Monday, November 12, 2012


The door was half open,
From the partial openness,
I noticed her bags and packed cartons on the floor,
Neatly labelled with black bold markers,
From Hostel Room 303 to Flat 17D, 
On orange post -it notes and brown tape.

The packers were coming in five minutes,
She looked lost among the cartons,
She stared at her phone,
While I stared at her,
Tetris, calendar and the calculator applications on her Nokia E-71
Were over-used. 
She still played tetris when she felt lost. 

She wanted a smoke,
Marlboro lights.
But she chucked the pack last night,
Into the River Sabarmati flowing in darkness,
Right outside her dusty brown balcony,
Filled with the rivers sands. 

She was leaving,
She was getting lost in society,
She was fulfilling her social obligations.

She had a reserve in the grey groove,
Of her Nike backpack, 
Stung with badges collected from all over the world.
I hated her to break her promise,
But I loved to see her smoke,
Of how she pretended to take the nicotine in its entirety,
But almost choked before she released most of the smoke.

But today she was different,
She rolled it herself in a marlboro light,
It helped to ease the pain,
Of tolerating me for 2 years.

She stared at me from the half opened door,
She wanted to stay,
But she also wanted to flee,
She stared at me constantly,
For the last week,
As if her eyes wanted to store my every movement,
In a polaroid snapshot.

She loved me,
She left because she fell madly in love with me.
She decided not to come back
Because Alexander Super Tramp inspired her stupid soul
With his last words…
What if I was smiling and running into your arms,
Would you see then what I see now?

The packers took her belongings away one by one,
As she descended from the cemented stairs,
I stood still like concrete on the striped mattress of her room,
I could not bid her good bye.

The synapses asked for consultation,
Stopping her would be more painful,
Than letting her go.
I thought so then,
But was it vice-versa?
Questions have weird textures.
All questions don't have answers.
And do answers change with time?

Time infects context.
It creates and clears doubt.
I wanted time to help me,
But I fell in love with time,
More than her.

So I let her leave,
Leave me with her shadows,
Intermingled with time.

I loved him through pictures...

I loved him through pictures,
Clicked secretly and cropped at friends get togethers,
And birthday parties.

I kissed the pictures,
So that he could feel my warmth,
Through the distance.

I collected tea bags from expensive hotel rooms,
Because he adored tea.

But I never got a chance,
To make a cup of my favourite tea for him.

He remained silent,
In a room of loud chatter,
Thinking about things,
I wanted to know.

Then one day,
The crumpled white paper napkin,
Scrawled with a black pen,
Was pushed into my fair hands.

He wanted me to make a heart,
And write I love you,
With curvy typography,
On the cream card chosen specially
For his most loved one.

I laughed in my head,
That finally the dream has come true,
The man I loved for 633 days,
Will propose under the moon lit skies,
And melt my heart with his warmth.

He gave the card to my closest friend.
And gave me a huge smile.