FranKophone

Eight minutes. I deserved eight minutes of his time. A two day train journey and two hours of bumpy ride. All this just to tell him “Hi! I still do”. He was polite. Of the three hours I spent at his lobby, the girl offered me coffee thrice. He said he was tired. He thinks differently. Our lives are different. Children grow up. They will anyway. He did not say but I guess broken hearts mend too.  P.S. : This post was conceived and typed in 8 minutes. Hence the title. No relation with "Eleven Minutes" by Paulo Coelho. 

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

I stepped into the room.  It smelt familiar.  The curtains were the same.  Bright sunlight beaming through them.  The floor still sparkled.  I opened the cupboard.  My things were shabbily stacked in a corner.  As if someone wanted me out of the way.  I sighed.  Closing the cupboard, I found my table missing.  Replaced by a more glamorous piece of furniture. I decided it was wiser to move somewhere else. But again, wasn’t it my place? It truly is. The window sill sports my coffee mug stains. The walls still bear my pencil marks. The same songs play in my mind. I belong to this place. And the place, indeed, missed me. Badly. Courtesy: Google

   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...

Kisi din meri kavitaayein Bhi tumhe rulaayengi, Tumhe yaad dilaayengi Tumne mujhmein kya khoya. Kya payaa woh tum jaano Par humein yun hi kho diya... Kisi din tum bhi mujhe Aasmaano mein dhoondte huye Bhatak jaoge hawaon mein. Kho kar bhi humein naa paoge, Kyunki hum toh honge Kisi aur vriksh ki chaaon mein.

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...

I have stayed in government accommodations ( read : government quarters ) for more than half of my life. And there are always Gulmohar trees around them. Come summer, their dazzling colours enamour, enchant and invite you. The other months of the year – they are just there. Deep green. Silent. Overlooking. At times majestic. .As a child I was fascinated by its buds. The sepals – beautiful green on the outside , glimmering magenta inside – very much like a woman. Calm demeanour on the exterior and a seething volcano inside. I used to put those utterly smooth things on my nails – like  claws. At times, I still do that. The bud opens….carrying  a bounty within it Waging battles with its pollen tubes fascinate me. At the peak of summers, these brightran oge flowers fall and the bloom is just everywhere ….. a  feast for the senses. The fruits disappoint me though. Green pods eventually turning dark . But I tend to ignore them. I love to walk on paths where these wonderfu...

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....

It did not matter when we disagreed…. It did not matter when we had differences….. It did not matter when we fought…. It did not matter when we lost the warmth….. It did not matter when our relationship became passive…. It did not matter when we met rarely…. It mattered when you left without a goodbye….