FranKophone

No longer do I look forward To wearing my new birthday dress. Impeccably wrapped gifts no longer excite me. I do not cut cakes with numeric candles glowing on it. I ignore most messages, pings and tweets, That remind me of my birthday. With each passing festival I see new trends in the market. Playing with colors or fire is not "my thing" now. I wish no one comes home with a box of sweets in hand. I wish not to be wished at all. I loathe parties thrown by friends, Their birthdays and their weddings. Their house-warming and their baby-showers and their successes. Sipping a drink in hand and Thinking. Reminiscing about chances I had but did not take. Wondering about how lost I am. Where did I lose it ? At fifteen - when I was blissfully unaware ? Or at seventeen ? When I did not know how to do it. Or at twenty one ? When I failed to realize what exactly to do. Sadly I stopped counting after that.

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...

     She  stood in front of him , without uttering a word.  He is here.  Her mind refused to register this simple fact. He cannot be here.  He was supposed to be gone . Forever. To another land. With another woman.  He preferred silence. He could not bring himself to speak. He had dumped his fiancée. Given up his mercenary dreams. He  felt it  was necessary to stay back. With her . For her. Forever.  Neither of them  said anything. They were reading each others’ minds. Trying to decipher silences.  Suddenly  the lights went out. A storm grew out of nowhere. She gave him way to come in. He  rushed in with urgency. She went to fetch a candle. He  hastily shut the windows to prevent the rains from lashing  into the house . After  she came back , he said , " Did you have your dinner yet  ? "  She replied , concealing a smile, " Now that you are here , why don’t you join me in  ?...

  We had innumerable chance meetings ever since I was born. And always you made an impression. Of being the best I had ever seen. Some seven years ago, when I first came to live with you, it was quite an incident. Moving ( or even uprooting ) myself from a well-settled hometown life, I wanted to take a chance. With you. I wanted to grow with you. You were older and wiser. I was young, nubile and naïve. Wisdom is certainly not expected of normal teenagers. And me – someone who had dreams, ambitions, expectations, aspirations – a tad bit higher. Our first few days – adjustments, awesomeness and sometimes, utter helplessness – it all sounds so hilarious today. Then we kind of a liked each other. You began to grow on me. I had made tiny impressions on you. I ran alongwith you. I thought I could beat you. You weren’t the ultimate ( you still aren’t the one ) but a de tour , maybe for a couple of years.     You had other plans. Certainly. After the initial euphoria, came the ...

We met, didn’t we ? So what if it was after ages. You looked almost like a thorough gentleman. That was least expected. Anyways, glad to see that you’ve changed for the good. Glasses look good on you..wait, you look good in glasses. As for me, you know…. I’m the same clumsy little girl…now no more little. Haha. Yeah. I still laugh in between conversations. And I still struggle while beating eggs. But do you realize the time that has flown by ? I freelance these days . Yes, as you often said “the free bird.” Home is pretty okay, same furniture, same furnishing, same books….Our mango tree died. Last winter. I cried a lot. Now I don’t miss it a lot. Got used to. Same way as I …….. Anyways, I can always write reams about my hardships and suffering. They should not make sense to you now. Do they ? I don’t know….. Meanwhile, let me tell you… Emmy is sweet. She resembles her. I wish she were here. With you. She was fun to be with. For the short time she met me, I thought you wer...

Won’t forget you …. Won’t remember you either. Won’t forgive you.. Won’t accept yours either. Won’t touch you… Won’t let you be touched either. Won’t love you… Won’t hate you either. Just keep you hidden… And not let you wither.