The blinds are of a warm yellow shade, blending into the general yellowness of the room. Pictures adorn the walls and doors. Almost every empty space on the right side of the room was taken by those pictures of smiling faces, of silly antics, of puzzled expressions and of those random and candid moments.
The dressing table placed against the yellow wall was filled up. Shampoos collected from an assortment of hotels. Pretty colored soaps packed in inviting wraps. Numerous hair products aligned at right angles to each other. Estee Lauder and Vanderbilt perfumes gathered dust on the top shelf.
The laptop was open. The blue screen of death lit up the screen. The speakers gave out a slight buzz, indicating they were turned on. The sheets of the bed were ruffled, pillows strewn. She lay there helpless, struggling to breathe. Her legs were apart, blood trickled down her thighs. Tears streamed down her eyes. She lay there, violated, unable to move.
Mango leaves adorned the doorway, the threshold was painted a fresh yellow with red markings and tiny red feet were painted inside the house, close to the entrance. It is said that Godess Lakshmi enters the house and bestows her blessings. The house smelled of ‘ghee’, many a sweet-dish made appearances on silver plates quite often. The house was bustling with people. Some invited, some uninvited, some unknown. The women hurried in and out of the kitchen, most of them decked in kancheepuram silk in myriad hues, their curly wet hair, tied in loose knots with thick bunches of jasmine flowers. The men kept to themselves, most of them wearing white dhoti’s while some appeared to be in formal western wear. Peals of laughter could be heard often. “They’re on their way, make sure the girl is ready in time for their arrival.” yelled one of the ladies, sitting in the dining sipping her coffee to the women in the bedroom.
-
She looked radiant in the yellow saree, her locks let loose for the world to see, the bride to be gleamed. With all eyes set on her, she set foot into the main seating area. Her proud parents looked on. He father felt a pang, his daughter had grown up in a jiffy. Her would-be was a typical software engineer, “a good catch” according to many. All the people present came and congratulated her and her fiancé. Some faces she knew by heart, some she had to struggle to remember and some she didn’t care enough about. As they exchanged the rings, her eyes were silently searching for a face she grew up with, her childhood friend and probably the love of her life, Aman. She spotted him sitting in the corner fidgeting with his phone, not once looking up to meet her in the eye. Tears filled up her eyes. People congratulated her on her new life, while she was still holding on to her past life, yearning for something to happen rather. ‘I love you’, was that so hard to say? She looked away and her gaze caught her mother’s eyes, which seemed to be reassuring Nalini of her future or the emptiness of it, Nalini thought otherwise. She felt a hand touch hers, it was her husband to be, her fiancé, a stranger she knew well enough to marry.
-
A soulless you and a lifeless me,
Sharing a bed, maybe cups of tea.
Cold sheets freeze with subliminal passivity
Isn’t it an example of our objectivity?
A flaccid romance,
Ignores every intimate chance
An impelled hello,
Isn’t our love but, quid pro quo?
A blistering accusation
But, to indifference, there is no salvation
A happy visage,
Is but a mere mirage
Cold dinners and unopened bottles of wine,
Pinching silences and yearnings of my heart’s confine.
A soulless me and lifeless you,
Sharing a kinship, we hope wasn’t true.
Waiting for your mails...
the humble hellos to make me smile and blush.
Staring into the blank walls,
Imagining crisp hearts floating around...
A feather pillow is all it takes to take me up into the sky.
Singing half a duet,
Mulling over lyrics...
waiting for a voice to finish it with me.
Sitting by the blue sea, on the wet sand,
Cool waters, caressing my feet gently...
waiting for a quiet peck on my cheek.
Lying on the rocks,
Looking at the stars...
Searching for a hand to hold mine.
___
It's been a long time, since I wrote anything. College, exams and work have gotten the better of me and I just found some own time for myself today. I determinably sat down to write and this is what I could come up with, at best. :| My hello's to you. Yes, you, the one reading. :)
I celebrated my 19th a couple of days back, and I am still not done feeding hungry vultures who keep screeching, 'treat'. Well, the best part of the birthday was my mother. Well, not HER, but what she gave me. She gifted me two books.
'The White Tiger' and 'The Inheritance of Loss'[Old one got lost]. I am not going to talk about the books, just yet. I have yet to finish up on Tiger. Loss, I have very well acquainted myself to, take it in whichever fashion you'd like. Fact: I am reading a book after a really long time and it finally feels nice to flip through pages with interest. Thanks Ma.
I have so many things running in my mind right now. I just don't know how to place it all. I can just spill it all out and then maybe draw figures from it to make sense. Lets see.
I watched two movies today. 1. The accidental husband 2. Rab ne bana di Jodi.
I love Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Shahrukh Khan. I love men like them. All women do. No matter how much I try to break free from the shackles of typical handsome men, I am the most drawn to them, or in the least to such characters.
I love Dean Morgan so much, that I sat naked in the bathroom pouring hot water all over myself and thinking of him in his house, did he have a family, what would he do if I went up to him and told him, I left everything and flew from India, just for him, would he leave his family for me? Yes. I love him. I love the idea of men like him. Quintessentially, men like him and the bespectacled and good at heart Shahrukh's don't exist, or do they?
-
The movies were average, some would even call them filthy names. I, however shan't go so far. The movies were average. If you're like me and you HAVE TO WATCH, a DVD version should do. 85 bucks in a stinking theatre ain't worth this Jodi. Swear.
I still love you, Shahrukh.
-
When I am alone, which is a lot. I keep thinking of things and I keep telling myself to blog about it. Or make a record of those things, but somehow those things are never inked, they just keep floating in my head, here and there. :(
[Very incoherent post, I know. Sorry.]
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