FranKophone

Dear You, Do you know how it feels when something rips you apart ? The first second you realise that something hit you. The next five seconds your realise you are badly hurt. The next few hours are spent in agony. You cannot really cry. Tears form in your eyes - you need to hold them back. Till your vision blurs. A slight ache near the heart, or somewhere in between. Now, the head gives in. There is an excrutiating gash somewhere. You need not figure out where. You need to shout but you cannot. Or rather, should not. You need to pretend to be brave. The world will beat you to pulp once you let it know of your vulnerability. As the hours pass, you realise that you can live with this pain. And just walk along. Yours, Me.

An oppressed woman looks beautiful to the eyes of its predator. She has the most perfect face one can ever imagine. In her eyes, she wears fear. She masks it with kohl. Her nose is held high, lest someone suspects. Her mouth is gagged. She never wails or attracts attention. Her body is marked, ridiculed and trampled upon. In the most remote corner of her heart, she has buried all her dreams and desires. She has lost hope, faith and soul.

She was changing sides on the bed. Trying hard to fall asleep. Everything was fine, she knew everything would be fine. There was a nagging thought though. Something on which she could not lay her finger on. Like a question. What had she done to deserve a good night’s sleep ? Images of the morning swept across her eyes. A random kid under someone’s wheels. The mourning wails, the confusion, negotiation. Maybe she should have done something. Something meaningful instead of making money. Did her money mean anything to children who die everyday ? She knew the answer but pretended not to. Instead, she popped in a few pills and waited for sleep to come. 

I once wished my room had a window. I could watch the world pass by. Like bougainvillea flowers merrily drifting in the winds. Fragrance of love wafting in the air. The street lamps glowing yellow. Hawkers selling their goods. The new mall flinging its neon lights unto the streets. The crazy young crowds. Random children chuckling as they walk. Bike competitions. The busy bees. The old, abandoned and helpless. The madman calling names. The rains. Gods visiting homes while playing with colours. The police patrols. The riots. Someone could shatter my window panes. So I loathe windows. Broken windows are painful. Pic Courtesy:Google

Promise me not to wither away, For you were once the object of my love. I was smitten at first sight, but you never knew, You were the one I yearned for secretly. With familiarity, the magic spell broke, I realized your vulnerability, your weaknesses.  I stepped back. Perhaps it was a sham. You ceased to charm me.  With time, I started to loathe you. Your presence annoyed me.  But when you said,"I wish I were dead", Something tugged my heart. I froze with fear. I don't exactly know what holds me unto you, Is it our affection or the thought of separation ? In love, maybe, you never loved back. In hatred, I fancy you are around, hating me back. Promise me not to wither away, For I want to be the object of your hatred. Pic Courtesy:Google

Why does it rain after midnight when the days are impossibly hot? Why does my pack of cigarettes disappear when I need it the most? Why does he torment me the most when I want to forget him? Why does it hurt so much when I am trying to heal? Why is it so unruly when things are under control? Why this craving when I have no unfulfilled wishes? Why is it so hard to be good again? Damn! Why is it so tough to live again?

   On the streets of the old bazaar, there sat a man  in rags. Every time I passed by , he smiled and looked away. Neither was he handsome nor was he wealthy. Still I thought about him. Why would anyone wait on streets for years together ?  I  had seen him there since I was a kid. An autumn morning , I heard he passed away. On the street. No one heard his  dying words. No one offered him gangaja l or  tulsi . He died unmourned , un-noticed. The bazaar still smelt of spices and perfume. Years later, I heard his story. From an antique woman. In his prime, the man was a successful merchant. He had a comfortable home and a lovely wife. One  morning, his wife was on her way to the temple on the hillock. A raging earthquake hit the city and razed the hillock to ground. The lovely wife was lost, never to be found. May be she had died , buried under the rubble. The merchant  never lost hope. Gradually he began to live on the street, hoping t...

Dear You, Writing to you calms me. I love you for that. I love you otherwise too. Maybe I'll never be able to tell you how much I love you. Everything is fine. Not the sort of fine when you were here but nevertheless.......fine.  As usual, Emmy's dentist  asked her to give up sugar candies. She's not going to give them up anyways. She asks for you. I guess she wants to consult you about it. My optician said that it was time I use glasses. Finally ! Remember how I used to rue the fact that I didn't have glasses. You always said it was good. To look into my eyes directly. Ah ! Those were the days.  I have not heard from you since long. Talk to me soon. Okay.... I'm inviting myself to your place. Emmy can stay with  my mom, for a change.  With love,  Me.  P.S. : I'm posting this from the same mailbox where we first met. By Jove, that street has awful traffic. People get killed. 

The first time I actually noticed you was right after the wedding. Tall, lanky and fair. I heard you were intelligent too. A dream match – I was told. But I found you…genuinely interesting.  Yes, you are the best guy I have ever seen.  Remember how lost I was in the kitchen ? I knew nothing except scrambling eggs. You were gracious enough to cook for me. Offered me a glass of milk every night I sat down to study. I guess I succumbed to your charms from then on. Everything seemed to be your smile – the curve of your lips – I wished I could throw all my books and  just trap your image in my eyes. But I couldn’t – Because you wanted me to be happy – and I was happy to study , even after I was a wife, a married girl. Being your wife made me the happiest  girl ever. I still remember the pride in your eyes when you saw me in the graduation robe. Of all the years we have spent together, this particular moment remains evergreen in my mind. Your calm demeanour getting ruff...

“No ! Not in my terrace ! “ “ Yes Memsaahib . She’s there – three , too small , dark . “ “ Can you take them away ? “ “ The mother won’t allow anyone to come  near them . Besides I’m getting late. “ Audacity at her very best. “ Then  do something to prevent them from moving . I don’t want them in my house. “ Of all people on earth , why me ? Yeah ! Go ahead , try me. I  am terribly scared of cats . Phobia . And this  foolish mother cat had to start her crazy family on my terrace. On the top of it , Jatin was having fun at my expense. “ Are you sure you’re okay with my Delhi trip ? “ , he smirked. He would be away – I  have to handle the stray  cats alone. Bending over my dahlias , I replied “ Are you going to cancel the trip if I ask you to ? No !  you won’t . But you want to earn some brownie points. I can see through your plans Mr. Husband. “ “ In that case , no use trying, eh ? “ and he laughed like a zombie. After driving Jatin to the...

You have hardened me so much that I have forgotten what joy is ....

I once had a dream Of happiness and joys Of kisses and toys. One fine morning The bubble vanished Ugly reality rose its head. There lay my dream Smashed, butchered. Slaughtered heinously. I walked over it. Dragged by the moment. Tearing me apart. I gave a fake smile. I had to move on, Inspite of a dead soul .

Imprints of love they are Deep and ruddy. Peeping into my soul - I find it untouched, Unloved.

Remember our first date ? I walked to you in that lilac dress – with apprehension. You later told me that you fell for me then. I had noticed your jaw almost dropping  but never mentioned it to you. In one of our later dates, I caught you staring at that anorexic female with garish make-up. I was a fool then (Yes, I am a lot wiser now ). I tried to lose weight, use make-up. All proved futile. The next time we met you almost laughed at the sight of me. Visibly thinner, under inches of God-knows-what powdered on cheeks. Creepily lined eyes. After a few seconds, I realized you were laughing at me. I tried going away, crying. You stopped me. By that time, my eyes were streaming with tears. You looked straight into them and said “You do not need a mask . You’re beautiful.” I stopped crying. You hugged me. There were times you needed me. For telling how badly your Dad thinks of you. How you miss your Mom. I just listened. And yet you told me it comforted you. To be with me. And then on...

The eyes which knew nothing  but love… Are not on me today. The lips that did nothing  but seal to mine.. Are wordless today. The hands that did nothing but caress with passion… Are away today. The heart that did nothing but cherish me… Is stone today. The soul that was  entwined into mine… Is in a different world today.

The bench awaits you. No, I have not seen anyone in your place. I remember our days together. On that bench in the park.On cold mornings, after that walk, I would always throw up my hands in despair and occupy this particular bench. And you would slowly come to me. Sit close. Put your arm around my neck and start explaining. About random things. Coax me. I never relented. You never gave up. Slowly I would rest my head unto your shoulders. Put my hands around your waist as if nothing had happened. And drift into my land of dreams. Some mocking bird’s shrill voice would wake me up. I never knew how long I lived in my Utopia. And you…..would entwine your fingers with mine all the time. It felt perfect. Just perfect. I would smile. And your eyes twinkled. A rainy morning, I sat there crying. My tears mingling with the rain. You spotted them. You were my shade, my armour. Once you wrote me a poem. And I rudely passed it off as a “fling”. I could see you were hurt. Very badly....

I thought they were perfect. Strokes of happiness. Tales of love forever. But I was wrong…. They were half-done When the brush slipped. Never to be picked up again. My artist was gone… I never knew, where. I wish I weren’t An unfinished painting , A toy in the hands of a mortal….

That was her favourite spot. She was just beginning to grow. A blossom, waiting to unfurl. A flower sans fragrance. But nevertheless Beautiful, cheerful. Death cast its horrible hands ; Robbed her of life. A life that was yet to start.. She left behind A trail of tears, sorrow. And a mother mourning Over her only “special” child. P.S. : Influenced from a real life incident. Dedicated to the victims of congenital fatal diseases.

My countenance spells doom. That’s why I’m veiled. But the world thinks otherwise. Its not beauty that I conceal, I try to hide the jinx in me ....

It was a crazy moment. I never realized things would get so serious.  The last minute talk did not help.  I did the ‘right’ thing before it was too late. I had learnt to live sans you. Now its you again.  But I can’t do it anymore.  My love is dead - like my unborn baby.