FranKophone

So it is here ! Sixth birthday of this place I own(That adds power,doesn't it ? ). There is not much you can do to prolong the life of a dying person, can you ? Except of course, using an artificial life support system). Maybe you wonder why I write about death and other ugly things on a birthday (The blog's birthday, in case you've forgotten). I'll tell you why. Because I'm scared. Scared because this blog might die. I do not write anymore, and even if I do, it is redundantly moron-ish.Like, I've lost it forever. Before the final death knell, I would like to enumerate the good things that this place gave me( This sounds so rude and text-book-ish). Number one, it gave me an outlet to speak in turbulent times.It is not that I suffered huge heartbreaks but I had other 'serious' issues growing up. Now I don't even recall why I was so morose at times. Number two, it improved my language skills. I wrote absolute crap when I started and graduall...

Promise me not to wither away, For you were once the object of my love. I was smitten at first sight, but you never knew, You were the one I yearned for secretly. With familiarity, the magic spell broke, I realized your vulnerability, your weaknesses.  I stepped back. Perhaps it was a sham. You ceased to charm me.  With time, I started to loathe you. Your presence annoyed me.  But when you said,"I wish I were dead", Something tugged my heart. I froze with fear. I don't exactly know what holds me unto you, Is it our affection or the thought of separation ? In love, maybe, you never loved back. In hatred, I fancy you are around, hating me back. Promise me not to wither away, For I want to be the object of your hatred. Pic Courtesy:Google

Pre-note : I wrote this post under heavy influence of a Bollywood movie called "London-Paris-New York". I am not to be blamed if this post bores/kills/frustrates you. No one reads but I still write. Really? Don’t “really” me. You just won’t understand. What? That even though you try to act smart, you are, basically, a fool. Sorry? You should be!  You just don’t understand?  Why do I have to be so direct to you? Don’t you know how I feel? About? See! You know. But again, you act as if you don’t. I don’t act. I really don’t. I am tired. So am I. How did you know that I was a fool? A fool never misses noticing another one. Stupid! Just like you. As if I have a choice! A still from LPNY (Courtesy : Google)

You used to storm into my mind then. All my efforts to stay calm went in vain. You sent me into some other world. It took a while to regain my demeanor. I was too tongue-tied and you always seemed occupied. Today when you rushed in, I was lost again. In my own thoughts. I thought of what could have happened if I had spoken. Or if you had noticed. You still make my heart flutter. And I behave the same way as I did years ago. It makes me feel young and incredibly foolish again. Silence is still my favorite option. P.S.: I wish this letter reaches you somehow. I want you to know that none of those things have changed over the years. Only I won’t send it to you.

Dear You, It’s been really long since I wrote to you. A long while since I intently noticed you. You still look so perfect. Makes me fall in love with you all over again. It seems you have not changed at all. Except for those random greys and a little wrinkle there. It’s a delight to watch you fall asleep. Calm. Quiet. Sound of your breath. Scent of jasmine floating in the air. The arms that are always open for me. The comfort of being with each other. As for me, I know I am beautiful. Even without eyes. You make me feel beautiful. Yours truly, Me.

Right before my very eyes, A storm gathers every day. Hell breaks loose, vultures feast, Little birds get trapped. I do nothing but walk away. Courage eludes me, fear numbs me. I try to save my skin, Yet the aftermath haunts me, Nags me, reminds me of The blatant display of cowardice. Nests break, hopes shatter. Before they pick themselves up, A new storm gathers.

Last summer I fell in love with you. Even though I never meant to. Those looks I would never forget. To me they mean the world. Hopes and dreams pale from sight, I yearn for you every passing moment. Memories of that insane banter underneath the starlit sky. Singing in those hoarse voices, scaring ourselves. I remember your eyes doing the talking Cutting across all barriers unknown. Promises we never made, pure reckless affection. A silent parting - sans promises, sans words. You are the perfect stranger.

Life is a gift. I am in Kolkata these days. Yes, the City of Joy.  It has been a long  hiatus from writing. Reasons are numerous ;  none of them seem valid to me. I am living  my own life. On my own terms. I am a whiff of wind – once here, at another instance, somewhere else. No rules, no diktats. I’m a free bird. Coming to Kolkata has been quite an experience. In a train, sweating most of the way, getting my way in the crowds at the station, breaking rules there, listening to people hurling abuses and not saying a word , getting the dreaded sprain again – in the same place, keeping a calm head, getting lost on the way to the guest house, living life king size, watching a government hospital function, noticing a cute medico ( LOLzzzz),queues for washroom, cafeteria and the like , riding a rick, sitting next to the auto driver, seeing real super- bitches emerge from their cocoons of goodness, waking up at 6 in the morning ( on a regular basis, mind you ! ) -...

Yun tumse milkar aaj woh puraani baatein yaad aa gaye , Woh wafayein yaad gaye , woh deewane yaad aa gaye. Shayad tumhe bissra diya thha, tumhare shabd yaad aa gaye,  Miley jo thhe kisi mehfil mein kabhi, woh taraane yaad aa gaye. Bhuley nahin jo hum kabhi, woh nazraane aaj yaad aa gaye, Bataye nahin jo kissey kabhi, woh afsaane yaad aa gaye. Dekhe thhe jo khwab kabhi, woh bulandiyaan yaad aa gaye, Ki nahin kabhi shikayat jinse, woh anjaane yaad aa gaye. Gul jo murjhaaye thhe kabhi, woh bahaarein yaad aa gaye, Dil k kisi koney mein sajaaye huye armaan aaj yaad aa gaye. Tumhari woh muskurahat , woh giley shikwe yaad aa gaye, Yun tumse milkar aaj woh beetey zamaane yaad aa gaye.

On mornings like this, When gentle streaks of light Play hide and seek with darkness, I crave to hold you real tight. And never let you go. In a spur, I abandon my hesitation, Cross the space between us. You often take cue  and recoil, Just like my true lovesick man. Slowly our tale begins and then I hear you whisper a name With passion and trepidation. I pause , I listen. It isn’t mine, someone else’s. Fantasy shatters, heartache entails. On waking up, you forget all. I act like I know nothing at all.  Pic Courtesy : Google

   On the streets of the old bazaar, there sat a man  in rags. Every time I passed by , he smiled and looked away. Neither was he handsome nor was he wealthy. Still I thought about him. Why would anyone wait on streets for years together ?  I  had seen him there since I was a kid. An autumn morning , I heard he passed away. On the street. No one heard his  dying words. No one offered him gangaja l or  tulsi . He died unmourned , un-noticed. The bazaar still smelt of spices and perfume. Years later, I heard his story. From an antique woman. In his prime, the man was a successful merchant. He had a comfortable home and a lovely wife. One  morning, his wife was on her way to the temple on the hillock. A raging earthquake hit the city and razed the hillock to ground. The lovely wife was lost, never to be found. May be she had died , buried under the rubble. The merchant  never lost hope. Gradually he began to live on the street, hoping t...

Did you say you love me ? I’m glad you did. But …. I always have questions. I have more questions  than love for you. Yes, I am skeptic. Of  love in general. Will you love me if I do not love you back ?  Will you wish me well if I choose to walk out your life ?  Will you love me if I  treat you badly ?  I  have more faults than anyone else you  know. What  made you  “love” me was  the  good  side of me. I  have a bad side too. You might have a glimpse of it. Would you still love me ?  I  am not  some princess or some  fairy. I  am very much ordinary. With my share of vices , faults and mistakes .  If you still  love me, let me know. I would like  to meet you.  At  a time called now.

Dear You, Writing to you calms me. I love you for that. I love you otherwise too. Maybe I'll never be able to tell you how much I love you. Everything is fine. Not the sort of fine when you were here but nevertheless.......fine.  As usual, Emmy's dentist  asked her to give up sugar candies. She's not going to give them up anyways. She asks for you. I guess she wants to consult you about it. My optician said that it was time I use glasses. Finally ! Remember how I used to rue the fact that I didn't have glasses. You always said it was good. To look into my eyes directly. Ah ! Those were the days.  I have not heard from you since long. Talk to me soon. Okay.... I'm inviting myself to your place. Emmy can stay with  my mom, for a change.  With love,  Me.  P.S. : I'm posting this from the same mailbox where we first met. By Jove, that street has awful traffic. People get killed. 

  We had innumerable chance meetings ever since I was born. And always you made an impression. Of being the best I had ever seen. Some seven years ago, when I first came to live with you, it was quite an incident. Moving ( or even uprooting ) myself from a well-settled hometown life, I wanted to take a chance. With you. I wanted to grow with you. You were older and wiser. I was young, nubile and naïve. Wisdom is certainly not expected of normal teenagers. And me – someone who had dreams, ambitions, expectations, aspirations – a tad bit higher. Our first few days – adjustments, awesomeness and sometimes, utter helplessness – it all sounds so hilarious today. Then we kind of a liked each other. You began to grow on me. I had made tiny impressions on you. I ran alongwith you. I thought I could beat you. You weren’t the ultimate ( you still aren’t the one ) but a de tour , maybe for a couple of years.     You had other plans. Certainly. After the initial euphoria, came the ...

No mourning or wails. No flowers or tears. No fancy coffin or pyre. No lovers or foes. No prayers to be said. No reverence please. I am just a corpse – Nothing to give or take, No stories to tell Or  tales to share. A  wish to mingle in the air. To reach I do not know where.   Just  forget me, As if I was never there.

I have stayed in government accommodations ( read : government quarters ) for more than half of my life. And there are always Gulmohar trees around them. Come summer, their dazzling colours enamour, enchant and invite you. The other months of the year – they are just there. Deep green. Silent. Overlooking. At times majestic. .As a child I was fascinated by its buds. The sepals – beautiful green on the outside , glimmering magenta inside – very much like a woman. Calm demeanour on the exterior and a seething volcano inside. I used to put those utterly smooth things on my nails – like  claws. At times, I still do that. The bud opens….carrying  a bounty within it Waging battles with its pollen tubes fascinate me. At the peak of summers, these brightran oge flowers fall and the bloom is just everywhere ….. a  feast for the senses. The fruits disappoint me though. Green pods eventually turning dark . But I tend to ignore them. I love to walk on paths where these wonderfu...

We met, didn’t we ? So what if it was after ages. You looked almost like a thorough gentleman. That was least expected. Anyways, glad to see that you’ve changed for the good. Glasses look good on you..wait, you look good in glasses. As for me, you know…. I’m the same clumsy little girl…now no more little. Haha. Yeah. I still laugh in between conversations. And I still struggle while beating eggs. But do you realize the time that has flown by ? I freelance these days . Yes, as you often said “the free bird.” Home is pretty okay, same furniture, same furnishing, same books….Our mango tree died. Last winter. I cried a lot. Now I don’t miss it a lot. Got used to. Same way as I …….. Anyways, I can always write reams about my hardships and suffering. They should not make sense to you now. Do they ? I don’t know….. Meanwhile, let me tell you… Emmy is sweet. She resembles her. I wish she were here. With you. She was fun to be with. For the short time she met me, I thought you wer...

Yes, I am a woman. The one who was loathed at birth. The one unloved in childhood. The one who had to abide by rules. The one who was not supposed to question norms. The one who was taught to be blind, timid and shy. The one who did all and had none. The one who was a doormat. The one who would never complain. The one who could be handled like a puppet. The one who could be stared at, touched inappropriately and used. The one who was an object. The one who died without mourning. ********************************* I am a woman. Free. On my own. Yes, I am a woman.

The bench awaits you. No, I have not seen anyone in your place. I remember our days together. On that bench in the park.On cold mornings, after that walk, I would always throw up my hands in despair and occupy this particular bench. And you would slowly come to me. Sit close. Put your arm around my neck and start explaining. About random things. Coax me. I never relented. You never gave up. Slowly I would rest my head unto your shoulders. Put my hands around your waist as if nothing had happened. And drift into my land of dreams. Some mocking bird’s shrill voice would wake me up. I never knew how long I lived in my Utopia. And you…..would entwine your fingers with mine all the time. It felt perfect. Just perfect. I would smile. And your eyes twinkled. A rainy morning, I sat there crying. My tears mingling with the rain. You spotted them. You were my shade, my armour. Once you wrote me a poem. And I rudely passed it off as a “fling”. I could see you were hurt. Very badly....

He : You know what ? You were my biggest childhood crush . She (smilingly) : Yes, I know. Infact I always knew. See you again tomorrow ! *After she goes away * He ( to himself ,silently) : You still are …..a lot more than infactuation. I wish you had known this too. She ( to herself , silently ) : I wish I were more than a crush….sigh !