always always.

you crawl into my thoughts, my words, even my skin and as if that's not bad enough- you choose to linger. you take your own sweet time even though you know there is work to be done, people to be met, words to be said and years to be spent. you follow me around despite my protests- because you know secretly deep down, i love it. i love it when you watch me. i love it when you know my turns, my twists, my moods, my commas, my fullstops. you know me as well as i know you. i know what you mean when you don't speak. i know your smile, your voice, your laugh. how your eyebrow rises when i've just begun to explain, how your eyes soften when you look at me, the way the corner of your mouth bends when i'm right, the sigh that means you've given in- as always.

i know you. i know you by heart.

dimbwimb

i love you
not a lot - but just enough
to last you.

(till i can love you some more)

puppets dancing all around me.

colors of the sky; blue, pink, orange, white and a beautiful shade of violet. the evenings at my hill station were always special. winter was spectacular - dusk was a fairy tale. a budding romance in its own - the teasers, the foreplay, the intimacy and finally - the climax. the air smelled of wet earth and music. do you know what music smells like? it smells of passion and comfort merging and spreading within us. i remember those walks - dressed in coats several sizes bigger and mufflers that hid red-tipped noses, six of us walked up the hill as if it were a tremendous task (and so it was, for sixteen year olds who came up from the plains). exuberance gave rise to mirth and thus, entertainment was never far away.

a setting sun, a multihued sky and a brilliantly pale moon that shone vibrantly later, brightening the whole town. every fourteenth of the moon, my murree glowed like a newly wedded bride. then there was the mall road - tiny, discolored shops standing in a row like an army of soldiers that no one perturbs. fake fur, antique jewelry, walking sticks, loud clothing, little men standing outside pistachio green restaurants, the two book stores that smelt divine, Sam’s - chocolate éclair and sweet smelling cakes, bata shoes and most importantly - our footpath, the kashimiri chai and the putli tamasha wala. it's etched in my mind, refusing to fade out. the chai never tasted better, the moonshine was never more breathtaking and the air never smelt sweeter.

the flute, the table, the dance, the puppets - it was a whole new world. an enchanted land of rajas and ranis, of lovers and villains, of music and melody. a land of hauntingly beautiful tales and sometimes heartbreaking ends that would dampen eyes for most and make me cry. back in those days...


in another lifetime.

where would my baby be.

it was the earliest snow of the season, perhaps even of the decade. never had it snowed in the middle of november and as i stood by a lonely window in a room painted blue, i wondered what could ever be more magical than fluffy cotton balls falling noiselessly on a wet ground, carpeting every inch in sight unless everything around you is an angelic shade of white.

but then i thought of you standing next to me, your hair filled with white beads and your nose red as you pull my hood over my head.

and i knew.

us

there are leaves falling outside. some flutter away with the wind but most of them choose to stay. shades of red, orange, brown and sometimes even yellow. remnants of a spring that came and went by wordlessly. there were rare moments when your fabricated presence made me glow. i constantly wear the string of pearls around my neck that are no longer cloud-white but a rare shade of cream, big enough to cover that mole you didn't like and small enough not to be galling. because you said it made me look beautiful. there's no moonshine tonight (remember how you thought 'moonshine' was a funny word?) and god wasn't generous while sprinkling the stars. the seven sisters are probably there but hidden and our 'three stars in a row' have disappeared behind the skies. it rained some yesterday and the flowers we planted flushed and bloomed - you should have seen the primroses - pink and pretty, you would have loved them. i plucked one and ran my fingers over the stem just like you would but i didn't wear it in my hair. i could only wear flowers in my hair for you - it makes me smile whenever i think of it. there's music in the air tonight - someone's playing a love song. and i'm sure somewhere far away, we are dancing like there's no tomorrow.

strings.

Here she
is
a fragile nymph
clad
in bridal finery. The

moon shimmers
and she
glistens
.. imperially.

Magic.

The cold wind
whooshes,
sharpskinnumbing

The audience
ecstatic -
and her master
ruthless.

Her
strings
(in his hardhard hands)
Moving her skillfully
..unwillingly

Frolicing around,
bending
and curving

delicately.

Questioning,
gaping wide eyes,
spectating her, cherishing
her helpless
ness.

Nobody recognizes the
torment
and
defeat. She

spins,
they join her



there.


The music
roars,
winds howl and she
falls.


Stillness
..silence.

They leave
one
by
one,
The moon still
shimmers,
and the bridal finery,
glistens

The strings are
loose
and she lays still
daily
defeated
..by him.

colored.

Butter yellow and aquamarine,
candyfloss pink splattered but
not quite like the soft pearly
peach.

Shades of shell purple reflecting
on sultry hazel eyes and
my world is suddenly
vibrant aqua.

summery white like an angel
but not really.
textured grey makes you
look very handsome.

you make everything so colorful. :)

the girl in me

i want to be stranded
with you on cooney's island
to feel the silky sand touch my toes
run along the shore
scream and shout
as you follow me around
and then let you win, by just giving in.

i want to sit with you
under a coconut tree
on a shiny monday morning
when everyone's at work
and eat slices of mangoes
messi-ly.

i want to be with you
on the clouds, among the stars
we shall shine the brightest
and in the mornings
i can walk beside you safely
on a rainbow that shimmers and glimmers.


i want to dance with you
under the pouring rain
in a field
where wild strawberries grow
and there's no music
but the one playing in our mind.

Disguise.

The diamond stud in her nose glistened as the rays of sunlight pecked it lightly. She narrowed her eyes, almost blinded by the sun. Her otherwise clear face bore a mole near her upper lip, visible even from a distance. Dressed in a dusty pink chiffon saree which complimented her slightly tanned complexion and allowed her collar bones to peek out above her neck line, she looked firmly composed and if it weren't for her blood stained hands, nobody could ever tell she had just stabbed her husband.

As she walked out of the house where she had left the corpse, brutally stabbed and naked, her face was expressionless. No regret, no remorse - just blank. Barefooted, she walked oblivious to the prickly pebbles knocking her feet. The shimmery sweat on her forehead trickled down the side of her face. Rubbing it away, she left a red streak of blood there. In her mind, scenes from the previous night appeared one by one, each one prolonging its existance enough to torture her delibrately, agonizingly. She winced and cringed, recalling the moment she had walked into her room. He had anticipated her to be home the next morning, as always. Being a doctor often required late-night shifts. The moment she had walked into the door, blood rushed to her eyes and every fibre in her body denied the scenario displayed in front of her. Dumbstruck as she was, horrification and realization sank in some time later.

She trembled fiercely and breathed heavily, unable to control the urge to scream her lungs out. Her blood-shot eyes stared at him, not blinking for a second. Regaining her consciousness, she walked towards her cupboard, giving him a luring chance to run away. She stood where she was and watched him storm out of the house with the car keys. The pieces began to fit together. Within minutes, all her crumpled thoughts formed one smooth surface. The missing birth control pills, the satisfied grin at her late-night shifts and the fear that lurked around the house in her absense. She swore out loud and ran up the stairs into her 13 year old daughter's room. This was the first time she had regretted getting remarried. She never knew that behind the facade of humanism and benevolence, lay a grotesque man with a filthy mind.

She waited all night, running her hands through her daughter's hair, listening to her sob and sigh, feeling her fear and raising a question after every hour of silence. The next morning, she found him where she had thought he would be. She stabbed him once for herself, twice for her daughter and thrice for who he was and then when the initial intensity of her fury returned, she stabbed him endlessly all over, smearing his blood across the four walls of the room of their beach hut.

The walk ended when she reached her car. The engine roared as she turned the key in the ignition and then curved her blood-stained palms around the steering wheel. Her eyes were dry and the blank face now bore an expression of undying satisfaction. She parked the car in her drive-way some two hours later. Once she had washed her hands, she picked up the receiver of her phone and dialled two digits. Informing the police officer on the other end of her husband's disappearance, her voice didn't shake once. Keeping the receiver down, she walked into her daughter's room again. Tears finally trickled down her face as she smoothed the bedsheet that had a doll printed on it. She paused mid-way, thought for a second and quietly removed it, leaving the mattress bare.