And, Recently I had been asked by a good friend of mine, to actually confess (anything) in my blog, I remember telling this to a friend, followed by a roar of laughter. But I believe in this still …, “I want to read with my lady-love, A walk to Remember in my first night and cry.” It’s now left to you to imagine, what kind of a man would want to read in his Nuptial Night……

P.S4. This post is dedicated to all my friends who have been with/through me, eternally.

Its raining in my mirage

It was a great surprise to know that I was awarded by Ani It was a great feeling to be awarded by famous bloggers and also someone lovely like Ani. Thanks a ton Ani buddy!!!! and also for her kind words of love and comfort.



And I would like to award this blog to the following lovely bloggers.

8) Sonu
9) Rakesh

How much Once I longed for one, that i decided to create one by my own and send it to a friend and ask him to pass that to me back through another.. crazy days,, Then it all happened. The wonders of the people, I met here and their constant encouragement, love and support which made me go on. Without them, I wouldn’t have made out.. Thanks a ton. Love you all.


Then it rained. It actually rained awards in my blog. The Freedom and independent award from Rakesh chetta. His always wonderful words of wisdom, love and encouragement to which i am greatly indebted to. I thank him for this thoughtful gesture. It means a lot bro..



Which I would like to forward to the following bloggers.
1) Vinesh anna– Orange Juice for the soul. No wonder I made it my daily habit to have an ounce of orange Juice.
2) Samby Boy– The army Guy speaks.. An inspiring Blog that I read entirely at one go.. Salute you bhaiya.
3) Vicky– Amazwi. Amazwi in zulu means a consortium of voices. An indeed refreshing blog and the first friend for Life, I made in the blogosphere..
4) Ritu chechi– Vivify. The first inspiring reader of my blog.
5) Minko– Born of Mind. The friend, senior, companion, A musician, A physicist, A brother- The First inspiration.
6) Milinta. A kaleidoscope of thoughts and emotions… For her beautiful thoughts. I wish you write more
7) Anu akka Anonymously yours. She has the knack of being anonymous. One touching post I came across and it just continues..

P.S. It is my lil bro Raul’s birthday today and he turned twenty.. Oh How sad the lil guy was for the end of his teen years.. Hey raul.. Happy Returns of the day… I, better should write an exclusive post on him.. It follows.. BTW… did I tell John Abraham also celebrates his birthday today and JA actually looks like raul a bit-more .. ..
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I stood there, living my life, watching you, living your life.

Three decades back, I saw him and her for the first time together. Guess they were just friends then, Honestly No idea, what they are now. But had they known what fate had in store for them, she wouldn’t have loved him.

She wouldn’t have known him. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to let him near her. She wouldn’t have let herself charmed to his charm. She wouldn’t have fallen in love and He wouldn’t have risen in love.

I knew then, Life had other plans.

They met.  They loved to know each other. They spent their individual selves to nurture their oneness. They grew up in each other.

I saw them again. He, her and her friend. Her friend unknown what was between them and unaware where their lives are heeding. He, willingly unaware that she is leaving him and she unaware of his love for her.

I realized then. She cannot be blamed for fate’s folly. She wanted to make it easy for him. She loved him. He let her go to make it easy for her.

I saw her on the day of marriage, her hand being taken by another man with the whole of their family witnessing the wedding. He missing the event, yet present obvious in her thoughts and memories.

She lived with him in her thoughts and he lived his life witnessing her life, being happily lived.

I saw her again that day, standing with her daughter, holding her hands tightly as she held his hands tightly on the day when they called their life off. Tears rolling down her cheeks- the sole-soul witness to the love in her heart and air filled with memories of their days together.

She, bidding him her already bid-adieu on his heavenly departure.

It drizzled outside. It stormed inside.

I, a dead man walking, stood there, having lived my life, watching him dying his life, her living the death and their love living the life they hadn’t lived.

P.S. Written on a sleepless Night 08.11.2008

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Good bye

I was certain he would turn my way. He would look at me. He would flatten his ears. He would growl. In some such way, he would conclude our relationship. He did nothing of the sort…
…. I was weeping because Richard Parker had left me so unceremoniously. What a terrible thing to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. where we can, we must give things a meaningful shape.. It’s important in life to conclude things properly. Only then you can let go, otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did and your heart is heavy with remorse, that bungled good-bye hurts me to this day.. But I hope you will remember me as a friend. I will never forget you, that is certain. You will always be with me in my heart…So Farewell, God be with you..”

– Life of Pi- Yann Martel.

I met him three years back. I remember it was one April afternoon in coimbatore. When he was on his way to Bangalore from Chennai, That was the first time I met him. Never ever thought that our lives as friends would be so limited to such catching ups at random times when we’re on our way to something else. Life moves on and we made it a point to meet so.

Well It all happened with the one letter I sent when I was in my eight standard. I wrote a letter to my first pen pal through the Ink Links of Indian Express. He replied and we were friends from then. Our friendship grew with the years. It was odd meeting him in person after a long correspondence through letters and phone calls. He looked recklessly handsome with a careless cute smile which I grew fond of. The ease with which he approached when I was apprehensive about the meeting made him more special. He introduced me to his dad, who knew well everything of/about me.

He was my first pen friend and one of my good friends. He died last month. He was just 23. I heard the news from another common friend. I don’t understand/rather I don’t want to understand the rapidity of life. The instability and the uncertainty that makes this life shockingly rude.

The memories of our last days hits me with a painful numbness. I wish I made that one phone call or sent one mail. He was a friend and will be always be a friend to me. I can never forget his smile, his addiction to music and the way he passionately plays his guitar. He was such a natural when it comes to music, people and books, those titles, characters, quotes, plots, and anecdotes he remembers about books, people,places, events. He was an inspiration to me, a worst critic and the best mentor to my writings. His awesome sense of humor made him quite popular among his friends. I had met him only a few times, when he was in Coimbatore. Those evenings we have spent roaming in the streets, those dinners at posh restaurants and street side shops. Those book hunting’s, those mid-night walks n talks we had, The letters and mails he sent are the only memories I have of him now.

“If there are friends or family out there who you haven’t called in a while, I would say send them a note or a call. Life is always moving too fast,work is always waiting in a small box which we all call laptops and everyday emergencies are a part of it. But its far worse to sit in a room at early morning hours typing a blog, hoping that you got one last word with a loved one”Anu

I remember the song that he sung for me on his birthday, “Nalam Vazha en naallum en Vazthukal. Tamil Kurum pallandu en Vaarthaigal.” With Love. I wish You. May God be with you.
Bye da Vipin.. We will miss you.

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