A 100 miles...

চিঠির গোছায় ফুলের সাজ,
রঙের ছোঁয়া লাগলো আজ।
বন্ধুতাটাই লাগছে ভালো...
ভালোবাসায় কি বা কাজ?

খেলাঘর বাঁধতে লেগেছি আমার মনের ভিতরে - was always clear in the back of my mind - but what is this খেলাঘর? Something that has hundreds of inhibitions...in fact hardly anything apart from writing letters is allowed. We can't tell publicly that we are friends, we hesitate, actually are almost reluctant to even come across each other...in a moment of need we won't be able to wipe each other's tears, except through an uncertain and asynchronous medium called email. So much for the friendship. And for love - it begins and ends with one word - unmentionable...

That's how life moves on. Every scientist thrives for that one invention that will change the world. I am no scientist. My interest area was always man-woman interdependence. And I have reached this far. This man is now my world - he was so in a virtual way for quite some time now - I hope to God that it doesn't become more real than what it is now...I can spare the surrealism...

Moonstruck...

Dear tiny fluttering fragile heart of mine, please understand that a song is a song is a song...and don't break into shards...

She...who wanted her dreams to be true...that's all she ever wanted in life. Everything else was "material pleasure" to her.

She is forced to believe that a bubble is an unstable entity that bursts. Yet this perfect, transparent, multicolored bubble, that she has been creating all on her own, with great care, suddenly got someone else's magical touch. And the muggles said, it is magic, it doesn't exist...

But the happiness, unfounded happiness, was palpable...can a non-existent falsehood ever bring so much happiness?

I live in a nowhere land right now...I don't exist, my dreams don't exist, love doesn't exist, but then what makes me beautiful? What makes me connect with music again? Authentic Indian classical music by ARR and lyrics penned by who other than Gulzar saab?

Thank you God for this one night of baseless bliss, against all the grief you've given me. Thanks for creating good people on earth. Thanks for creating someone who's like me...my mirror image...

My sunshine...

What a Valentine's day I had. I can't write about it anywhere else apart from this stupid blog of mine. I received a surprise, unexpected, untimely mail (it was almost 11, and I've strictly forbidden him about mailing me during office hours)...so it was a tiny mail ok...he's written much larger mails to me...but that one mail had so many stuffs with which stories can be written...

1. About a kiss, that too an attempt at drunk kissing that caused pandemonium supposedly at a wedding
2. About solitude (I still didn't understand the meaning - our friendship doesn't make him strange or gloomy, it makes him crave for solitude? Should I be happy or sad about it?)
3. A song, rather, "a lovely song"

I don't know how so many stories came up? Have I created all of them? May be...I don't have much other work, right? This, writing categorical point-wise (auto correct suggests me pointless) mails, our PS, PPS, PPPS, our curious, irrelevant attachments, our similar types of eccentricities...is everything my creation?

Is that my creation too, when I felt this soul connection? I read up the article yesterday - Bliss, punctuated...;), after it struck me that he's sent me the same song. It had taken me so long to understand that these are songs that he puts up as WA status. I thought those were written by him because mine were made up by me only. For once I even felt scared - has he discovered this crazy blog of mine? Finally like the honest good girl that I am with him, I confessed that I liked the song but didn't understand it. I also told him that I don't like songs nowadays. No song appeals to me...

But then, when I came to office today, still feeling dizzy and unwell, and quickly finished the work and then got some me time, I started surfing this song and that...and then I did come across one song...the version of Manchala that was used in Hasee toh Phasee climax...particularly that part when the girl sings - "meri hai ajeeb aadatein, kuchh khudgarj chahatein, har jasbaat phir bhi masoom hai...tu hai mera bhor"...

So...were they all stories? That through his WA status he actually responds to my own status...the biggest story of them all, that he loves me too? Way I love him...Can that ever be real?

We get these games na, in FB? Who is your best friend, who is your soul mate etc...I loved playing these games - because it'd be based on FB data, and FB was the place na, where our unfounded love was born...so one of these games went thus who would try to kiss you on new year's eve? I as usual took a screen shot of him as the identified kisser and that was the end. Except that yesterday I really felt like sending him that picture. "Look what this says"...he wouldn't mind. By now we are fast friends. But still I hesitated. You know why...right?

Yes, truth is stranger than fiction - and stories within stories within stories are all fictions, they never come true...

The story...

I will write this slowly, taking my time. Because you see, I have not a thing to do in my life. As the wind shifts from being warm to being chilly, so that one wonders whether it's winter or spring, I lie on my bed and write this.

Have I told him everything yet? I wonder. Was it not a bit sudden? Will we ever go back to the old days again? Did I at all like being his friend? Was this whim a mere act of envy? Because at the end of the day I love him in a most possessive way. I could not take in his other interests and still continue being his friend...

Don't misunderstand me. I thoroughly enjoyed our friendship. It had almost become a ritual. I am a withdrawn person by nature, but way I always give a little time to my parents, my dogs and puppies, I gave a little time to him before retreating in my shell. I was not lying to him when I told him that I was almost happy doing that.

In fact I almost forgot my virtual love story under the dizzying influence of this real friendship. This quiet person lighted up my mundane world in such a way that anything beyond that seemed redundant.

But after all it's spring. I couldn't let my romanticism die a silent death. And frankly, when I am not loved enough, I won't be loved as a friend too, not for long anyways. A relationship between two people lives if there's a need from both of them. My best friend used to say that a bridge cannot be built from one end. It has to be constructed from both ends, has to cover equal distance and then merge midway.

Though I hoped against hope that I'd be important to him as well, I knew that I am not. Why be a beggar in a relationship? I refuse to be sad about this although I already know that I can never be happy. In fact I seek that abyss of death like never before. Now is the best time to end this life. I have just gotten rid of the only person who could have cured me. He had asked me once, "why do you think you don't deserve happiness? Why are you so harsh on yourself?"

Well he can now see things for himself...

PS - only when the tears well up, uninvited, time and again, repeatedly, embarrassingly, do I know that I am actually sad...

The broken heart...

That sapling,
The tiny, vulnerable, malnourished one,
Which nobody ever cared for,
Let alone nurture...
Born out of a thrown away seed,
While the fruit was consumed in greed,
Withered this evening, dried up beyond hope.
God was studying English classics.
Or at times, American ones.
He had been reading The Happy Prince,
And The Last Leaf to his angels...
And was telling them,
You won't find a broken heart,
A dead swallow, or a painted leaf,
In today's rotten world.
He was sitting in heaven,
Right above its personal hell, and,
Because God's voice reaches the devoted,
And in their hearts He dwells,
The dying sapling could hear Him;
It sighed, and said...
Why? Am I not dead yet?

PS - this poem has a history and a reason. I don't feel like telling the reason as yet. The history is what I confessed to my best friend when we were in college. That when love is born between man and woman, it is like a sapling. A baby tree who needs constant care, recognition and appreciation. At times one of the two is unaware of the love, often uncaring, or reluctant. Because people suffer from uncertainty, their minds change. Then the sapling dies. Uncared for, alone...

Self control and all that's bogus...

Self control is a pretty damned thing. But righteous human beings must practice it. I went through a roller coaster ride today. Some kids in my team just keep liking pictures randomly, pictures where all of us are tagged in...all teeth bared, and it'd hurt. It'd hurt not to find his existence. The existence of the man whose every footstep I have followed in the Facebook space for the last few months. And my friend list curiously shows one less friend. I know it's not him. I know that he hadn't unfriended me, just deactivated his account...and I try to find faith in his words, words that he specifically wrote to me - I am not going anywhere...yet, the optical illusion kills. I know almost all the pictures he has liked, the few pictures only he has liked or loved, and when I go to one such picture, it shows one love reaction, but when I click on it, it shows zero. I wait in vain for a letter, feel like confessing things to him, actually write the contents of this entry not in my blog but to him, and be done with it. But no, self control you must possess and practice. Screw বসন্তকাল...

Happy and mad...

Fairy tales be like this? Do they bring copious tears to dry eyes? And make you feel so carefree? It's such a relief to not have complications in life. You know, that small peephole of hope is what kills you. I am happy that it's not present. For the first time in my life I am happy that someone loves me but doesn't love in conformation to the definition of love. The only problem, so far as I can perceive, is that I can't possibly tell him about all the movies I like...Few Good Men, yes, Readers, no...

Today's Bee's birthday. I had a chat with her like old times...it felt good...

[2/3, 10:07 AM] Bee: Love who
[2/3, 10:07 AM] Me: A guy only bee. I haven't changed, I'm still straight. You seem to be busy. I suddenly felt as if we were chatting like old days. I'm quite happy bee
[2/3, 10:09 AM] Bee: Cool Dee
[2/3, 10:10 AM] Bee: So u getting married now
[2/3, 10:10 AM] Me: Giggles. No silly. Guy doesn't love me back. It's the usual story only. Nothing's changed
[2/3, 10:19 AM] Bee: Lol
[2/3, 10:20 AM] Me: I told you nothing's changed.