FranKophone

Dear You, Looks like I have found you. In the depths of my love, I notice your smile. Yes, the one you flash after that brief moment of joy. I feel your fingers entwined in mine. All the time. Your eyes speak to mine, asking me questions. Remember the first time I told you of my affection and my afflictions ? You must know this. You consume my thoughts, time and grief. Glad to have met you. Yours, Me. 

Dear You, Wasn't it the other day we met ? There was no intention apart from business. You came, I complied and it all went fine. Nobody had noticed anything odd. I still wonder why you came back. Was it me or something I had told ? I hadn't revealed any of my secrets. You had none. We met at sunsets. You told me something new each day. I merely listened, thinking that this would end too soon. You didn't end anything. I was amused. You started quite a few things. I still thought nothing. I believed I had it all, learnt it all. But then you being you, it was all too novel. You had me. Yours, Me.

"So you are still choosing ?" "What makes you think so ?" "Nothing. Just asking." "You're happy ?" "Yes. She's a great woman." "I'm sure. How's Eva ?" "She is good too. Has sent you a picture." "Oh ! This is beautiful ! She did it ?" "Yes. She loves the place you used to frequent." "Really ? Seems she's taking after me." "I'm afraid she is.  She has the same hold on me". "You won't ever forget it ?" "Maybe. Might not be."

Dear You, Do you know how it feels when something rips you apart ? The first second you realise that something hit you. The next five seconds your realise you are badly hurt. The next few hours are spent in agony. You cannot really cry. Tears form in your eyes - you need to hold them back. Till your vision blurs. A slight ache near the heart, or somewhere in between. Now, the head gives in. There is an excrutiating gash somewhere. You need not figure out where. You need to shout but you cannot. Or rather, should not. You need to pretend to be brave. The world will beat you to pulp once you let it know of your vulnerability. As the hours pass, you realise that you can live with this pain. And just walk along. Yours, Me.

Didn't you realise I was hurt the other day ? Shards of glass pierced into my soles as I walked barefoot. You seemed to be aloof. I never said anything. You told someone else,"She's brave enough to handle it all alone". I wish you had come and asked me. You sleep silently all day, refusing to acknowledge my presence. I am not complaining ; I simply wait to hear your voice. I long to be looked at. Your gaze is my only desire. But you don't. Don't you realise I'm hurt by your reluctance ?

I once wished my room had a window. I could watch the world pass by. Like bougainvillea flowers merrily drifting in the winds. Fragrance of love wafting in the air. The street lamps glowing yellow. Hawkers selling their goods. The new mall flinging its neon lights unto the streets. The crazy young crowds. Random children chuckling as they walk. Bike competitions. The busy bees. The old, abandoned and helpless. The madman calling names. The rains. Gods visiting homes while playing with colours. The police patrols. The riots. Someone could shatter my window panes. So I loathe windows. Broken windows are painful. Pic Courtesy:Google

Not too dear You, I met you a couple of hours ago. I wish I never had. You were best in fantasy. Once upon a time, we saw the world in same colours. You never spoke but I understood. You were fiery and enthusiastic. I was determined and willful. Nevertheless we built our lives separately. We never tried to know each other. Maybe I imagined you as someone you were not. He loves me in his quaint way. He rarely says but I understand (just like I understood you). Or misunderstood? I was shocked when you told me “I had my eyes on you.”  I kept repeating those words in my mind all the time. Am I an object? Someone who you could use? And possibly discard? I was ashamed of myself. You were a moment’s weakness; he is my pillar of strength. No! I’m not comparing. Thanks for making me realize that I chose the right person. Not Yours, Me. 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, I have been noticing you for quite some time now. You never look sideways. I happen to like it. You look angry. Do I intimidate you? I see that your eyes are bereft of kohl. I need nothing from you – not even a glance. I just want to look into your eyes. For now. And perhaps, forever. Yours madly, Me. Pic Courtesy : Google

I stepped into the room.  It smelt familiar.  The curtains were the same.  Bright sunlight beaming through them.  The floor still sparkled.  I opened the cupboard.  My things were shabbily stacked in a corner.  As if someone wanted me out of the way.  I sighed.  Closing the cupboard, I found my table missing.  Replaced by a more glamorous piece of furniture. I decided it was wiser to move somewhere else. But again, wasn’t it my place? It truly is. The window sill sports my coffee mug stains. The walls still bear my pencil marks. The same songs play in my mind. I belong to this place. And the place, indeed, missed me. Badly. Courtesy: Google

Do not mourn as I do not die. I live on. A little bit, within you. Do not place flowers here, I do not need them. I love them unplucked. Do not shed tears. It makes me sad. Just smile when you think of me. If you are a loved one, go on. Life is too short to live. If you hate me, feel happy. But remember, I shall still haunt 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.

   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...

Read Part 1 here He woke up with a   nightmare. She was fast asleep. He gazed at her – she had a tranquil look in sleep. He moved forward , remembered something and took her palm in his hands. Softly , so as not to awaken her, he traced   his name   on her palm with his fingers. A cherubic smile spread across her face.   That set him thinking. Why hadn’t he known it much before ?   She had to be the one. Nothing   could happen , he believed. He was already engaged. To someone else. She wasn’t the woman who could break a home. Then how on earth   are they together ?   He wondered.   He fell in love with her. Unbelievably. When ? Was it when she stood on the sands and said “ I do not believe in soul mates ”   ? Or was it when   he had spoken his mind   to her ?  Told her that she deserved better people in her life.   Or was it at that precise moment when they discovered that their mothers were best friends ever ? ...

     She  stood in front of him , without uttering a word.  He is here.  Her mind refused to register this simple fact. He cannot be here.  He was supposed to be gone . Forever. To another land. With another woman.  He preferred silence. He could not bring himself to speak. He had dumped his fiancée. Given up his mercenary dreams. He  felt it  was necessary to stay back. With her . For her. Forever.  Neither of them  said anything. They were reading each others’ minds. Trying to decipher silences.  Suddenly  the lights went out. A storm grew out of nowhere. She gave him way to come in. He  rushed in with urgency. She went to fetch a candle. He  hastily shut the windows to prevent the rains from lashing  into the house . After  she came back , he said , " Did you have your dinner yet  ? "  She replied , concealing a smile, " Now that you are here , why don’t you join me in  ?...

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.

It was not to be. But it has been . I wasn't supposed to like all this.   But I do . You weren't supposed to be that close. But you are . We were supposed to never meet. But we did.   Things were not meant to be clear. But they are .  We weren't meant to be. But we are .  Life wasn't supposed to be this generous. But it is . Love was supposed to die. But it didn't.   We meant to hate each other. But we couldn't .  Pic Courtesy : Google

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 ...