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.
Where could i possibly begin?
At an ending. May be an impending ending. That kept us Waiting.
i couldn’t possibly start counting the memories we are both bestowed with, And in great vain, i attempt to remember the mortal remains of memories of togetherness.
For Memory is a burden.
How do i remember thee? Let me uncount the ways
i remember thee to the depth and breadth and height
To the beginning of the warmth in your touch
i remember thee to the end of every next-day
Most quietly waiting by my g-talk for a message to pop up
Into the laziness of your day-ending as my day dawns to the sound of your voice
i shall wait, my time to serve with memories intact
To see you somewhere in all my griefs and faith.
i shall but remember thee Always
For i know no greater love than, of remembrance
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”
A year that just slipped by, a year of grief; certainly,`The Year of Magical Thinking’ when a thousand things dawned onto the quiet mind basking in laziness. An urgent need to seize the slyly time that refuses to wait for any tides. A few memories, that needs exorcizing, if not will continue to haunt the remains of time. A happy memory of learning, loving and living together for a short worthwhile. As the year ends, a few deaths that scarred me remains untangled, in the web of memory. An haphazard need to bid adieu to a thousand things as the year nears its end.
At times, Waking up is a like a dream. A certain kind of feeling it evokes as one wakes up from/to a dream. She did remember this; a distant memory, a near-fading past- his feel of lips on her navel. She could only chuckle at the memory, his less than short of obsession with navels.
Next only to books, those unread, but buying books at every other day, the untidy linings of the books along the walls of every shelf. For only the beauty of Japanese language can find a word for book hoarding – Tsundoku.
To end the year with something that i recently read/lived through. Kafka on the shore is one of the strangest books i’ve read. A journey that stretches itself onto the realms of magic as the reader approaches it. The story is narrated from different perspectives of Kafka Tamura, a fifteen-year-old boy who runs away from home to escape an oedipal prophecy and thereby making it true and then the story of Nakata, an old man who gained the ability to talk to cats after an incident in his childhood.
This entire book reads like a fine collage of intense vignettes of unrelated dreamy scenes and poignant conversations. A meandering dreamlike tone drives the entire reading experience. A surrealistic “Kafka-esque” thread runs all along the narrative tying the loose ends, before the book ends. At times, it takes a toll on the reader to make connections every now and then, that said, it ain’t an easy read.
One can sense an intentional ambiguity in the very narrative and the plot.
May be the book speaks to me in a way, as to the threshold, that had been pushed onto me.
“Listen, Kafka. What you’re experiencing now is the motif of many Greek tragedies. Man doesn’t choose fate. Fate chooses man. That’s the basic worldview of Greek drama.”
As often, i feel the lure of the unknown quite regularly. May be like everything else, “Kadhalum Kadandhu Pogum”
He loved listening to his poetic voice rambling stories of bygone youth, to the music of rain drops
He loved leaning onto his fragile chest and listening to the melody of his heartbeat
He loved holding his hands and walking in the rain in gay abandon
He loved to hear him recite Tagore Poems.
He wished it rained yesterday, for he could have had a last rainy day with his grandpa.
Goavaiku Poovam, My name is Khan, BalyakalaSakhi, Rendezvous with Vicky, B’day surprises, Loonnnnng Hiatus, Un-blogging days, A laid-back life, JRF, New year, Life and all…. etc.., all for a cosy-catch up………
Never Ever, I had been so desperate, that I came back from two back to back movies, and log on at five to write a post! I knew, I’d been idle for almost four months. I realise now that I’d been simply procrastinating life, in every way possible. Kind of guilty too for that. But indeed life had been happening, The best of Books, The best of people, the best of all, I’d wished for, Life goes on and I cling on…. And this is an attempt, a desperate one to get back and come back… I wish i could wish….
Been in a book-buying spree, mind you, Buying but NOT READING. Have ordered a dozen books online, and waiting for them and Thesis took huge diversions, yeah! Am doing my M Phil in Comparative literature for people who had forgotten me… And the most wonderful part is that now i’m a JRF qualified Research Scholar, which means LIFE is settled as of now…
Ever started a trip, just like that. The fun in doing things as a matter of fact, the spontaneous crazy decisions. I wish I can live life, just like that!!! It started as a long drive in Bombay Highway! Four guys, two bikes, Started from Campus, went to Sangareddy district, caught up a little dinner and drove just like that to reach Humnabad, the border district of Karnataka and lucky were we, to be guided by a lorry driver who understood us so well that he minuted every little detail well and we were just left with two bikes, a lil cash and of course ATM cards to fuel up the journey. With all fun, driving safely at 60-70, we reached Gulbarga at around 5 in the morning.
And it actually started like this, four guys riding and suddenly met with a question from one, Why don’t we go to Goa, the only fact we knew was it is around 800kms from our place. And it started thinking we would decide to return back to campus at some point of the trip and after reaching Humnabad, we decided to go on further. And after reaching Gulbarga, Something struck me about Goa, a friend of mine, from whom I have heard about his frequent freaking to Goa, And then We came to know through Vicky, who enlightened us with his information that From Gulbarga it is 400kms to Belguam and from Belgaum its 160kms to Goa, well we already drove 250 kms and reached a place called Jewargi, where we thought we will freshen up. But the thought riding another 500+ kms and we didnt even have anything with us except money. We had our breakfast, caught a little nap in Gulbarga fort and started back, and reached our campus around 6. It was fun and well, what Azeef said was true. When we plan, we fail, with every other reasons coming up and Things get dropped out at least we were able to ride upto Gulbarga… And it was FUN!!!!
My Name is Barath, and I’m NOT a RSS, But Why such things like this movie? Karan Johar takes up the burden on him to Indianize Muslim. And HE sucks.I don’t understand his need to stuff movies with too many things.. Muslim life, Terrorism, Good-will, Autism, Good Muslim- Bad Muslim, NRI life, Natural disasters, Bad Bush, Good Obama, US-Elections, I really wish Bollywoods comes out of this formula of representation. I don’t understand why the burden is placed on muslims often? To showcase their good-will,Patriotism and Loyalty to the Nation… And Talkie towns can stop playing National Anthems during the start of the movie and let me tell, I DONT STAND UP THEN FOR NATIONAL ANTHEM…
Balyakalasakhi, a malayalam novel of Basheer is a timeless tale of love, sorrow, hope, childhood-love and Optimism.I read the Translated version in tamil, though I had been read to, the original in malayalam, It is flavored with muslim dialect of malabar malayalam and the everyday life of Muslims. No other story can stand before it for its narration. Majeedh and Sughara were childhood friends and they grow up only to face the harsh realities of this world. It is also partly-auto-biographical. The first half is a delightfully narrated on with happiness, that makes us long for a childhood and the second half with grim and sorrow, yet the author has brimmed it up with his humour. It is the story of the most sincerest and innocent, yet unfulfilled love. As M.P.Paul suggests in his foreword, it is a page torn from life, bleeding at its edges.
It happened last june, when I went to write my JRF exam and I met him again after I have got my results. The first rendezvous should have been accounted, I didnt, for my sheer lazyness and Now I do try just to recollect those wonderful moments for it is the first that lingers as best. Vicky, Amazwi, a name that would recall a part of life, where I happened to meet an Alter-Ego. A casual Blog-hopping, comments, mails, discussions on books and movies, a casual SMS sent, the first phone-call, and life happening, and through been dumps and downs and after all that you feel that someone had been with you all the while, the unalarming yet the filling presence of a sole-soul. With all the apprehensions, I made the effort to meet him, You have known so much a person, shared a million minute details of life, and meet him for the first time, you will feel Butterflies.. Thats was it…
And the second time, it happened, met! went for a Movies, shared all that could be in a few-while and the rest is his Tweet, “Met Barath. in that little time we had, discussed everything we could. I drove behind his Bus till he went out of sight. Tresure you Bro.” and looking forward for our proposed trip(s).
And I was visibly shocked and surprised for the rest of the celebrations. It was indeed the best of celebrations we had. Love you little ones……
And As I confessed, I am at the peak of my laid back life and each day passes with at most certain uncertainty and I rejoice fully regale in them
P.S.1And This post is an attempt modest from me, almost after four months to get back. the return of the Native. Hope to see everyone around… Love you folks 🙂
P.S.2 And Guys, the template is a gift from Amazwi. And am loving it bro! And I kept my word.
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Well, this is indeed a tricky part of admissions to any course, which I am in absolute love with, to write and write. At times what is expected is a profile or simple write-up of why one needs the course in the concerned institute, or how we see ourselves after the course. I don’t want to sound too technical or too much of a know-it-all or teach here, How to write a purposeful Statement of Purpose.
It is indeed a joy and happiness when someone approaches you to help them with something. Way back into years, right from my first year of UG life, I had been this guy, who takes pleasure in anything related to writing, editing and translation. Trust me, had first hands-on experience in editing theses, research proposals (proposals???) research articles, write-ups, essays, resumes, CVs, SOPs.
Remember my Jun N, who is in UK, I remember the excitement when he first told me his plans to go abroad for a masters degree. All the time, we spent in discussing how the SOP should look, the construct, the importance or clarity, conviction and the coherence in the writing. And how he wanted me to sit with him all through the writing process, and it was 3 AM in the morning when he finished. “Bro, here it is, just work on this and change whatever you want to,” Giving me the total autonomy, he slept off. I was rather happy for him, because I took more time to persuade him to write one on his own, rather than going for a consultancy’s ready-made, here-we-serve-your-needs and thus killing the originality of the students. Honesty in Statement of purposes comes from writing what you’re and what you genuinely want to do in life, rather than mere impressive verbose talents
It is such a contagious happiness, when you hear people make it up to their dreams and live the life they imagined. Also it is more an inspiration for me to. May be this is how we grow up with people, seeing their dreams as your own, standing aside and sure by them, cheering up every move, those necessary pats and slaps when needed, and those pep-talks when in really deep-dumps and also the huge throwing up a party to celebrate.
Now I’m at home, looking through a couple of SOPs, and also it is more of a view to someone’s dreams, and I respect each, as I know they are too personal, It takes a lot of courage to actually open our dreams to someone. It is a loving experience to actually read them, help them create the one they need, I sit like that ultra-professional with a sharp HB and an eraser, a thoughtful-I’m-in-work look with an invisible Do-not-dare-to-disturb-me board thrown over me. I soulfully take efforts to just edit the language, the grammar and the mood of the write-up if needed and make the conscious effort to retain the Writer’s tone in it. And it is indeed difficult an effort.
I remember the senior R, indeed a best bhaiya, who often tells me that people take advantage of me, many a times I assured him, not so and I indeed love doing this, I feel people appreciate our work by simply giving us more work. I often think this way, “When there are so many people around, why would someone prefer you over others. It is a confidence that they place on us.” And just play by. The feeling of importance comes from making others feel important.
And when A, got his job, hey I prepared his Resume. And the phone-call, hey dude I made it and the following celebration in that Aavin milk booth, just chai, coffee, Milkova and cookies for rs 289/- and that show-off to my friends that I have a friend who treats his friends in Hotel Residency, a Posh-place in Coimbatore. Actually, that Aavin milk both is just next to the hotel. And this way, our next treats in CAG pride Restaurant and Jenny club went every time someone gets placed.
My talent for writing(sound too much though) goes back to my third standard, when I helped my desk mate D in writing a love-letter to his crush-our senior P, I was caught badly, as I tried to send that letter to her through the Moral Science book, which was accidentally the teachers copy. Hey I still have that letter with me, a very old, badly torn, battered and dog-eared corner of a page torn from the copy-writing book. And also there are few reminders of my talent such as messages that I come up with at times, randomly out of the blue. The text I sent to a friend who was on his first date, the frustrated writings in a boring lecture, the notes sent among the bench-mates, a porn-story I wrote, the first thriller novel, me and alter ego co-authored and of course my first and last love-letter(still in my sent-tems folder)
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I don’t have a clue, when I fell in love, my first memory of my love dates back to my six or seven years of age, when I first saw my parent’s wedding album. I regretted being not there and determinedly decided that I would sure want my kids to witness my wedding. Brings a stupid smile now. But, Why not???
Well coming back to the wedding album, It was the pictures that I loved the most, The coarse feel of the black and white pictures neatly arranged in the black charts, beautifully bound gives an almost nauseating nostalgic look which slyly creeps into me, making me feel want to live in the bygone times. It is the frozen memories of the past, well hidden from the Wheel of time.
I go to greater extents and take risks to collect copies of photographs of my people. I greatly pester people for their photos, for which many don’t have a clue why I should go gaga over photos. Believe me I have albums of many with me. Somehow I feel a magical connection of going down the memory lane and reliving them when I see the photographs. When I see those pictures, I see their childhood and adolescence unfolding before me- letting me get a glimpse of all the missing pieces that I had only imagined. They affect me in a strange way; I feel neither sadness nor anger for having missed living with them in their yesteryear lives. For I always love to grow up with people.
When I see my parents wedding album, I get a thousand thoughts. Well, for first thing it is love before marriage, then accepted at last by their parents and an arranged marriage. I wonder how my dad would have felt being the groom, knowing that he would be spending the rest of his life, with the person he loved so much. Did he really think then, that he would have a son, who would be writing about his wedding in a blog? How would have my mom felt? Had she ever looked him into his eyes and smiled with a mischievous twinkle full of love? Did she ever have the clue that she is going to be the mom of a son, who considers himself a treasure of their cherished love and wedded bliss?
Well the photograph speaks, each picture has got a thousand stories to tell, If you’re ever a willing patient listener, listen to someone ramble about their youth and blessed will be you, if they have photographs with them when they tell their tales of loved and lived lives. But for me, photographs are just not the magic alone. It is their youth and more importantly having lived their youth in 70s and 80s which I personally consider the golden/classic/ best of times in life.
I am thoroughly in love with the art and literature of 70s and 80s. Be it the movies/music/pictures/literature/persons/advertisements/Television serials, nothing beats the magic of those times for me. May be the black and white print gives a lived-in authenticity to them, And till my ten years of age I believed that Life was in black and white or in grey in 70s and 80s. I visualize how the mountains, lakes and greeneries would have looked in black and white. I visualize life in the metros, sub-urban, abroad and villages alike. I visualize how people would have spent their young and old life in 70s and 80s.
I feel a tugging at my heart with a painful lump forming in my throat and I sigh heavily till the tingling tinge fades away in me. How much I wish, I want to live my life in such a period. I get jealous at people who have lived/spent their youth in those times. Certain Golden olden movies rekindle my longings and stir my heart, making me nostalgic for the past which doesn’t belong to me, a past I partly own. I smile knowing inside that, though I didn’t live then, I belong there completely.
For the simple reason, I believe life was simpler then, people were inherently good and people had time for life’s little things, everyday chattering were part of life then, people had time for humane interactions; families had time for dinners and for gatherings at terrace after dinner, casual acquaintances was more happening than social networking. Neighborhood and life in government quarters gave people to come-together and rejoice in camaraderie. Life was less mechanical, people certainly had the humane touch and more than anything, people wrote letters. Yeah I know, I whine here. But accept me. Just once in your life, realize what I’ve fallen for. Take a paper and write a letter to a dear one, at least a text mail. You will know the magic for yourself.
That was the time when life was not commercialized. I greatly believe that the art of those days celebrated love, people and the human spirit. I believe I’m made of that and made for that. I precisely conclude I’m a person who still live in the black and white times, pen and paper days. My world still counts in 70s and 80s. I take everything possible of me to make life more momentous and memorable with just people and people around. As I know, I’m born to love and I live now to love.
பருவ வயதின் கனவிலே பறந்து திரியும் மனங்களே கவி பாடுங்கள், உறவாடுங்கள்.
“To those hearts, fluttering their dreams in the youth. Sing poems of life and love and celebrate them. “
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.
2. Are we friends?
3.Something I have and you want?
4.Give me a nick name and explain me why u picked it?
5.Describe me in one word?
6.What was your first impression of me?
7.Do you still think that way about me now?
8.What reminds you of me?
9.If you could ever give me one thing,what it could be?
10.How well you know me?
11.How do you see me in future?
12.Ever wanted to tell me anything ,but couldn’t?
13.Are you going to put this on your blog and going to see what I say about you?
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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.
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.
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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