Sweetness

I read her, by the river Ganga; poetry personified 
Words, her eyes spoke, paused time and tide
Libretto penned, with her touch of amenity
Fortunes spent, in her serene vicinity
She is utterly bitterness not
A sugary bite or,
A tooth fairy?
She is
Sweetness 

--someone

Poem: Mockery

He helped her to her home

                homed she felt in his company

Accompanied his pocket, a rose, a dream and a little comb

                combed, groomed, he was all set for flattery

Flattered was she by his boyish affection

                Affected was he by her imperfect spirit 

Spirited they were together, it was perfection

                Perfected to be each other’s true grit

But that evening was as blue as blue ink

                Inked on a paper, his words took a stand

Stood on a knee, he proposed; her eyes didn’t blink

                  Blinked to see a Red rose in his Right hand

Handed slyly, the epistle was crumpled in his pocket

                   Pocketed back was the truth, which tried to shock

Shocked but with no Ruth, yet she expressed fret

                   Fretted by her awe, he began his talk.

Talked like a jejune, he confessed his intent

                  Intended something else but he staged another act

                

                “That was just a gift,

                        which you always wish

                    To have an idyllic drift,  

                        like in poems so bookish

            That was all it was,

                        A moment from tomorrow

            Which you will pause,

                       With the one you’ll laugh and sorrow”  

                                

Acted like she believed his false sketch 

                She Sketched back a cordial lock intact.

-Ashish

Touch of Love

Malhar would never leave Alimah’s hand. This sounded too quixotic to their friends once. And they always proved their friends wrong.

Although they had been acquainted for three long years, they had never felt any trace of affection for each other before that night of their college trip. They sat opposite to each other, around the bonfire with the rest of their friends; their eyes articulating.  And the fire, on that dark, starry, chilling night, kindled the love in them.

Alimah could not get over the thought of Malhar’s strong hands holding hers, earlier that day, to help her walk over the wooden log bridge to cross the recklessly flowing river. And he could not forget the softness of her shivering hands in his. They looked at each other and they both knew they were meant to be together, always.

She woke up on the second year of their togetherness to find a void space on her bedside. He had already left for work early, without uttering a word. She wished she had not expected any surprises on their anniversary because she had got none. And this feeling shattered her even more. She remembered the last year when he had taken her on a long drive to the Western Ghats and they halted on a small tea shop while it drizzled and they walked hand in hand along the green valleys. This year, there was no rain. Everything seemed dried up, even her tears. She had cried enough for past few months. She had tried enough to bring back the fallen pieces together but failed. 

She decided that she would expect the worst now. She made up her mind to face a divorce, she was ready for it. Maybe, he would return with the legal documents in the evening, she thought. She got up and like all other days, started with her daily chores. 

While dusting their bedroom, she found his diary with a bookmark stuck between it, in a drawer next to their bed. She couldn’t resist to not read and turned to the page where Malhar had written the latest entry. She read it. And by the end of it, she was already up on her feet, about to runaway to him. And while on her way, his words reappeared in her mind. He had written everything that was needed to be said. He had written everything that was needed to rekindle their relationship. 

Alimah stood in his office's reception and a thought struck her that how would she defend herself for reading his diary. But she had no need to solve that query. 

Malhar's voice sent chills down her spine. "I knew you'd come", he said. Alimah turned back to find him standing there, smiling. Alimah couldn't respond. But, a tear rolled down her eye. And that was enough said.

He held her hand. He felt the same softness in her shivering hands. And she felt his strong hands. He looked into her eyes, confidently.

He knew she would definitely read his diary if he kept it in the right place. He knew what to write. He knew he chose the right words. 

Malhar leaned forward to embrace her. And outside, it rained again.

#BringBackTheTouch

-Ashish

Thankyou Indiblogger
and Parachute Advanced Body Lotion

Poem: Ink and Muse

Moments of solitude, A tinge of blue and strain,

The festive Winter night was lethargic and Cold as ever

Never expected warmth, No, Not until I met you again

Over the labyrinth of Networks, cozily, holding my shiver.

What dawned, seemed to be a breezy, transcribed raillery

transcending into an abstract, of our synonymous musings. 

On my naked canvas, it was anything but just Not tomfoolery,

We scrawled, of realms, of films, of likings and of feelings. 

With my arid, thirsty Quill, and your awe-inspiring, moist ink 

I breath, to dream, to scribble and to sustain through my lyrical notions 

And Whilst you are my Muse, my August stars would never shrink

As you’d forge them to Aurum, with your Alchemy and your potions. 

I embraced two novel Cronies, as the midnight kissed the clock

It was the beginning of a New Year, of another virgin epoch.

-Ashish

Fiction 55: Hide and Seek

Horns were honking. The traffic was stagnant.
Holding uniform flags, the swarm was clamant.
My camera’s lenses captured a kohl-eyed beauty.
Our eyes couldn’t stop playing hide and seek.
Then, her obscure gesture invited a loud eruption.
She won. She was lost forever in that unpleasant reek.
The romantic season changed. It was then political. 

The Window

The old man’s wristwatch apprised him to get up. It was the most anticipated time of his day, every day. Spurning the early cold winter morning, he got up from his iron cot and briskly wrapped himself in a thin woolen rug. He was eager to know what he was going to unveil, see and hear. He walked, the fastest he could with a walking stick in his left hand bolstering him. The corridor was empty, rest of the people were still snoring. He crossed the corridor slyly, trying not to make any sound to reach the common hallway. It was silent and empty, just as he wanted it to be. Reaching the telephone, placed near the window, he picked up the receiver and dialed the number. It rang thrice before it was picked up at the other end.

“Hello. Is it you?”

“Yes, It’s me” the old man replied.

She, on hearing his voice on the other end, was elated. “You will never miss calling me, won’t you?”

“Never” the old man said sanguinely.

She was glad to hear that. Clearing her throat, the woman asked, “So - what do see, today?”

***

Malhar’s phone rang beside his bed. Why is a good sleep so unaffordable for me? He thought and lazily picked up the call.

“Sir, Geko here. Sorry to disturb you but there’s a woman at the gate, says she wanted to meet you…”

“Ah yes, please let her in. I’ll be there in a moment”

Malhar jumped from the bed. He was going to meet her after a long time. Looking himself at the mirror, he could tell he was excited. He quickly sprinted to meet her. His first love was just behind the door. He opened it. He was speechless for a few seconds and then he recoiled himself.

“Welcome Alimah, good to see you, again, after such a long time.”

“Thank you. Same here, Malhar”

The excitement was mutual. The affection was mutual.

“Let’s have a cup of coffee?” Malhar asked.

“Absolutely” she smiled. Her eyes were scintillating.

***

The old man looked out of the window and narrated “The outsides look as beautiful as always, thick trees till the farthest you could look, open blue sky and I can hear the morning birds chirping musically and there are butterflies coloring the scene. Everything looks peaceful except this young girl, she is running. Oh! She looks so much like you. And she’s running behind a falling kite. Off she goes into the woods…”

“That sounds beautiful. Can you still see her?”

“Well, I can see the kite, stuck on a tree. And the girl is trying to grab it.”

“Ah! I hope she gets what she loves”

“I think she might, because, now I see a young, handsome guy trying to help her. The brave chap has climbed up the tree. The girl looks completely impressed”

“I am sure, she is” the woman smiled.

***

“Nice coffee.”

Alimah took a sip.

“It’s regular, actually. I suppose, it’s the company.” Malhar gulped, surprised by his own instant reply.

“Ahem! So, Malhar, when did you start this service? Who inspired you?”

“I always wanted to do something good for the society, apart from my routine work. So, I thought this would be a good cause to invest the money my father had left to me.” Malhar explained.

“I really appreciate what you are doing, Malhar. Why don’t you show me around?”

“Yes, I’ll do that and also, introduce you to all the members. But, before that, let me take to the main hall. I want you to see someone very special here and the reason why I wanted to meet you. Follow me”

“I am excited. Let’s go.”

Malhar walked her into hall and whispered, pointing near the window. “There he is, on the phone call, wait here.”

***

“And, what do you see?” The old man asked, curiously.

“The street looks peaceful as well. There are a lot lesser vehicles today. A lot lesser morning people rushing to their work…”

The old man chuckled. “Of course, who would go to work on a Sunday?”

The sudden realization made the woman tap her forehead. “Oh! Stupid me, How bad my memory has become at keeping track of days…”

“Curse your memory later and tell me something interesting”

“Okay. Let me see. Did I tell you about the new corner tea stall? I heard the ginger tea is really appetizing. The stall is always full of people. And, a lovely couple just walked down there, holding hands, sipping their morning tea, enjoying the ecstasy, said to be hidden in these small experiences. They look amazing together.”

“I wish, I could –“, the old man paused.

“You wish – what?”

“I must hang up the phone now. I guess people are waking up, here. I will call you tomorrow, same time.”

“I will be waiting. Take care”

The phone call was cut. The old man slyly walked back to his room.

***

“Who is that man? Who was he talking to?” Alimah asked.

“I called you here, at this odd time, because, this is what I wanted to show you”

“Years ago, this man and the woman on the other side were in love. But, back then, people were more orthodox. She was married before the old man could even ask for it. And, till today, he regrets what he has missed all these years. After a long treasure hunt, he found her number, only to find out that she now lives with her children and probably serves them. He was also alone all his life, so he joined our old age home.

He calls her every morning and they narrate to each other beautifully crafted stories, fiction of course, which they pretend as if is happing just outside their windows, trying to make each other happy.”

Alimah’s eyes were watery. “Such an Immortal love, just like I wish to have, I don’t know what to say”

“Say ‘yes’”. Malhar prompted.

“Yes to what?” Alimah rubbed her eyes.

“To my proposal. Will you be my Immortal Love?”

Malhar was on his knees.

“Yes!” Alimah jumped and passionately embraced him and whispered in his ears, “Let’s celebrate this at my favorite spot.”

“And, what is that?”

“It’s a small tea stall. They serve amazing ginger tea.” Alimah replied.

***

 - Ashish

Written for
A Platinum day of Love contest

Haiku: Messenger

Duty summons

The sailor for ages

Tears embark

Sailor’s wife scribbles

Tragic notions on the wet sand

Buoyant waves hark

A Promise, the waves bring back

Sailor’s epistle in a glass bottle,

An omen in the ocean’s dark

***

Written Under 'The Nine Flavors'

Flavor: Wonder/Amazement (Adbhuta Rasa)

Your Entries are Welcomed

-Ashish

Fiction-55: Crush

She kept speaking for an hour. He kept gazing at her.

Her intoxicating allurement walked him into mystical reverie where he was the protagonist and she was his muse. A distant voice was calling out his name.

 “Malhar.

 MALHAR!”

“Wha- pa- present ma’am” 

he returned back from the cloud cuckoo land. 

The school bell tolled. 

***

Posted Under 'The Nine Flavors'
Flavor: Love/attraction (Shringar Rasa)


Your entries are welcomed.

-Ashish

Short Story: The Address

“From, 16-A, Kalkaji, Delhi-110019” was not just an address. It was similar to the transcending words written on the milestones covered by the crutches supporting a cripple on covering a thousand miles, it was appetite for the fasting clock which ticked in dearth of the absconding moon for years, it was involuntary curve of elation dawning on visage of a dispossessed farmer catching the first glimpse of an overcast, and it was musical enough for Malhar’s ears to make him dance in the crowded streets of Soormapur as if nobody is watching.

For Malhar, the day, when his father took him to Alimah’s home for the first time, was the most precious and memorable gift he ever received. Those memories have a special corner in his mind. He still remembers how even after refusing to accompany his father to deliver the letters on a boring Wednesday morning, his father forced him to come along and realizes that it was certainly almighty’s tactics. He remembers how sitting on the bicycle with his father, he agreed to go for the ride unknowing of what bliss he coming his way. After delivering ten odd letters they finally reached the place where he was meant to be. He remembers the hospitality of Alimah’s Abba who welcomed them inside and the taste of delicious kheer that her Ammi had prepared. It was her birthday. He remembers the first glimpse of her which made him believe that the angels from her mother’s bedtime stories were real and he remembers the first words which she spoke to him “Join us. Let us play”, and took him along to introduce him to her other friends Nishad and Marika. Unlike the bullying and insult by the street boys he faced, she made him realize he was one among them, an equal. He was totally spellbound by her innocent charm and amicable attitude. It was beginning of a new friendship, an all-new era for him. He started loving Soormapur like never before.

But, he was only a ten-year-old then. And like himself, his love too was too jejune. Little did he know that the story, in a real world, never remains the same and nothing is immortal. Six-years later, a storm of events left Malhar devastated. Alimah and her family were leaving Soormapur forever. On knowing this, he sprinted to the railway station bare-foot but he was too late. The train had already left Soormapur. With tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat, he returned home to find his father lying on the floor, paralyzed and could breathe only for the next few days. Malhar had to leave his school and take up his father’s occupation for livelihood.

He started hating everything around him. Soormapur became a curse for him. He wished to escape from the place as soon as possible. But, again, his story took another turn one day when while emptying a letter box, he found a letter addressed to him. He jumped in exhilaration on reading the address. It was Alimah’s letter. Now, he had a reason to not leave Soormapur. She had finally written to him. His faith in his love was back.

The time, he missed the most, was back. Alimah was back in his life. He replied to her letter. Every day, excitedly he would search for her letter in the letterbox. He would wait for days for one reply and Alimah didn’t disappoint him this time. She wrote about how she misses the old time, the games they played and everything about Soormapur. She also wrote that she was going to become a doctor and about her studies. The talks continued for months. Malhar was on cloud number nine.

Her birthday was near and Malhar had already planned that now he would tell her how much he loves her, how the angel from his mother’s story, who makes a boy’s life beautiful, became a reality for him and how pure his affection was since it was from the same innocent heart of a ten-year-old. He finally wrote the letter and safely put it under his pillow. He was sleepless to send it to her. It was the very first thing he was going to do the next morning. 

It was a bright morning on Malhar’s face. He merrily walked to the post office to find an unrecognizable yet familiar face. The boy was in hurry and handed Malhar a letter and asked him to deliver it as soon as possible, giving him certain instructions. He recalled the boy’s words “It is a matter of love. It is to my fiancée. Do take care.” 

Malhar flipped the envelope and read the address. 

“To,

 16-A, Kalkaji,

 Delhi-110019”

“From, Nishad…”

He clutched the letter he wrote. The world around him shattered. All that he assumed was proved wrong. He realized that the real world comes with differences of highs and lows, downs and ups, rich and poor, Hindus and Muslims and that this line cannot be crossed. His faith was lost again. The angel from the story became a fiction forever.  

Poem: To the Valleys

Hello Reader,

For weeks, months or even years we wait to just escape from the average mechanical life where we are tied-up with the umpteen chores; go-to-market chores, listen-to-boss chores, pay-the-bill chores, fix-the-flush chores and fed-up of the nasty hubbubs; honking-in-traffic noise, neighbor-drilling-the-common-wall noise, infants-wailing-in-theater noise, buy-our-credit-card noise.

An idea of a perfect road trip with my loved one on a weekend might just erase all that. This is how i want my road trip to be:

Nobody around but just me and her,

little romantic drizzles and a crimson Mini Cooper.

Under a drowsy sun, still sleeping under a cloudy blanket

I would drive her, into the lush green basket

Of the countryside and to the silent valleys

away from the traffic and the cacophonous rallies.

Would sing along the timeless melodies

For her smile, counts for a thousand remedies.
Mislay the potholes as we drive into the fog

on the slippery, shiny road, banality we flog.

The angelic abstracts on the misty window

that the amicable showers shall bestow,

depicting euphoria that we share,

stimulated by the breezy, aromatic air

And on a ceaseless journey, a few pleasant halts

at some down-to-earth, sketchy, roadside tea stalls. 

Cherishing the Western Ghats,we take the hot sip; 

and that shall complete my Perfect Road Trip.

I wish my dream trip becomes a reality. Someday...

Written for 

"The Perfect Road Trip" contest 

Thank you Ambi Pur 

and IndiBlogger for this opportunity. 

-Ashish

Fiction -55: Lethal Love

They decided to meet at a very lonely street. The drizzling made the night even more romantic.
He brought her close to himself. He took in her aroma.
His next move made her desires light up. His insides were filled with her scent.
He held her gently and kissed her.
She was his last cigarette.

-Ashish

Poem: A Proposal Rhyme

While writing this rhyme,

hope I create no fuss. 

I have been cherishing you,

as you walked all over the campus.

Let me capture your fluid beauty, 

hope you don’t refuse.

I propose to you, one simple deal; 

will you be my muse?

***

Can I be your abacus,

on which you can count on?

Let me enter your story

and bring into your life, a new dawn.

To be there for one another, 

for a vow that has no end.

I propose to you, one yummy meal; 

will you be my friend?

***

Is it your unusual name,

I want to scribble on a misty glass?

Or is it your ivory teeth,

that makes every melancholy surpass?

Yours hands may get dirty,

so let me be your glove

I propose to you, on my kneel; 

will you be my love?

***

-Ashish

Fiction-55: The cupid diary

Their relationship was on a knife-edge until one day when she found his diary lying under his table while dusting their bedroom. She leafed to the latest entry.

“…I cannot afford to lose her. I still love her.”
Reading this, with tears of bliss, she paced and embraced him.

To himself, he winked, “Plan successful.”

Poem: For Kohl's Sake

For the painter,

who created this abstract so aesthetic;

For the musician,

who composed this song so sympathetic;

For the poet,

who penned down this poem so rhyming;

For the illusionist,

whose incantations made it so mesmerizing;

And for the kohl’s sake,

I’ll never let your tears congregate,

into a salty lake. 

For your Eyes,

so affable and yet so enigmatic;

For your Voice,

that I listen to everyday, so acoustic;

For your shoulders,

which divide my burden, so agile;

For your lips,

which smile to make me smile;

And for the Kohl’s sake,

I’ll not let that smile fade,

to silly reasons of heart-break.

For the blues,

that I played in your dearth;

For the disparagement,

which brought me down to earth; 

For the malefaction,

which pricked to make me anaesthetic;

For the lies,

to treasure our bond was so plastic;

And for the kohl’s sake,

I forgive you for being equivocal 

and pretending like a fake. 

For the fairy tales,

that we imagined, so melodramatic;

For the nocturnal talks,

when we shared our notions, so telepathic;

For the embracing hugs,

when you were overjoyed, so euphoric; 

For the hilarious gags,

when we laughed out loud, so sarcastic;

And for the kohl’s sake,

I’d never want to share you

even for the biggest piece of cake,

never for the kohl’s sake. 

Choose one: Money or Love

Hello Reader

There are times when people ask you to think or speak practically. What do they mean when they say that? They want you to apply your words to the real life examples and rethink for the possibility of what you are saying.
Often happens in the state of great dilemma. Like you have two choices either stay back with your family or move out of the house and explore the world. Being with your family gives you priceless moments and joy. Moving out gives you experience or to be precise: MONEY!! You have to choose between emotions and practicality.

Practically, if you see, nobody can survive without money. So if a person says "I don't need money. I have my love with me". For sure, both him and his love would die of hunger. So it's the money which is making this world move on. To have a shelter to live, cloths to cover yourself and food to eat and survive, all you need is money, money and more money(in case you are too hungry). What would poor people dying of hunger get if you go and show some love, sympathy to them? Give them money and there you go, look at their cheerful faces.

Before some overheated people read my beautiful words and come to knock me. Let me make this clear that i am not at all against love. Let me re write what i stated.

Emotionally, if you see, nobody can survive without love. So if a person says "I don't need love. I m the richest damn thing". For sure, he won't take all that money with him inside his grave. Till the date you are living on this planet is more important. Even if it is just for a few days. Without love and affection, you won't feel like living even if you own Taj Mahal (or if you had no love, for whom would you have built it for?). Eating without your loved ones, without sharing food with them, won't digest your food properly. Humans eat together to share, because they care. And coming to poor people, love binds them. Even in the little they earn, they share it with their family. Sharing is caring and caring is loving. It's the love among them which keeps them moving. An aim to care for their families gives them a reason to live. Though they don't get the high priced comforts but they feel happy to earn whatever is in their reach.

And here's the million dollar dialogue "Money can't buy love". :)

Practicality comes into question in relationships. I don't know from when but it exists. If a guy is attracted (or love, that's what he initially thinks) to girl, he starts with being friends, starting to chat, exchanging numbers, more chatting, dating, more chatting, gifts, spending money, proposing, ring ceremony (if yes), marriage, a magic and finally Kids! Kids, on growing up, proceed the same steps.

Some, very Practical people cut all those steps short starting with a 'hello' and ending up with the 'magic'. As they feel 'magic' is after all the ultimate aim! Very proudly they also call themselves "eff buddies"...which i don't want to elaborate.
Hmm...once again where is the emotion? It dies at the very first 'hello'. The love in those cases never actually begins. There is no shortcut in this case.
So, the real fun lies in following the protocol.

But its always an individuals wish at different stages of his life to chose to be practical or to be emotional?

Thanks for reading.
Practically wrote, emotionally thought,
Ashish

Credits: Arpita Saha (my friend), for giving me this idea.

Do you actually love from your heart?

Hello Readers.

At a point of time in life, everybody falls in love with someone. Then, everything around you seems to be bright and beautiful. This actually happens. You keep waiting for the messages. Every time your phone beeps, you anticipate it to be from your beloved one. You start loving even the most boring love stories of the world. And music and the lyrics drive you crazy, makes you jump and dance.You start writing their name on the cold glass covered with mist when you miss them. You feel each song as if it were written for you. The world around you becomes a poem for you.

Now coming to the point. Do you feel all that from your heart? Emotions and feelings are some actions which get actuated at your brain. Where does this heart come from then? If you see someone amazingly attractive, through your eyes the image is sent to your brain and it makes a special space for him/her in your memory.

What does heart do then?
Pumps and circulates blood. Blood contains the important nutrients which our body needs. That's all. Keeps us alive so that we can live and love other fellow beings. It is not where the feeling of love begins. It's true that Heart does a big job keeping the body working.

Out of 100 people, 99 people would say its Heart. Why?
It's a misconception which through ages is being followed. Aristotle said that heart is the one responsible for doing all these naughty tricks with one's life.Yeah! i m talking about love.
And from that day onwards even though everything is scientifically proved, people sing "Dil se" ..from the heart. It's more like a proverb saying "pyaar dil se hota hai.." but is actually not true. Pyaar dil se nahi Dimaag se hota hai.

Yes, pounding of heart does take increase on finding love of your life. But, even that happens when our body needs more energy that is more nutrients that is increase in circulation of blood. So more pumping. So nobody's inside your heart knocking it from inside.
People say if i have had thought from brain i would have never fallen for him/her.
Oh! my innocent people. Its again all about mind games which people play. Soft corner is a place in your brain not in your heart. Try GPS . Find it again!

What else can be the reason of heart being considered as the reason of people falling in love? the red colour? Again its just blood.

One funny thing about blood is that it flows in both the causes: Love and War. Love or war ..you see the same blood red colour. Hmm!

So think from your brain about what you just read. Heart never thinks.

Thanks for reading.
I have put my heart writing this post.