Paper Thin Love

She was never a lady of words. I don’t think I remember listening to her voice, like ever. But I never needed to, I had already fallen in love. She had green eyes. Endless, serene and a universe of it’s own. When I looked into them, everything else just disappeared as if the implicit insignificance of everything else was made bluntly explicit. What would remain was my soul soaked in love, floating in that green ocean of hers. I still vividly remember the first time I saw her. I always go to that place when I seek peace, answers to some questions and when I need to celebrate my existence. The air is always so quite there, even when you can see her playing with the river water resulting is waves melodious like a symphony. I can just sit there all day on that bank starring at the south-bound waters of the river. One feels healed as if the waters are eroding your confrontations as well. And that day, on that bench, I wasn’t alone.

There she was, shining like an ornament draped in a white dress with her hair moving effortlessly with the winds making patterns as if orchestrated by the unknown. For a moment, one would think, how nature sometimes outclasses itself by creations like her. She was like the perfect anomaly in this otherwise hideous world. In a moment, I had forgotten why I had come there at the first place. All I wanted now was, to see her. Perhaps she came to that place for the same reason as mine, for peace and tranquility. She was surely getting that as she sat silently ignoring the existence of any other soul in her vicinity. But what about my peace and my tranquility? She had snatched them away replacing them with ripples of anxiety below the chest. That’s not fair, I wanted to tell her. And everyone else too, I suppose. For several days I could not gather the courage to talk but I didn’t mind. I was happy sitting next to her everyday as she glanced over the sunset over the crimson waters of the river meanwhile making paper art. Yes, she was into origami.

“Hello”, I said one fine day. Seems plain enough, one would think, unless you look into the effort I had to put in, several days of mirror practice and sleepless nights fearing her look of rejection. But thank the gods, she smiled. She smiled! Oh, I can’t tell you exactly how I felt then. Or maybe I can, it felt like my heart just melted, and this I say with no exaggeration. She didn’t say anything though. But that’s okay. I can live for eternity with that smile. And then I started my endless blabber. I talked, talked and talked. She would listen very carefully reacting with her facial expressions. Looking at them, I felt the futility of having learned a language and of words, when one could say so much with their eyes, with their cheeky contours and with their smile. Days went by and I was running short of stories to tell. But she never spoke. Maybe she was never interested. Maybe she only came there to rejuvenate herself in that silence. Maybe she was in a relationship. And she just smiled to me for politeness sake. Even pity.

“I really like you”, I told her one day. Her eyes broadened to those words. There was silence. I could see the river waves, in her eyes, clashing. I could see the sun setting. I could see the birds disappearing over the horizon. I felt she wanted to say something but couldn’t. I felt she did say something, but those words never came out. She turned the other way and got back to her paper art. And there I sat confused what to make of it. After a while, she got up and stood in front of me, handed over to me two red paper swans and left. By the time I got myself out of her magical eyes, she was gone. I did not know if she would come back, or perhaps this was a parting gift. Something to remember her by, to remind me, that she was real.

For the next few days she didn’t come and that perhaps made me believe that I scared her away, that I took away her special place of peace. But she had too. For months I searched for another place of serenity but in vain. Lost in translation and pretty much tired, I went back to that place. There was no one there as I sat alone on that bench. I couldn’t breathe as I was drowning in nostalgia. I had told her everything about me, all the stories. And now she was gone. Amidst this melancholy, my gaze landed upon two Swans drifting playfully in the waters. Well, at least they made it through, I told myself.

~10 years later~

I was sitting in the drawing room playing with my little daughter.  I got married few years later after the disappearance of my mystic lady. It was arranged by my parents. She is a wonderful wife and mother. I can’t complain. She has gone out for some work and I have the entire responsibility to look after our princess. She was playing with her toys when she got hold of those two paper swans. I was afraid that she would tear them apart. I looked at her innocently hinting not to do such a thing. She perhaps understood and gradually opened up those swans perhaps hoping to find a candy inside. As good as tearing it up, I thought. There is no way we can make it back into swans, I sighed.

There goes my only memory of a rendezvous with that beautiful stranger, I wondered. But then I realized, there was something inked on the inside of those papers. I took them away from her gently and as my daughter started crying for having lost her toys, I too wanted to join her. Not for those swans, but for the words beneath. And there I sat in despair, in shock, desperate to fold those papers back into swans. I wanted those words to disappear. They carried with them my melancholic tale of love, of paper thin love.

 “I can’t speak. I am a mute”

“I like you too”

Liana

Breakups are difficult, you know. You suddenly feel like you have entered into a void. An endless dark pit where emotions are non-existent and you have all the space in the world for an eternal rendezvous with your desolation. Of course, there is this pseudo sense of freedom but sooner or later we realize that singularities have no meaning in our social dimension. We are incomplete without others and so are they.

Her name was Liana. And she was as wonderful as her name is. When the wind embraced her hair, I felt she was a meadow. When she smiled, I wanted to calibrate the word “beauty” from it. When she looked at me, everything else disappeared, or so I felt. She cared for me as if I was her child. And she weaved her world, her ambitions and her aspirations around mine. For the beauty she was, I was the beast. The worst part being, I didn’t even realize until it was too late. But the questions still haunt me, every single day, every single moment.

Since then, years have gone by and I have become a zombie of sorts. I move around places without knowing where am I heading. I have lost track of time, friends and kin. Sometimes I feel like those toy-figures whom we used to key and put on the floor and they moved around aimlessly clapping with a pretentious smile to cover up the blues. And today I seem to have reached an Art Gallery showcasing the works of this new young sensation.

Lately, I had started liking such art exhibitions. Not that I have the ability to interpret the work more than others do but I really like the quietness inside. We hardly see people absorbed into something like that. People keep staring at these paintings for hours looking to create some causal analysis. These art works are like puzzles and artist, the riddler.

This one painting, at the farthest corner, was unusually dreary. And perhaps that’s why there was no one in front of it. Just the way I like it. I sat on the bench for a date with this wonderfully weird painting. The first impression that I got from it was that it was extremely saddening and difficult to the eye. It had the power of ripping a happy-go-lucky person apart into pieces so much so that he would happily drown in the seas of melancholy.

Apparently the only thing that gets a sad person to think is something which he perceives as even more sad than his own state of mind. And that is what got me going. It started bothering me that I could not understand the dilemmas of this girl in the painting. She was crying her heart out but was hiding her face from these shadows. Perhaps she was keeping all the pain with her. May be she opened up and no one understood her pain. But these shadows were certainly bothering her. These shadows were surrounding her from everywhere as if she was held hostage in that corner. The shadows snatched her away from brightness and pushed her into that dark oblivion.

The bench was not comfortable anymore. I had to go closer to the painting.  The closer I went, the more connection I felt. Her eyes drew me even close, so much so that the only thing I could see now was her eyes. And then suddenly, I felt, as if the painting had pulled me in. And then I was playing the game of shadows. I saw myself doing what the shadows were doing to the girl. It did not feel unreal. It felt like a déjà-vu.

After few minutes, when I resumed my senses, I was still sitting on the bench. But now I knew what I had seen. There was this sudden rush of current in my body. I ran to the other paintings. I had seen that smile somewhere. I had seen that meadow somewhere. I had seen those tears somewhere. Suddenly there was some commotion at the gates. The artist is here, said the voices.

I don’t know what made me go back to that farthest painting. And when I looked at it, there were no shadows this time. It was me torturing that girl to stay back in those shackles. It was me butchering her wings and killing her flight. It was me who made her a slave, an entertainment and a toy. I leaned further towards the painting where lay the initials of the artist still pretending ignorance on my part. And there was it, scribbled in italics, “Liana”.

The exhibition now felt like a time machine taking me through the horrors of my own past. How foolish was I to not see it then. If only had I cared a bit more for her words. Tears came out of me like a fountain. The heart was pumping like never before. I ran towards the gates. She was surrounded by people. I looked at her one last time. She turned towards me, her hair moving away, like a meadow. For the beauty she was, I was that beast. Oh, did I tell you before, she liked to paint. 

The Intruder

I had no idea where I was going. There was water everywhere. And by everywhere I mean everywhere. To the extreme limits of my vision, I could only see water. It was dark and it was raining. Yes, these floods are an annual affair in this part of the country but believe you me, it’s equally horrifying and cruel every time. Don’t just assume that since we are so used to these floods, we don’t mind them. As a matter of fact, it appalling. We are forced to leave our home. We go without food for several days. It’s worse for the kids. Some just get lost in the strong currents of the river.

That night I remember vividly, it was raining like hell. But it was not the rains that wrecked a havoc, the waters of the river rose suddenly and flooded the entire region. I had heard them talking several times, they say it is because of some breech in the embankment. I do not understand all these terms. Whatever they say, it’s all gibberish to me. I, and my fellow inhabitants, have this one rule. When the water comes, run towards the highlands. And comeback when it recedes.

But this time, the rains were much more cruel. The flood water was devilish. It won’t just stop. It kept crawling towards us. Our highlands were also soon to be compromised. We ran further North. I didn’t stop even to catch my breath. I ran and ran. Galloped in fact. I wanted to go as far as I can.  I had these hallucinations of vast dry lands some distance away. I didn’t stop the whole night. But when the dawn broke, I realized that I was in an altogether different world. It was their world. And I was all alone.

I remember coming here many years ago but then it was just like home. But today it felt like some other planet. They had built so much. But no one was to be seen. It was weird, like an abandoned place. But then as light grew stronger and brighter, I could feel the increasing activity. There were voices and there was movement. To tell you the truth, I was scared and I had no idea how to go back. These structures were everywhere ambushing me. So, I decided to stay put. But suddenly one of them came from behind and I had no idea what to do. And so I charged. That’s the only thing I know. That’s what we do, can’t help it.

It ran away screaming at the top of its voice “Intruder, Intruder!”, alerting others of its kind. Soon there was a lot of hue and cry. There were sirens. There were huge vehicles stationed in the entire perimeter. They were looking for me, I saw them through the bushes. They had those weapons with them. The same ones they brought with them to my home. I had nowhere to go. I was stuck between the devil and the sea. They didn’t do a thing the whole day. Perhaps they also prefer the dark to do the hunt, just like me. Sometime after dusk, the whole place lit up. Crackers were fired to get me going. And then came the Elephants.

Then I saw that weapon which has these long bullets with feathery end. I thought of running to the other side, but I was ambushed. And when I turned back the bullet was already on its way. My eyes widened as much as they could and before I could react, it had hit me. Then there were sounds of rejoice and the voices shouted, “Intruder down, intruder down!”.

As soon as I was hit, I felt drowsy. The toxic juices were spreading fast and I realized I only had some minutes of consciousness left. The cheering doubled and tripled. The celebration started as the “Beast” was finally tamed. As I closed my eyes in those final seconds, I just wanted to tell them something. That I am no beast, that I am no intruder. I had no other way. I thought the forests were endless. At least, once they were. I am just a Bengal Tiger, like they named me. I am no intruder.

I was just lost, like they are.

Tall, Dark and ....

Shreya was really excited about the move. She always wanted to go to Mumbai, the city of dreams, so they say. She had been there once, just for couple of days on a business assignment few years ago. She did manage to squeeze in some free time for herself and went to the Marine Drive. The weather couldn’t have been better. The clouds only allowed a little fraction of the sunlight, just the right amount. And it had rained that day, just enough to make you fall in love. She liked the freedom women had in the city. And the people too.

So here she was, in her new apartment located in a busy suburb of the city with buildings risings like mushrooms on freshly drenched fertile land after the monsoons. There were so many of them and yet there were so many people still looking for them. All these apartments were so close to one-another, that one might easily jump to the balcony of the next building.  This compactness of things did bother her a little, given that all her upbringing was in some spacious house of a modest township. But then she could give that up for a place in this maximum city.

She had no idea how the whole week had gone past her. New office, new people and new assignments had kept her on her toes. And as she woke up late that Saturday, she realized she had not yet unpacked. Her head was still shaken with the heavy booze from her welcome party last night. She opened the drapes of the French window in her drawing room and sat against it sipping lemon water. That was the only source of natural light into the apartment and unfortunately it faced the neighboring building. Also with a French window.

There was so much to do that Saturday. She spent the entire day placing her possessions at the best place possible. She was very particular about things in her life. Even the smallest of things. She liked being referred to as a perfectionist. Of course, by that people actually meant she had OCD. This even trickled down to her love life. She had never been into a long term relationship. How could she, with the first sign of weakness surfacing in her partner, she would move on. She wanted a soul mate, not a partner. She wanted a price, not a squire.

After the day’s hard work, she sat against that French window on her favorite bean bag with the glass of red wine. When it came to music, she was from the old school. Soft, soothing and sensuous. That was her flavor. And the same was being played on her audio system. Suddenly the room right across in the next building lit up. Bright yellow light coming from something on the floor perhaps. But the drapes were covering most part of it. Nothing was to be seen. But then a shadow appeared. She sipped some more wine as she prepared herself to play the game of shadows.

Definitely a tall man, she told herself. She loved tall men, especially in uniform. She herself was pretty tall for a woman. He was also very well built, one could tell. He had curly hair, a bit long for a man but they did look to be complementing his body. He was talking on the phone. Something about the faculty of volition, the freedom of expression and such similar philosophical abstracts. She had never had the chance to read or discuss philosophy but she knew, it excited her like anything. There was nothing sexier than an intelligent man telling her the nuances of life’s philosophy. It swayed her, completely. Beyond her imagination.

And before she knew, it had become an obsession. After coming back from work, she would sit across her French window with the same wine and the same music, eagerly awaiting that seductive voice and those absorbing words. Most of the time, he would talk on the phone. Sometimes he would have company. But the talks were always intriguing. Of life and its purpose. He would at times also discuss the facets of Art. What is Art but a manifestation of one’s philosophy, she thought. As the addiction grew further, all she could think of during the day at office was what he would be talking about that evening. Was it love she was experiencing, or magic. Sometimes it is so difficult to differentiate.

She was in love, she confirmed to herself. But why had he never removed those curtains, she pondered.  She needed to see him. Desperately.  She needed to know more about him. Immediately. The shadow was not enough now. The words were not enough now. The philosophy wasn’t too. As that building was similar to hers, it was easy to figure out which apartment was his. As soon as his room was lit that night, she was on the move. She was wearing her favorite red dress. A dress for the kill, she had secretly named it. With her hair all open and those black stilettos, she was the damsel no one could resist.

She was at his door. She was smiling. She knew that the man inside was the man of her dreams. Her search was finally going to end. The door opened and there stood a man half of the size of that shadow. Her eyes widened in utter shock. His place was very abstract filled with paintings of all kind. And it was very abnormally lit with flood lights on the floor shining on to the canvases. One such light was placed against that window,  flooding it with that yellow light. He looked at her with amusement and said, “How can I help you, my lady?”.  It was that same voice she had fell for. Weighted and melodious at the same time. To her amazement, she still wanted to go in, give it a try. She had already fallen for him or perhaps his soul. But she couldn’t . He is almost a dwarf for god’s sake. Pride and prejudice prevailed over love. Like it always happens.

She said, almost apologetically “Sorry…. to bother, I ….. I took you for someone else”.  She was too embarrassed to stand there any longer. She turned and almost marched back to her apartment. He was there again too. Tall, dark and just a shadow. Frustrated, she closed her window and went into deep introspection. These are the ways of life. People are judged by their appearances. But we must remember what Lord Varys had to say, even the smallest of man can cast a very large shadow.

Can someone help?

Connaught Place, New Delhi.

It was a typical Delhi summer. Hot, dry and the one that makes you perspire like a fat pig in a farm far west of Arizona. You could tell from the crowd in the inner circle of CP that it was perhaps a weekend or a Friday eve. People dressed smartly in those overpriced branded clothes moving around mostly in couples to buy more and more of it. But also among them, were small children, barely covered and desperate to get enough so that they could break a bread with their fraternity that night. Such contrast, and people complain that this world is getting dull by the day.

At one of the cross roads among the blocks, stood a young man, perhaps in his late twenties. Let’s just call him as Mr. A. Fair complexion, somewhat curly hair, a tad above the average height and cleanly shaved. He was dressed in semi-formals and looked serious enough to qualify as a working professional. That’s just a guess I venture as I see him often. Once or twice, he did come by my book-stall. I can tell he is into reading as he just dissolves into my collection of books.

On that day, as he stood just next to my stall, a man probably in his forties approached him. That would be Mr. B in our scheme of things. B claimed that he worked in Housekeeping for a firm based in Gurgaon, had come there for some work, lost his metro card and of course had no cash to go back. Where have we heard such a story before? Duh, perhaps at every station and bus stop. But then I had not seen B around. Perhaps he was new to the con business. Or perhaps he was telling the truth. The faces always change once in a while, the business goes as usual.

Now I thought, Mr. A would dismiss his plea like most of the people outright or perhaps give him something out of pity. But to my surprise, he told B, “I totally trust what you say. You needn’t sell your dilemma any more. I know you need help and I surely would. But perhaps you don’t know, there are some tricksters who fool people presenting themselves in such situations. They are doing a bad thing for people like you who seriously need help. But I am not going that route. Here you go, buy the tickets”. Now B ran towards the ticket counter after thanking A. Perhaps he was not bluffing. Who can tell. But I couldn’t resist even though I had nothing against B. I told A, “You should not believe such people Sir, they feed on other’s morality”. He smiled and disappeared into the crowd.

Three months later.

The winter is perhaps already gone. The heat is slowly taking over. Seasons change, people do, small timers like me stay put. As I sat in my 20 year old book stall once again, I wondered if the reading populace has gone down. Or it’s just the evil God Kindle that is taking away business from people like me.  So lost in the thought was I that didn’t even notice that a customer was sitting across. Trying hard to pick a read. He had this beard like a pathan but perhaps was not one. Wait, have I seen these eyes before? He looked familiar but so does every other person to me. Let’s call him Mr. C. Sitting here among the sea of faces I get that feeling every now and then.

And then came B again. Over all these months I had seen him often. The same story, different audience and different applause every time. I could make out that he was very poor and desperate like million others in this country and this is the way he made his living. He could have a couple of children back home waiting to be fed. I guess he was wrong in what he did but I stopped warning people. Let him earn the bread for his family. Or a little booze for himself. Whatever that it. This is a jungle anyway and all means of survival are perhaps justified.

When he told his narrative again, C smiled. And that wasn’t s normal smile. That had something different about it. As if he knew everything about the man. But it couldn’t be. I had never seen C around here before. C told him, “I totally trust what you say. You needn’t sell your dilemma any more. I know you need help and I surely would. But perhaps you don’t know, there are some tricksters who fool people presenting themselves in such situations. They are doing a bad thing for people like you who seriously need help. Here you go, buy the tickets”. This time B did not run. He felt he has heard these words before, from a different man perhaps. He was shaking. His eyes getting red and all watery. He then remembered something. The same dialogue with the same man. They have had the same conversation before. It was too much for B to take, he ran away, apologetically.

C was still smiling and noticing my involvement moved towards me and said, “You had warned me that day, remember? But I perhaps knew already. And you know what, whatever be the case, one thing we would agree upon is that he needs some help. Perhaps next time we can talk him out of this con job”. And once again, he was lost, in the books. I was too, in what he said.

Shades of Love

There is something unique with the place where you were born and where you have spent the early years of your life. You feel rooted into it. That thirst of our origins is quenched only when you are there. One feels at ease, at home. And these were the exact feelings which surfaced as I was en route home on a bus from Delhi. As was the case last time, as is the case every time. Of course, with the cosmopolitan life of 21st century, we move quite often into newer homes, but they rather are houses. Home remains one.

As I reached the city, my mother was there to take me home. She has recently learned how to drive and there is no doubt that i am super proud of her for doing that but it becomes difficult when she insists on driving when I am around. But you have to take those chances you know, she's your mother for God's sake. As we eventually reached home, my pulse came down to normal.  We had some important work for which I was there and we got started on that as soon as we could. In the evening hours when my mother was out for some work, I was alone back home. Well not actually, our pet parrot was with me.

Since my mother is all alone at home usually as we both kids study in Delhi, we thought it would be a good idea to get a pet. And since my mother loves birds even more than us, a parrot was the obvious choice. And so we got one. He doesn't speak much though but surely reacts to our gestures. He loves peanuts like mad and that's the only thing we can put as bait to get him out of his cage. Surprisingly he loves his cage too much and rarely comes out even when we open that cute little door. So as I sat next to him watching over, I felt bad. I personally never liked the idea of having pets. I think it restrains them. Especially birds. I mean they have got wings for crying out loud. And bloody hell they are meant to fly not to spread them inside a stupid cavity for the sake of our enjoyment.

At least I could let him fly inside the room, I thought. I tried a zillion ways to get that lazy ass out of that cage but he won't budge. And then the eureka moment, peanuts! As i laid a trail of peanuts out, that greedy birdie fell for that. He was out in the open and that was a huge room that offered him the opportunity of a reasonably long flight which he was perhaps not interested to take. Was he always inside a cage and never realized his potential to fly. I wondered.  To my surprise, I suddenly realized the window was open. But then looking at this lethargic little creature, I thought there isn't any point in closing it. Suddenly a couple of birds came and sat outside that window. It was almost as if they were mocking that poor guy inside. My parrot looked at them feeling confused but then he suddenly  looked away and started his way back to his cage.

I decided to give a final attempt. I instigated him with this wooden stick. And them some more. And then the unthinkable happened. He turned around, flew effortlessly and out of the window. He was gone. I tried to search him in the near vicinity of our house but only in vain. And then I felt happy that finally he was free. He was now in a place where he actually belonged. He had the whole sky to his disposal. He could perhaps meet another lady parrot and have a family. Looking at all these possibilities and staring at that skyline, I smiled.

As I turned back to go inside, a weird thought came to my mind. That poor parrot has never been outside his entire life. Will he be able to find food? Where will he find his favorite peanuts? What if he is unable to fly for long? That devilish cat that roams around, what if he falls prey to her? What if he wants to come back and could not find the way back? My smile transformed into worry as I pondered over all these questions. He has been with us for so long, of course I was scared for him.

As I again turned back and looked at the sky, I felt amused at these different shades of love. You want your beloved to be free but you also want your beloved safe in your embrace. Amidst this catch 22 situation, I only wish he gets his peanuts, where ever he is.

Bridge of Spies

The weather was getting treacherous every passing moment as the snowfall became severe. The Glienicke Bridge had never looked so dreary as if a betrayal was on the offing. It was dark and it was time. Both sides were present at the respective ends of the bridge with an exchange of spies on the cards. No one present there could still fathom how this deal was actually happening at the peak of the cold war. How on earth could the Americans and the Russians agree to a deal? These men were certainly no ordinary spies. Something pivotal was at stake which the rest of the world was myopic to.

The two spies started their long walk to freedom. Bogdon and Peter had been subjected to severe degrees of torture as the respective Police departments tried their best to get any information about the status of nuclear programs. They had been beaten, sliced and butchered but none of them had revealed anything like true patriots. Bogdon was hopeful that he would certainly be rewarded by the Soviet for his unrelenting loyalty. Peter was thoughtless. They had made a stone out of him. He could hardly feel any nerve.

As they crossed each other, Bogdon glanced sideways at Peter but he could only see the scares. There was nothing in his eyes. It was as if a walking dead going back to Uncle Sam. Bogdon now was half past the bridge. His steps were getting bigger and his pace faster. He was hopeful for normalcy. Peter kept the same pace. As if he knew what beckons on home turf. When a spy returns to his home country, there is this one little problem. How do they ensure, he is still “their” spy?

But Bogdon had a better picture in mind nothing less than a knight, shinning bright. He had been successful at his mission. He had revealed no information. And he had been successful in sending loads of information back home. But to his surprise, he was arrested as soon as he stepped into his country. Soviet intelligence had doubts over his integrity. Was Bogdon with the Americans now? There was no way to find out. He was kept in custody for all these years and no intimation was given to his family. To them, he was already a martyr.

Bogdon had lost his composure by now. He shouted out loud his innocence which only fell on deaf ears. They wouldn’t risk anything for the security reasons. What was his fault anyway? He gave up everything to go live anonymously in a foreign land risking whatever he had with him. He gave up his family, his loving wife Maria and his little boy Konstantine. They didn’t even know that he was alive and decaying in their own country. Slowly he gave up hope.  He remained in that dark cell forever. No one knows what happened to him.

And, on the other continent, no one knows what happened to Peter!