"For the unborn twins and the invisible me"
"Here starts the wild ride" I say, as she glistens at me in complete silence with a smile. That silence was dragging towards no end as we sit close to each other in the reverie of our past few months. What's ahead that night, both of us didn't know. And both of us agreed not to discuss but to experience those last 12 hours, which is going to cap the short journey we were passing together in each other's life. May be her eyes will shine once again tonight. May be her words might drag and drool more than what they have achieved before. May be the enchantress in her will emerge once again tonight, to challenge my mortality. I don’t know. But, that really isn't matter now. What that matters is the night that I have in my hands to spend with her. And her.
Allow me to speak about her. Of what she is and what she was. Of what she is not and what she was not. To me and to me. But do I know all? I am not so sure. Is it all true that I think is true, I am not so sure. But she's all what my recent past has been filled with. The words that are scattered around my ears, to talk. The whispers that has spread all over me, to dream. The fights and tears that has filled my brain cells, to deceive. The confusions, the complications , the laughters, to love. She's all whom I had.
"I was never yours" she says with the same smile. I agree. And I was not hers. I know. But we are each other's. That's what her cold fingers tell me when it touches me with the intent to hurt, as she used to say. There is no romance like no romance. But then, is this romance?
Allow me to speak about her hands. Of which is cold. So cold, that it pierces through my nerves and tells me something that only I can understand. But again there are her lips which used to say the opposite. My brain goes into a overdrive to give excuses to hold those beautiful hands every time. But then now, today being a strange day, she offers her hand for me to read. She knows that I know nuts in palmistry. I know that she knows that. But now her hands are in my possession on her wish against reason. I feel the chillness of her hand breaking my nerves slowly... and steadily. What does she feels in mine?
"You are going to have 21 husbands" I say as she erupts into laughter. I go on with the illegitimate twins she is going to have by someone other than those twenty one. She stops laughing. I laugh. She looks away for a while. I didn't. I know exactly what she was thinking. Knowing that I was looking at her, she turns towards me. I laugh again. She raises her hand and beats me lazily. I fake pain. She smiles. And there, I lose myself again.
Allow me to speak about her smile. That weaves the silken touch inside me, beyond the tears that stares the galaxy on those lonely nights I used to have. What do I see in that smile along with the small shift in the eyebrows and a piercing look that gets passed through my silent barriers. Do I have to wait a life time to find the right words to describe them?
"So finally here we are…" I announce to mark the start of the occasion as the bus start towards the end of the twelve hours which is going to bind us together. Did I see a twinkle of excitement in her eyes about what's ahead? Or am I dreaming as usual? She is speaking continuously. This is one of those odd occasions. But strangely I am not listening. She stops, realizing my eyes. Then the silence comes to steal the space in between us as it usually does. We disappear from each other’s sight for a glimmer. She looks outside the bus' window. I look at my feet.
This feeling is so wet. Unlike the night which is slipping past us.
Allow me to speak about this night. The night which has been built for a month to bring us together and then split us apart. It is as dark as any other night. Surprisingly, not so cold. It doesn't hold any signs of being a special one but it is in its hurrying best to finish off soon and take us to the point where I loath to reach. But then here is the night which I so much wanted for past one month or so. The night that is slipping thick and fast between our words and silences. This is not the time for regrets. This is not the time for assumptions. And definitely, this is not the time for an elegy. She, me and the night. The time is right in front of us to sit together and cherish it, until its very last second that's going to announce her departure. This is the time for us, the twelve hours.
There is more to this night than the yaks and laughs and laughs and yaks. There is more to the words that we speak, the silences we cherish. I feel the softness of her arm against mine as I get snatched by the memories. The memories that made all the attempts to fling us apart in the past few months but failed. I daze to see the point where we are now. I yearned for this? I will never know. There are no traces of regrets in her face now and rightly so.
This is all her. This night, these words, the silences, the smiles, the jokes, the laughs, these twelve hours and...me. These all are made for her and made of her. I tell this to her. She laughs. I remain unsure. I am here but not here. She knows where she is. She sees nothing. I see no one else. We remain much closer to each other as the night progress. I breathe in her as we balance ourselves, after all who else is there? The hundreds of people who are around us doesn't hold an iota of importance. Words we speak are irrelevant. The confusions, assumptions, complications are even more so. May be this night, so far, has taught us more about each other, but for what we will not know. I laugh and taunt at the every chance that passes by much to her smiles and fake resentment.
Night grows older as we talk about anything and everything. Night has grown into me and her. It had succeeded in its attempt to make us feel cold but not tired. My jacket was enough to stop her shivers. I see her inside my jacket and feel colder. She tries her all to make me comfortable in that uncomfortable chair. She feels sorry for making me stay awake all night. I pull out from her for a second, to ask myself whether is it tough. Then I look at her to mutter "Let this night stretch, go beyond the limits, and expand itself forever. You would find me sitting here, in this chair, talking with you, like the world has no tomorrow to it…" She looks at me ever so deeply. I dare not to ask her how she feels. But I do. She replies in fewer words than I did.
"I don't know" she says wryly. Remorseless, I know, I know. She stays calm. We see each other for a while. There are things written over both our faces that both of us dare not to ask. I know her words from her thoughts. Her eyes betray her as much as my actions betray me. We know and we don't know. Our attempts to reason, to find meanings, to know answers will take us nowhere. We agreed to stay away from questions that are irrelevant and relevant, long ago. Who is she? Who am I? This night is not more than she and I, then what care she or I.
But there has to be an end. For our night, for our twelve hours, for everything. The morning that I so despise to come, has to come. I realize that when the hazy daylight comes behind me to tell the night is over. She is still there in front of me, but will not be for long. The moment to meet the end of the twelve hours and our journey together is fast approaching.
Allow me to tell about the last few minutes of one of the most coveted twelve hours of my life. The twelve hours that juxtaposed us, our destinies, our affection and our love, for those twelve hours. The twelve hours that we sat together and tasted like a red wine. The twelve hours that is in its dying minutes. I deserted poignancy few hours back. Time is not for that. Then for what? I’ll never know.
There are times, moments, seconds that you dare to search for the meaning of things you do, to soothe yourself by knowing that its futility served some purpose. But seldom you succeed. This time wasn't different for me either. I stand there and watch her shake my hands and walk away from me, carrying our past, the night and the twelve hours. There is not much difference to the day and the night. The day doesn't act as a reminder for the night before. Nothing separates them both except for the fact- that she was there with me, she will not be after few seconds.
I stand there with a motionless stupor, watch her walk away in a slow pace, which discounts my pain of her departure. I see through the hazy sunlight, the moment when I spoke with her for the first time. I see the nights, fights, smiles and tears that brought us ever close to each other. I see her eyes. I see her smiles. I see her hands that drained all my life’s grief into zilch. I see nothing and I see everything. I see the life's futility as it engulfs me with its vengeful thirst against reason. And then I see her stop, turn back towards me and say – "I’ll miss you!"
Yes! I am not hers and she is not mine. But we are each others. Forever!
Allow me to speak about her. Of what she is and what she was. Of what she is not and what she was not. To me and to me. But do I know all? I am not so sure. Is it all true that I think is true, I am not so sure. But she's all what my recent past has been filled with. The words that are scattered around my ears, to talk. The whispers that has spread all over me, to dream. The fights and tears that has filled my brain cells, to deceive. The confusions, the complications , the laughters, to love. She's all whom I had.
"I was never yours" she says with the same smile. I agree. And I was not hers. I know. But we are each other's. That's what her cold fingers tell me when it touches me with the intent to hurt, as she used to say. There is no romance like no romance. But then, is this romance?
Allow me to speak about her hands. Of which is cold. So cold, that it pierces through my nerves and tells me something that only I can understand. But again there are her lips which used to say the opposite. My brain goes into a overdrive to give excuses to hold those beautiful hands every time. But then now, today being a strange day, she offers her hand for me to read. She knows that I know nuts in palmistry. I know that she knows that. But now her hands are in my possession on her wish against reason. I feel the chillness of her hand breaking my nerves slowly... and steadily. What does she feels in mine?
"You are going to have 21 husbands" I say as she erupts into laughter. I go on with the illegitimate twins she is going to have by someone other than those twenty one. She stops laughing. I laugh. She looks away for a while. I didn't. I know exactly what she was thinking. Knowing that I was looking at her, she turns towards me. I laugh again. She raises her hand and beats me lazily. I fake pain. She smiles. And there, I lose myself again.
Allow me to speak about her smile. That weaves the silken touch inside me, beyond the tears that stares the galaxy on those lonely nights I used to have. What do I see in that smile along with the small shift in the eyebrows and a piercing look that gets passed through my silent barriers. Do I have to wait a life time to find the right words to describe them?
"So finally here we are…" I announce to mark the start of the occasion as the bus start towards the end of the twelve hours which is going to bind us together. Did I see a twinkle of excitement in her eyes about what's ahead? Or am I dreaming as usual? She is speaking continuously. This is one of those odd occasions. But strangely I am not listening. She stops, realizing my eyes. Then the silence comes to steal the space in between us as it usually does. We disappear from each other’s sight for a glimmer. She looks outside the bus' window. I look at my feet.
This feeling is so wet. Unlike the night which is slipping past us.
Allow me to speak about this night. The night which has been built for a month to bring us together and then split us apart. It is as dark as any other night. Surprisingly, not so cold. It doesn't hold any signs of being a special one but it is in its hurrying best to finish off soon and take us to the point where I loath to reach. But then here is the night which I so much wanted for past one month or so. The night that is slipping thick and fast between our words and silences. This is not the time for regrets. This is not the time for assumptions. And definitely, this is not the time for an elegy. She, me and the night. The time is right in front of us to sit together and cherish it, until its very last second that's going to announce her departure. This is the time for us, the twelve hours.
There is more to this night than the yaks and laughs and laughs and yaks. There is more to the words that we speak, the silences we cherish. I feel the softness of her arm against mine as I get snatched by the memories. The memories that made all the attempts to fling us apart in the past few months but failed. I daze to see the point where we are now. I yearned for this? I will never know. There are no traces of regrets in her face now and rightly so.
This is all her. This night, these words, the silences, the smiles, the jokes, the laughs, these twelve hours and...me. These all are made for her and made of her. I tell this to her. She laughs. I remain unsure. I am here but not here. She knows where she is. She sees nothing. I see no one else. We remain much closer to each other as the night progress. I breathe in her as we balance ourselves, after all who else is there? The hundreds of people who are around us doesn't hold an iota of importance. Words we speak are irrelevant. The confusions, assumptions, complications are even more so. May be this night, so far, has taught us more about each other, but for what we will not know. I laugh and taunt at the every chance that passes by much to her smiles and fake resentment.
Night grows older as we talk about anything and everything. Night has grown into me and her. It had succeeded in its attempt to make us feel cold but not tired. My jacket was enough to stop her shivers. I see her inside my jacket and feel colder. She tries her all to make me comfortable in that uncomfortable chair. She feels sorry for making me stay awake all night. I pull out from her for a second, to ask myself whether is it tough. Then I look at her to mutter "Let this night stretch, go beyond the limits, and expand itself forever. You would find me sitting here, in this chair, talking with you, like the world has no tomorrow to it…" She looks at me ever so deeply. I dare not to ask her how she feels. But I do. She replies in fewer words than I did.
"I don't know" she says wryly. Remorseless, I know, I know. She stays calm. We see each other for a while. There are things written over both our faces that both of us dare not to ask. I know her words from her thoughts. Her eyes betray her as much as my actions betray me. We know and we don't know. Our attempts to reason, to find meanings, to know answers will take us nowhere. We agreed to stay away from questions that are irrelevant and relevant, long ago. Who is she? Who am I? This night is not more than she and I, then what care she or I.
But there has to be an end. For our night, for our twelve hours, for everything. The morning that I so despise to come, has to come. I realize that when the hazy daylight comes behind me to tell the night is over. She is still there in front of me, but will not be for long. The moment to meet the end of the twelve hours and our journey together is fast approaching.
Allow me to tell about the last few minutes of one of the most coveted twelve hours of my life. The twelve hours that juxtaposed us, our destinies, our affection and our love, for those twelve hours. The twelve hours that we sat together and tasted like a red wine. The twelve hours that is in its dying minutes. I deserted poignancy few hours back. Time is not for that. Then for what? I’ll never know.
There are times, moments, seconds that you dare to search for the meaning of things you do, to soothe yourself by knowing that its futility served some purpose. But seldom you succeed. This time wasn't different for me either. I stand there and watch her shake my hands and walk away from me, carrying our past, the night and the twelve hours. There is not much difference to the day and the night. The day doesn't act as a reminder for the night before. Nothing separates them both except for the fact- that she was there with me, she will not be after few seconds.
I stand there with a motionless stupor, watch her walk away in a slow pace, which discounts my pain of her departure. I see through the hazy sunlight, the moment when I spoke with her for the first time. I see the nights, fights, smiles and tears that brought us ever close to each other. I see her eyes. I see her smiles. I see her hands that drained all my life’s grief into zilch. I see nothing and I see everything. I see the life's futility as it engulfs me with its vengeful thirst against reason. And then I see her stop, turn back towards me and say – "I’ll miss you!"
Yes! I am not hers and she is not mine. But we are each others. Forever!
