Wine

 The wine takes hold

The words stir

The cuts bubble up

The nib dips

Does the pen bleed?

Eureka

 Ah, so that's what's been going on!

We all have our own Eureka moments. For some they come while lying prostrate in a bath tub and for some when an apple falls from a tree (though the jury is still out on that one). But we all have ours.

His arrived when he was in throes of a deep viral infection that was muddling his brain and breaking his body.

He had been conflicted for two weeks or so. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something nagging at him, causing him to react or snap in ways he ordinarily wouldn't. He was told that it was the Mercury retrograde that was making him do so, and well, maybe that it was. But he wasn't certain.

Until that moment when on the phone she said what she said. That moment the penny dropped and he went - oh hey, hang on here! What just happened!

This whole business with her and Ethan had left him uneasy from the start. While on his drive back home a couple of weeks ago she told him how serious thing about Ethan is and how she is going to be under immense pressure to commit to Ethan because on papers he is the perfect match for her. She is out of reasons and there is nothing that she could do to postpone the eventuality. He could hear the panic and fear in her voice. It made him furious that he is thousands of miles away and can't do anything to help her. She was in trouble and there appeared to be nothing obvious he could do to help in a conventional sense. Over that weekend he decided that enough is enough and while he can't stop the incoming train crash, he can certainly do all he can to pull her out of the way. With that resolve firmly made, he arrived into work like a possessed man on a mission. He tapped every CEO, Managing Director, SVP that he could get his hands on and told them about this amazing woman who is open to work and that they would be crazy to let her go. Things still didn't move fast enough for his liking. He was still not satisfied with everything he did. Meanwhile She called him and told him that she has met Ethan. Not only on papers but in real life too he is the perfect match for her. He is tall, handsome, rich, single and available (everything he is not) and that she has been asked to meet Ethan's family.

He decided to roll the ultimate dice.

He called someone who works for him and told them to get on a call with this woman and see what they think. He made it clear that all budgetary formalities and other logistics can be handled if she is a good fit for the company. He is out on a limb now and he knows. Especially after the last two people he tried helping left him very exposed and quite vulnerable politically. It's risky but he decided to do it because he knew that she didn't want to be with Ethan. She wanted out and he would be not him if he did not move heavens and earth before giving in.

And then something curious happens. On an unplanned rushed call in the middle of the week she casually tells him that the match and the pressure is off on some technicality. He could hear the relief in her voice and that puts him at ease too. Thank God, eh! But then why did she not drop him an immediate text when that happened and rushed to tell him this? Why is this coming up as a casual topic in the middle of an unplanned rushed conversation? Ah, don't overthink it, he tells himself and moves on. The plans that he put in motion can continue to roll on. Ethan or no Ethan.

As is its want, the world gets more curious from that moment on. She is going on dates with Ethan. he is taking her clubbing, buying her expensive items including pretty anklets that he plans to enjoy with her together in unique positions, they are planning on working out together and what not. That kind of seems off though, doesn't it? He asks her if she is doing because she has to or she wants to. She replies back with a "I don't know". He couldn't help but remember the incident a few weeks ago when she asked him if he thinks they should be able to speak romantically with others too. When he said "Perhaps", she'd nearly bitten his head off! And yet here we are today. So when he reacts a bit strongly to this whole situation with Ethan and her, she tells him that he is thinking too much and how he needs to be more like her other friend Benji, who not only listens to her for hours but also supports her and hunts for designer lip balms that she needs which are out of stock. He needs to be more like Benji and less like his irrational self.

Errr, what now?

That didn't fit. He is part furious, part hurt and part just confused. He can't process it all at that very moment so he puts it away as there are other time sensitive matters he must attend to. Days roll past and him and her, they come back to this topic again. Another rushed conversation mostly about pulling her out of her situation turns into another conversation about Ethan and she tells him more of Ethan's unwavering attempts and what all Ethan is doing for her and he can detect a hint of enjoyment in that tone of hers, he is beginning to get pissed off again; and there, in his muddled, half awake mind comes his Aha, moment - he finally got it!

It's not her, it's him.

A bit of a let down at the end though, right? But it is him. It has always been him in these situations and these circumstances. Long before she came along, long before he wasn't him but someone else, it was always him behaving like this. She isn't unreasonable, he probably is. In all honesty it really doesn't matter who is reasonable and who isn't. It doesn't matter who or what is right or wrong. It doesn't matter what the reality on the ground is. It just wreaks havoc on his overactive mind and that pains him, a lot. And especially in situations like these where she just keeps throwing him one curved ball after the other and he just can't make sense of it anymore, of what she wants or doesn't want, he is truly clueless.

He is just not equipped emotionally to handle such situations or situationships. The crab gets overjoyed when the tide is high but when it's low, oh boy does he hurt! And somewhere down the path of his life, he had figured out how he is and resolved that the only way he can be not so, the only way he could shield himself was to put the crab long back in his shell and put the lion out on the guard. He can live without the highs but he really can't take the lows. Especially now when they impact more than just him. They impact an eco system of people around him. He can't ask them to pay the price.

And so when they both know that Ethan and her are so much of a better match, the crab needs to go back in the shell, the lion needs to stand a firm guard to protect them both and he needs to move on and work with the only emotions he knows how to handle well - ambition and anger. Yes that leaves him in a slightly precarious position at work with the balls he rolled to pull her out now that he isn't sure she wants to be pulled out but, he's managed worse than this. Of course it would makes things easy if she told him very clearly whether she wants to remain behind with Ethan or still need his help in moving on, but even if she didn't - he will somehow find a way to manage this tricky bit too.

Fire on Fire

My mother said I'm too romantic

She said, "You're dancing in the movies"

I almost started to believe her

Then I saw you and I knew

Maybe it's 'cause I got a little bit older

Maybe it's all that I've been through

I'd like to think it's how you lean on my shoulder

And how I see myself with you

I don't say a word

But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know

There you go, saving me from out of the cold

Fire on fire would normally kill us

But this much desire, together, we're winners

They say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners

But don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms

'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me

And look in my eyes

You are perfection, my only direction

It's fire on fire, mmm

It's fire on fire

Lyrics of Fire on Fire by Sam Smith

Oh I must let you go now...damn! 

I knew this day would come, I just didn't see it coming. I didn't see you coming. You hit me. Like a hurricane. You came sweeping in and before I could blink you had me. I couldn't see beyond you, I didn't want to see beyond you. For someone who stays in absolute control, you kicked the earth right from under my feet and I just didn't know how be with you. I drew you your own special circle, away from everyone else and put you there in your very own special place while I scrambled to understand what's just happened. But soon I gave up on understanding and from that point on when you were with me I wanted nothing else and when you were not with me I didn't know anything else and wanted to be back with you. All I heard, all I knew, all I felt was you and your voice pouring into me with each breath you that took and each word that you said and the oft long sigh you took when you realized you were hopelessly lost chasing butterflies as you did mid your monologues and I happily, slowly walk you back down your train of thoughts, back to where you started from and what you were trying to tell me. That's all I knew and so it was with us, just so it was, just.

And then there were times when you were not with me. When I knew you were out there somewhere in the dark night, dancing away a storm breaking many a young and old jealous hearts alike. When I knew there were hands grabbing you and eyes trying to grab yours even if for a second and somewhere in the background the music resonated with the crashing of the waves on the beach. I know you always told me that it didn't capture you like our times together did and even though many times that always sensing for danger part of my brain picked up on some events of the nights in yours stories that always didn't fit together, I simply smothered that part into silence every single time when it came to you. 

And so it was with us. I wanted you and I believed that you wanted me right back. I knew once you'd been away enough, you will run right back to me and fill me again with your never ending stories. I knew they will make me jealous and I knew you'd feign ignorance and carry on nonetheless until I have had enough and I drop someone else's name in the conversation which would give you a brief pause with your "Hmmm" but you'll put up a "I don't care face" anyway and carry on regardless - for a while. And before I know it, you'd find a way to throw that name and my words back at me , turn it into another never ending monologue which will end up with you chasing butterflies again and my walking you back again however this time I'll walk you back just a little further so you'd forgotten all about my name dropping and story weaving and you'd find something new to tell me and carry on once again. And so it was with us, just so it was, just so.

Velvety smooth nights laced with your voice would give away to harsh mornings without you which gave away to mellow afternoons filled with your incoming messages morphing into anticipatory dusk of your soon incoming voice which would turn into yet another velvety smooth night which would lead back into the morning again, repeating the circle day after day and night after night and so it was with us, just so it was, just so.

I know you said there are no regrets and no guilt and nothing else. And I know I agreed. But how could I not regret not knowing you? How do I not regret holding you close on the dance floor as you lose yourself to the rhythm before you realize that my hand is gripping your waist just a little bit too tightly, bruising it slightly as I grip harder. Before you stop and look at me, finally look at me amongst the crowd of younger, better looking, richer club owners and I don't know if I read apprehension in your eyes of my grip or anticipation of my next move. When I pull you slightly closer and you feel the affect you have on me and your eyes widen a bit and I realize that it's not just me who can't read you, it's also you who don't know the emotion that is slowly enveloping you from within and you are as eager as I am to find out which is which and what is what. When instead of pulling you in more, I relax my grip and let you slide back a bit and in that moment, that very moment the unmistakable disappointment flashes through your pearly whites and both you and I know what you want and I grip you hard again, pull you in again and kiss you. How do I not regret not having that kiss, ever?

Ecstatic, excited, happy as I was, I knew maybe that I am dreaming a bit too much. Maybe I am nothing more than a break from the usual people you speak with, a novelty for a while. Maybe I am making this world up in my head where you preferred being with me than anyone else and maybe it's not even me making it up but that hopeless romantic who I thought I'd rid of long ago and who here lead me astray as some sort of a long drawn out revenge that he was waiting for. Maybe he made me just dream all this and made you up and maybe I will wake up soon and realize you weren't so and I weren't so and that what was there was nothing but your nonchalance which I misunderstood horribly, and turned it into an imaginary world where you and I were out of control sinners wrapped around each other as the world disappeared from our peripheral vision. And so before you tell me this, for I know you perhaps already have and in my refusal to see anything else but what I dreamt of and hear nothing else that I wanted to hear, I chose to not listen to what you told me, I must wake myself up before the clock turns and tomorrow comes because tomorrow will be unlike any another day and before that day comes and this dream goes, I must let go of this you that I made up and; Oh I must let this you go now.

'Damn.

Maybe

A smile dances on your lips as those dark circles quickly sob under your eyes. You rest your head every so gently on his shoulders looking up at the phone he holds to capture this moment in its eternity as you arch your body every so slightly away from his.

Maybe you are in love with him, maybe it is something else that binds you to him. Maybe in this moment a feeble beat of your heart sighed my name, maybe it is the intoxication of this single malt that makes me see an alternate reality that the senses don't, maybe I am finally what I always claimed to be - a raving lunatic and there is nothing more to you, him or me, maybe one day I will know for sure or maybe one day the world will run out of whiskey and I will be able to sleep.

Maybe.

Aaj phir

Chalo aaj phir ek dastaan likhein
Ek purani dabee umeed nikalein, ek bhooli  khoyi  yaad tarashein
Ek nas ka lahoo seenche, tumhe kagaz aur kalam banaein
Chalo aaj phir ek dastaan likhein

Phir us naam ki guhaar lein,
Phir us aks ki .... karein
Phir is kismat pe kabhi roye, kabhi hasein,
Phir ek gahri saans main tumhari khushboo samete
Chalo aaj phi ek dastaan likhein

Chalo phir is ass ki ibtada dhoondhein, Chalo uski inteha talaashein
Chalo is kasak ko koi doosra naa dein
Chalo aaj phi ek daastan likhein

Chalo aaj phir wo pehsaani us darakht pe ghisse
Chalo aaj phir us khuda ki mannat karein,
Aur chalo phir gusse main usko nakar, chalo phi  main-kade main basar karein
Chalo aaj phi ek dastaan likhein

The Divide

I stand precariously at the edge of reason hoping with every sip of my whiskey to be pushed beyond it. I stammer, I totter, I nearly almost fall but - I don’t.

Fuck.

This side of the divide I have discipline, responsibilities, sense, maturity and a million other traits that every gifted, intelligent human possesses.

The other side, the foggy, dark, tantalizing side I have – me. I have the nonchalant, devil may care genius. I have the poet, the writer, the dreamer, the arrogant proud warrior with a sword in one hand, pen in other, bleeding from a thousand cuts yet smirking at heavens refusing to genuflect let alone die. I have the lover dipping his quill in his blood and pouring his heart out on his parchment. I have the knight defying his Lord and I have  the monk defying his God.

This side I am sensible. I am a professional. I am mature. I know what to say and to whom and I know when to keep shut. I know how to play politics and I know when I am being played. I know when I am the pawn, when the king and when the king maker. I know what is expected of me and I know how to fulfil my responsibilities. I know when to pull which string and I know when to give in. I know my work, I know my business and I know which way the money will move. I am reasonable. I debate and I do not argue. I disagree yet commit. I observe the members sitting around the round table and I make a mental note of their names, their strengths and weaknesses. I devise a strategy to pit them against each other. I make a plan. I know who hates whom and I know who will be my common friend against a common enemy and who will be my enemy against a jittered friend. I wait for the right opening in the discussion and I interject with an argument laden such with platitude and empty verbiage yet with enough intelligentsia and business acronyms so as to confuse everyone else and prevent a decision that isn’t to my liking.

The other side of the fog I stand with my sword dripping crimson droplets on a crimson ground held oblique in my hand. My hair bellows in the wind while perspiration and blood bring a sweet irritation to my eyes. Where my hair bellows in the raging wind and my tongue tastes the familiar metallic acrid stench in the air. Where I slowly raise my head to the heavens, smile and blink once to clear my vision. Where I extend one foot gracefully in front while I bend the other knee slightly to shift my center of gravity and with my taut sinews I bring my sword parallel to the blood soaked mud keeping the hilt perpendicular to my arched body. Where I ululate the ultimate cry of war while I enjoy the violent headwinds whipped by the charging hordes of enemy beasts. Where I enjoy the anticipation of inevitable bloodbath. And when it arrives then with every formidable step of mine the earth reverberates and with every arching slice of my greatsword I cut open hoards of charging infantry of humans and beast alike and smear myself with blood, guts and intestines. Where I swing and buckle and parry and thrust again and again as I laugh the hysterical, maniacal laughter of a man possessed of heartache of love of hate of indifference of saint and devil alike and of a million different emotions that consumes him burns him and turns his raging blood to a mountain of lava desperate to explode from the infinite pours on his body. Where once I win let both my knees touch the ground as I arch my back and raise my chest upwards while I raise my head to heavens and let my victory cry reverberate across the heavens. Where I finally raise my blood stained sword and utter my war cry one more time challenging the Gods to come and face me if they so dare.

One more sip, one more swig. I totter more. I nearly loose my balance. My head accidentally dips across the fog and my nostrils pick up the stench. My heart beat flutters and my muscles tighten.

I shake my head, I bend my knees and regain my balance. I pull my face back. I shake my head and look at my feet.

I take another swig of my whiskey. I close my eyes. I sip more. My knees falter. A tempting tantalizing whiff crosses the veil and reaches my olfactory senses. With a half drunk mind I see her angelic smile, I see her hand materializing out of thin air across the veil. I see her exquisitely manicured finger tempting me, suggestively prompting me to take a step, oh just one step forward. I hear her voice echoing in my conscience, reverberating across my skin and echoing in my head, pleading me to cross over.

I swig more.

My head hurts. My corporeal essence is tearing. I am transcending beyond my 

metaphysical existence. I am going to do it. I am going to take a step forward and like a phoenix rising from his ashes I will once again be me. My knees bend. I look at heavens. There is no bellowing wind, my hair isn’t whipping, there is no acrid, metallic stench in the air. I fumble. I fall.

I close my eyes. The glass shatters. The whiskey spills.

A familiar, fleeting voice whispers in the recesses of my fading being – It isn’t over. I am not leaving you yet. You will rise again. You will cross that veil again. And when you do you shall transcend through this fake reality and then in the truest dimension you will once again know the strength of your fingers and when you do the Gods will fear you. Come the day of judgement you will not be judged. You will be avenged. When the eternity arrives, you will make the Creator bleed.

Who Cares?

And the fair maiden screamed “Who cares!” and slammed the door right in his face. For a moment he stood there, whiplashed from the sheer force of slammed door, bunch of Marigold tied neatly with a ribbon in his hand, bottle of wine in the other a perplexed look in his eyes and feeling like a right idiot for not having a hand free to be able to stop the slamming door.

Not someone to give up he gulped hard put the bottle down, ran a nervous hand through his nervous hair and raised his fingers towards the door-bell. Again. What a daredevil. Fool but what a daredevil.

Chimes! The mellifluous chimes. Oh how that mellow door-bell chime wrenched his insides with trepidation. Will she open? Will she scream again? Will she throw a glass of water in his face? Will she tell him he is biggest idiot she has ever come across in her whole life or will she finally let him say his side of the story for once? Ah the agony of this terribly wait gutted him. Nervously he fidgeted shifting his weight from one foot to the other cursing himself again for bringing two things which tied both his hands and for million other things that went wrong in the past.

Hours seem to have passed since he heard the chimes. He was just about beginning to give up and ring the bell again even though he knew it would be throwing fuel to the fire. But then what other option did he have? This had gone on long enough. He knew she had a reason to be mad, hell he knew he had a reason to be mad but someone had to “care” enough to at least try once. Giving up is always an easy option but if the whole world simply just gave up in face of difficult times, what kind of a place we would be in?

Alas! Finally. He heard the echoing of the footsteps again behind the closed door. He straightened up, twisted his neck a bit, positioned the flowers slightly in front of his face (well what better shield to a projectile of flying water eh?) and waited. The echo came closer and closer. He heard the latch unlatch, the door know twist and instinctively he took a step back. She was on the move and coming for him. Careful now he reminded himself. Very careful. She could be as tempestuous as a storm in a tea pot when she gets going. Keep breathing, make eye contact and don’t rock the boat too much he reminded himself. You are not going to get a third chance. This is it. Sink or swim, make it or break it, you know her, you know how terribly this can go but then you also know she is worth it so buckle up and say honestly what you came to say and then so be it.

Lo and behold she opened! She stood there, arms crossed, feet crossed, one eye brow raised and…..and nothing. She just stood there looking at him. This was definitely not how he saw it going. But then this is the mystery of her. Always unpredictable, always mesmerizing, always a hundred steps ahead of him. He realized he is doing a Ross. He is standing there, not speaking. He is not speaking. Time is ticking and he is not saying anything. Nothing. Say something you idiot, anything. She is here, she is listening, she isn’t yelling (at least not yet). Say something!