Words

It was like a fair

With people everywhere

And that’s where we met.

We got in touch through

A few words that you sent to me,

A few words that I sent to you

That you read.

Few experiences that we shared,

Some poetries and poems in

A few words that you sent to me,

A few words that I sent to you

That you read.

We never knew when exactly

Love tiptoed into those words.

Enchantment filled

A few words that you sent to me,

A few words that I sent to you

That you read.

And so began those sleepless nights

Of rousing feelings and desires.

The heart was lured by

A few words that you sent to me,

A few words that I sent to you

That you read.

Then as time passed by

Don’t know what happened ...

Maybe it was just an intoxication

That slowly lost its high in

A few words that you sent to me,

A few words that I sent to you

That you read.

You said you were busy

And I too started making excuses.

Mere formalities were contained in

A few words that you sent to me,

A few words that I sent to you

That you read.

And then I came to know

That the words were still as they were.

Only they were written by you to someone else

But not to me.

What use would it be to lament now?

For all the words that we sent to each other

You had only read them.

While I ...

I had felt them. 

"I'm fine, thanks."

A few more minutes to 7 o’clock. The guests would start arriving soon. I went in the kitchen to check up on the food again. Jamuna was tidying the kitchen up after our cooking marathon. I once again explained her the order in which the food was to be served. She had been zealously helping me with the preparations since morning as she was quite delighted that her ‘didi’ had been honoured with a literary award. It wasn’t known to many but nowadays Jamuna was usually the first person to whom I would narrate my work. She would be busy doing the housework and I would call her over and ask her to sit while I would read out my story to her. At times she understood the story and yet at other times she would just say “I didn’t understand much of it but it sounded quite good to me”. Perhaps she was a simple soul and understood only simple words. The world of metaphors and idioms was unknown to her.

The doorbell rang and sure enough the guests started arriving. Guests – a few close relatives and close friends who insisted on being a part of my achievement and celebrating it. Relatives included elders who always wished success for me and gave their blessings wholeheartedly. And as for friends ... well, they deserved to be thanked for being my sounding board and research team. It meant receiving my calls at odd hours of the day or night and having to answer my questions such as ‘is there really such a place in Mumbai as I am describing in my story?’, ‘do auto-rickshaws in Jaipur charge according to the meter?’, ‘since you are from South India, could you tell me if people there drink more of coffee than tea?’. I was hardly to blame as the thought of a story would come to me at any time of the day and hence my calls didn’t adhere to etiquette of socially acceptable times. I don’t know if my friends cursed me after hanging up my call for disturbing them but they always answered them for sure. Speak of the devil and ... Ranveer came.

While most of the guests had brought gifts and bouquets, Ranveer asked me where was his gift.

“Your gift! Whatever for? Is it your birthday or have you finally cracked your kindergarten exams?”

“The way you use our conversations in your stories, your unearthly-timed calls ... I demand to be compensated and hence want a gift.”

“Sure Ranveer. I’ll gift you one of my old pens and you may keep it as a memento”. I smiled cheekily at him.

And these chitchats and conversations, ranging from formal to silly and mundane to witty, continued over dinner with other friends and relatives too. Time somehow tends to run along during happy occasions, while crawling during untoward events. Nearing 11 0’clock, the guests bade their goodbyes and left after appropriately complimenting the food and congratulating me again for my achievement. Everyone, except Ranveer. He stayed back to help me and Jamuna clear up and tidy the place. It was a help that though I hadn’t requested for, I was very much grateful for. I then opened a bottle of wine and poured out 2 glasses for us, while Jamuna decided to call it a night and went to sleep.

“I am really thankful Ranveer for helping us tidy up. I hope you won’t ask for a tip or a gift for this too.”

“We’ll come to that later. First tell me this - what’s on your mind? Why are you sad?”

“Sad? Me? No Ranveer, I am not sad.”

“Yes you are and you better not lie to me. I can see through you and sense you very well.”

My eyes became moist and I said, “Ranveer, my mother had always prayed and wished for my success and now that I have achieved it, she isn’t here to see it. These celebrations seem incomplete without her. She used to listen to my stories and lovingly point out mistakes and make suggestions that would enhance my writings. Whenever any of my work got published in a reputed newspaper or magazine, she would happily announce it to our relatives and all those who stood by to have a word with her. She used to cook my favourite sweet for me and also distribute sweets among the neighbours. Today all these celebrations, merriments, awards and gifts are nothing compared to the sweets that she would make for me". With these words my eyes now let go of the carefully contained tears.

Ranveer offered me his handkerchief and said “You silly girl, you’ll make your mom sad by crying like this. I am sure she is happy to see your achievement from whichever world that she is in now. Just think of it, you are lucky enough to make her happy and proud even after her death. And keeping in mind her habit of sharing happiness, why don’t we buy sweets tomorrow and distribute them among your neighbours and also an old-age home perhaps? That is what your mom would have done, yes?”

A faint smile crawled on my lips and I said “Yes, she would have done that and that is what we will do tomorrow.” Then it struck me. “Ranveer, how did you know I was sad? I was happily chatting to everyone with what I thought was a believable smile on my face.”

“You yourself told me so.”

“I did? I don’t think so.”

“Yes you did. Whenever I have asked you ‘How are you?’, you have never given me a straight reply. Rather you have usually replied with ‘Oh I am beautiful’ or ‘I am a literate witch’ or ‘I am much more insane than you think I am’ ... But today when I asked you ‘How are you?’, you said ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ And hence I knew you weren’t fine.”

Friend!!!

Cigarette smoking is injurious to health

Those rings of smoke ... exhaled ... little clouds. The white fluffy clouds in the sky reminded me of them.

When I was a little girl my father used to smoke in his office and I would happily take in the smell of the cigarette. Though he would put it out at once when he would be aware of my presence. That burning tobacco sniff in the air always reminded me of him. Over the years he gave up the habit but the smell was saved in my mind as “dad”.

Few years later, when I moved to London, I found the white stick to be quite omnipresent. I put it down to the wet and cold weather. Waiting at the bus stop, people would smoke to hold on to whatever little warmth the humble cig offered.  Many friendships were formed at that bus-stop. People waiting there asked politely if they could smoke and I would happily nod my head as it would take me on a trip to nostalgia ... in my dad’s office. One such woman who used to travel on the same bus as I did, formed a close friendship with me later on. She told me that every time she thought of giving the habit up the weather would turn colder, the buses would be running late, she would have a work deadline or a tiff with her partner ... hence making her reach out to the solace of the smoke. We shared our heartaches and joys all under the bus stop, with the whiff of a cigarette. I never really made a close friend as her ever.

A few more years later I moved to India. The anti-smoking campaign had certainly picked up everywhere and many public places now prohibited smoking in their premises. As if that actually made people give up the habit though. Every Sunday I used to go for a walk beside the sea and I met him there for the first time. He was trying to capture the huge orange ball in the sky into his camera. I smiled and asked him if I could see whether he had done justice to nature’s beacon. To say that it was magnificent would be an understatement. And while my eyes were taking in the visual delights, my nose sniffed a familiar nostalgic smell in the air. A cigarette in his hands. I looked and he apologetically offered to put it out. I said “You do that and you will put out a part of my rekindled memory”. He laughed and said “never before has someone said ‘no’ so poetically!” That was the first of my regular weekend meetings with him over the months to come. Often he had his camera slung around his neck ... as if it was a garland that celebrated his profession. While our conversation was varied, his cigarette was constant. I started looking forward to Sundays for more than just the break from my working weekdays.

Then, one Sunday, he met me and with a glorious twinkle in his eye said “Do you know that job that I had applied for in Delhi? Well, i have bagged it. They want me to start from next week itself and I have to move there in these five days. I am so happy that I will finally be working with international brands and media companies. You are the first person with whom I am sharing this ...” The rest of his words were lost to me. I listened to him but couldn’t soak it all in. He stopped and asked “well?”

I mistakenly told him “I am so happy for you. You truly deserve this. Let me know if I can help you. My friend lives in Delhi. I’ll give you his number”.

I met him once again in a farewell party given by his friends. He went away to Delhi. I stopped going to the seaside for my Sunday strolls. Many people there but not the one whose company I wished for. It has been 4 months now. I am in touch with him but his erratic schedules meant that our chats were never consistent.

You might think ‘out of sight, out of mind’. Well, it may have been so. Except for the fact that whenever anyone around me lit up a cigarette I was reminded of him instantly. Him, my close friend in London, my dad. They take me down on a memory lane of people whom I would have loved to be in my life forever but instead was left with the numbing ache of being away from them.

It’s true about the warning on the cigarette packs, only it had an addendum for me.  “Cigarette smoking is injurious to health ... and perhaps to memories as well”. 

Today

He never let me look into his eyes. I kept trying to read into them ... eyes that were as deep as the sea, what did they conceal within the waves? I was perhaps looking for some tangible yet unseen emotion that I sensed from him. Whenever we talked, he never looked in my eyes. Once I playfully told him “I seem to have caught something in my eye. Can you please help?” He blew gently in my eye and looked away before I could look in his eyes.

Whenever we met he used to talk about his work, his schedules, his family, his aspirations ... But whenever I asked him about myself he would just lock his words away within himself. Despite that I enjoyed spending time with him. It was not what we talked about but rather his company that mattered more to me. At times just sitting beside someone is quite fulfilling in itself. A conversation then just becomes a mere accessory to that sense of company.

One evening when we met near the seashore and walked away our discussions of a mundane daily routine, I suddenly slipped and fell. He sat down immediately beside me, touched my ankle and looked into my eyes to ask me “Are you ok? Hurt?”

Yes, finally he looked in my eyes and so did I. And what I saw lifted me and placed me high among the stars ... My heart leapt so high that it felt as if I had crossed oceans in that one single leap. But then it dawned upon me ... his reluctance to express and confess. Our nameless relation didn’t have any tomorrow to it. It was beyond a conclusion ... without a future. And with that realisation I fell in the deep abyss of truth and inevitability.

He now looked away. But I had already seen what I needed to see. We sat quietly beside each other. We may not have a tomorrow with each other but we decided to make the best of today anyway. 

Sent by God

“I am sorry but what can I do?” Lorna spread her arms in the air, looking helpless. “I have to go. Peter cannot pick up Sylvia from the school and I have to pick her up”.

“Yes Lorna, I understand but you had promised ... How am I ever to finish all this by myself?”

She just shook her head and said “I am sorry but I have to go. I will make up for this after the Christmas holidays. Merry Christmas love!”

I just sighed and then smiled at her. “Merry Christmas Lorna! My love to Peter and Sylvia. And don’t worry I’ll finish it off here.”

She beamed her lovely smile at me and left.

I was staring at the paperwork and my computer. I was supposed to leave by 3:00 but I was lucky if I could leave the office before 4:00. Might as well get to the task at hand. I picked up the list of the people whom a personalised message had to be sent by the company ... and I heard Stefan’s cough.

“Why haven’t you left Stefan?”

“Waiting for you.”

“You don’t have to. Look, you won’t be paid overtime for just waiting.”

“No! No! I no do this for money. I wait for you. We leave together. See I already sign my timesheet for 3:00.”

Stefan was a cheerful cheeky Polish immigrant who worked as an office help, though he was mostly assigned menial tasks. He had come to London 6 months back and spoke broken English.

“Stefan! Just leave! Go home!” I said and got back to sending e-mails. Most of them done, now to contact the suppliers ... the clocked ticked away mercilessly ... A few more calls to make ... And it had now started to rain. Drab London weather. It was as if the skies always cried. No wonder many people here suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder...

“You want tea?”

“Stefan! I thought I had asked you to leave!”

“Ya! You want tea?”

“Stefan! Leave right now or else I will have you fired!”

I turned around and got back to putting files and folders away. At 4:15, I looked around the office. Everything done, no work left pending. I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but knew that far much more hectic activity awaited me beyond these office doors. I put on my coat, took my bag and umbrella and locked the office door. Will be back after a week of Christmas holidays. I had to renew my travelcard, pick up medicines from the chemist, had to buy some extra gift paper, some groceries ... he had invited his friends yet again for a pre-Xmas dinner ... had to go home and cook ... and I had to face the rush hour commute on the Northern Line .. and my frozen shoulder was playing up very badly. Some holiday it was going to be with all those guests being invited over almost everyday ... I forgot when I had any time for myself ... Giving everyone else no chance to complain and completely neglecting myself ... I craved some time to myself ...

“Ah! You finish!”

“Stefan! You almost gave me a shock there! Why are you still here?” I asked as I was fidgeting with my brolly. He took it from my hand and opened it in a snap. And then handed it back to me.

“Er ... I want to give you something.”

“What Stefan?”

He came close and hugged me ... the hug of a friend. And suddenly I just started crying. Sobbing at first but then warm tears just kept rolling off my cheeks. Stefan just patted me as if I were a small child. “It is okay. You cry, you feel better”.

I felt slightly lighter but foolish too. Stefan gave me his handkerchief. “You better now?”

“Yes. Thank you Stefan. I don’t know what came over me. I was ...”

“No! No! You no explain. I understand. I see your eyes. I know you sad.”

“I am sorry, I didn’t get you”.

“See, when you smile in office only lips smile. Your eyes no smile. No twinkle in eye.”

I just blinked away. I didn’t realise I could be read so easily.

“Stefan, when I asked you to leave so many times, and quite rudely too, why did you stay behind?”

His answer has stayed with me even after all these years. “Ahh that! My mama tell me ‘when someone sad ask you to go away, you never go away. That person need you most. If that person then share his or her sadness, believe my child that the Lord himself send you as an angel to that person. You are blessed by the Lord himself’. I do this for myself ... and see you feel better, no?”

I smiled. I had tears in my eyes but I smiled. The warmth of human compassion which was lost to me had lit a candle inside me. Stefan smiled back. I hugged him and said “God bless you!”

“Ah! Thank you. You take care and Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas Stefan! Have a safe trip to Poland and give my love to your mama!”

We parted our ways ... He probably feeling as angelic as he was and I ... I was feeling quite light in my heart. Yes I had troubles and responsibilities but to know that God was looking out for me and had sent his angel – the thought cheered me up immensely. I promised to myself that I too would try and be “an angel sent by God” to a person in need of basic human warmth, love and compassion. 

Yes, Stefan’s answer has stayed with me even after all these years.

Finally!

How chaotic! Everyone seems to be in a rush towards fulfilling their specific or unspecific goals in life. Everyone is busy. I wish someone would stop by ... just for me. And then maybe I could tell him or her what burdens my heart ... the burden of grief that lies upon my heart so heavy that it bleeds profusely. The blood is unable to find a vent to flow out and has clotted over, bruising my heart badly. If only I could talk to someone then maybe the clotted blood will flow out as transparent water from my eyes. But everyone is busy and I have no one to share my grief with. Those that aren’t so occupied have no wish to hear my words of sorrow. “You always make us laugh, so go on and tell us some merry tales!” I prefer to keep quiet.

I am standing near the sea.

There is someone as divine as God and I tend to voice my troubles to him. He pretends not to have heard me and hence I have stopped talking to him now. I prefer to keep quiet.

I walk towards the sea.

Sometimes someone does come along and say “I have a moment or so to spare for you. Tell me what burdens you but tell it to me quick”. How am I to unburden a lifetime of almost infinite sorrow in a matter of few moments? So I choose not to say anything. I prefer to keep quiet.

I am now standing at the seashore.

It’s not as if no one at all wants to listen to me. My dear ones do take time out of their hectic schedules and ask me “what is it that bothers you?” I love them far too much to share my grief with them. What if they too have to carry the burden in their hearts once I have shared it with them? No, I could never do that. I prefer to keep quiet.

The waves of the sea lap up excitedly as if they are truly happy to see me. Following the Hindu tradition of honouring the guests by washing their feet, the waves come and touch my feet, washing away some of my sorrow and taking it with them, perhaps unknowingly. Suddenly I feel somewhat lighter in my heart. I smile and tell the sea all my troubles. It listens to me very patiently as it is in no rush to go anywhere. Out of true compassion it hugs me tightly. It lets my tears flow freely knowing that they shall be at one with the seawater.

Ah! There is water everywhere ... going over my head too ... and the sorrow that had burdened my heart for so long finally flows out of me into the sea ... with me. 

Behind You ...

The squirrel kept scurrying from one branch to another – its hectic activity in stark contrast to the peace with which I was watching it, standing beside the kitchen window. The sound of the keys turning in the lock made my eyes follow what my ears heard. You had returned from your morning walk. You kept the bunch of keys on the table and before I could ask “shall I make some tea?” you lit a cigarette and started puffing it. Perhaps you had your tea and breakfast at the local cafe. I kept the two mugs back in the cupboard. I had waited for you to have tea with you. But since you’ve already had it ...

You went in the bedroom, switched on the AC, removed your shirt and hung it on the back of the chair. You then took you notepad and your pen and sat down on the bed ... staring in the air for your thoughts that were probably floating around. I guess you found your particular thought because you started writing passionately on the notepad.

The curtains were drawn and prohibited the lovely morning sunshine from entering the room. You might find it difficult to write in this darkness. I went and opened the curtains ... and the room lit up! But you got off the bed angrily and drew the curtains again, sending the room back into semi-darkness. You then went back to the bed, piled up three pillows, rested your elbow on them and lied down on your side. I came and sat right behind you ... your bare back facing me. Your body is so tempting, so irresistibly tempting! With love I run my hand on your smooth back. But you shrug off my hand. I am beckoning you with love but perhaps you find my love annoying. I have no intention of irritating you but no matter what I do, you get irked. Well then what do I do of my feelings towards you? What do I do about my mind and my heart which constantly think of you? Your deep eyes, your charming face, your lusty lips, your well-chiselled body and, to top it all, the magic that you create with your words ... I am helplessly lost in this web of words that you weave and find myself entrapped and am unable to break free, no matter how hard I try. You have unintentionally hypnotised me with your words, unaware of the turmoil it has caused within my heart and its desires.

I think of all this and with my finger I start writing out my thoughts on your back ... I start writing a poem on you. You keep shrugging and twitching but I don’t know if you are amused or annoyed by the touch of my fingers. If we were facing each other I would have known for sure but since you have turned your back on me I can only guess. Though, to tell you the truth, I find much happiness in this. I am contented with the way things are – you sit with your back turned towards me and keep writing stories while I sit behind you and keep writing poems on you. In fact I dread to see your eyes should you turn around and look at me. What will be there in your eyes for me? Anger? My God and my angels are angry with me as such ... my fate too has been rather ruthless with me ... and if I were to face your anger I would be unable to bear it and hence would die. On the other hand, what if you looked at me with love in your eyes? I have lost everything that I held dear in this world and am too scared to possess anything anymore. I won’t be able to hold your love in my broken heart. I would be unable to bear your love too.

No! Never! Please don’t ever turn around to look at me. Your anger will kill me and your love won’t let me live.

I am contented with the way things are – you sit with your back turned towards me and keep writing stories on paper while I sit behind you and keep writing poems on you.