The Experimental Blogger

Dear LOVE, And when I met you for the first time, I was clueless about how I should feel. You didn’t give me enough time to settle down and think sensibly. You just came like wind, a strong one at that, and swept me off my feet. And when you became too overwhelming, I surrendered. Surrendered to the innocent and pure you, without even knowing what was in store for our union. Or was it a reunion? I had met you once. Not too long ago. Bu then, I was too young to know what was engulfing my whole being. You came, disguised in the form of a passionate emotion which I had not felt before. Not in this lifetime for sure. You carried me in your arms, like a powerful authority, and I floated with you, over the rivers and the mountains, against the wind we flew. And then, a sudden rupture, and you abandoned me. Left me craving for you, longing for you. In the middle of those never-ending nights, when I asked for your company, you refused to stand and caress me. Your loving hand,...

Thursday, 23 June 2011 She jumped at the sound and sat straight on the bed. It was 6.15. She was already late. The water supply will stop in another 15 minutes. She rushed out of the room and started filling the buckets and the water tank. Her daughter, Aaliya, was also disturbed by the alarm. But she was used to it. She just had to ignore it for a couple of minutes and then it would go off automatically. She never, even once, got up to think about her mother who had slept at 1.30 last night and still woke up just in time for their daily water requirements. Aaliya took it for granted that her mother will get up on time each day and do all that she has to, to ensure that the house runs smoothly. But what if one day, just like her Dad or herself, Ma also wants to sleep for some extra hours because she was tired? What will happen to the water requirements? And the breakfast, lunch, the clothes that have to be washed daily, the dusting, and those numerous daily chores? ...

And when she left, she carried their smell with her. The smell of rags and used plastic bottles, the smell of  filth and dirt, the smell they acquired while carrying peoples’ luggage at the railway station and the smell that so defined them. The 7-year old kept looking at Aaliya and the Bisleri in her hands. She asked him, “Paani chahiye?” “Haan. Par ye wala hi,” he answered. Aaliya gave him the bottle and started for office. After filing her story and completing the day’s work, she reached home. The smell was still with her. It reminded her that when she will switch on the AC, the kid on the street would remove sweat from his brow all night and will not be able to sleep on the pavement due to the heat. She washed her face and hands, changed her clothes and brushed her teeth. The smell stayed. She called up her boyfriend and tried talking to him. He could only utter a tired goodnight. Aaliya wanted him to ask her why she wasn’t as chirpy as she is most of the times at...

Who gave you the power to ruin me? She asked. “Ah! Yes. I remember I did, years back.” But now she wanted it all back. He sat in front of her, with all that he had. She looked at him and asked herself, “When was the last time I saw myself happy in the mirror?” Answers came flooding her mind. The day they both sat under a tree and she wanted to hug him tight. Days when they were together in a dingy hostel room of a friend’s friend. Naked. Opening up to each other like never before. And the day, he told her she was the one. They never went on dates. All they did, when together, was talk or read. No read or talk about reading. She had announced to the world already. He was still not sure. But they were one. So what else could matter? Trust. It was trust that mattered. And she hardly cared for it. The feeling of oneness had engulfed her. She was him. He was her. But was it enough? She has ignored all the signs. The letter that she saw. The look that she stared at, d...