Month: March 2019

How love was lost (Short story)

Over time, a lot of things she had lost – reliance, enthusiasm, hope, dysfunctional relationships and occasionally, old fears.

Losses were never easy to handle emotionally, not to mention the public questioning that came with them.

“What do you mean you don’t love him anymore? Is this a bloody joke?” Asked her father, his lower lip trembling in anger. “First you girls rebel against family norms to marry these men of your choice, and then fight again to leave them.”

She remained silent, her head hung low. Her silence only made her father more impatient, as her mother looked on. “Love is over you say! How is that even possible?” He continued.

“Dad, you don’t understand what really happened and how. But I don’t blame you, I never told you and Mom.”

“What is it that we don’t understand? We’ve been married for more than 30 years now. We know how things work. Being single is not as easy as you think.” This time it was her mother.

“What you don’t understand that it’s never love that is lost first. For love to be lost, there must be other losses that precede.

You think I lost love and you find it bizarre, don’t you?

For you to understand better, I first lost my dignity, and a good chunk of my self-esteem.

Then came the loss of respect for those who caused the first loss.

Soon after I lost love. And now I feel the loss of tolerance from every cell of my body.”

The parents stayed silent, as they looked at each other.

She continued “What you don’t see is that even when love is very quick to happen – and yes it made me a bigger rebel than I was – it takes a long long time to recede.

And yes, it’s never the first thing to go.”

Image taken from Google images

Bringing her smile back (Short story)

She lay in bed, her head resting on his soft, yet sturdy arm. Her eyes remained tightly closed, the only sign of her being awake being the warm tears that trickled on his arm.

‘What happened?’, he kept asking repeatedly, only to be replied in silence.

‘Have I done something?’ his tone getting more desperate with each repetition of the question.

She merely moved her head to the side, to answer in the negative.

He had not done anything, nor said anything that had caused her pain. It was her own past that haunted her, her own sense of worthlessness that had been rekindled by something he had mentioned casually in a conversation.

It wasn’t him, but her own memories. What could she tell him? How could she explain? Even if she tried, would he understand the whirligig of emotions that brewed in her head, her own ugly past? She preferred to remain silent instead, facing her destiny alone.

His restlessness kept rising with every subsequent tear that fell on his arm, and he assumed the role of a clown from an interrogator. All his attempts to make her smile or forget her pain were in vain again.

Nothing seemed to work.

Tired and defeated, he caressed her hair. In what sounded like a whisper, he said ‘My dear, I don’t know what has happened, you won’t tell me. But I want you to think about this – do you think we have adequate amount of time in this life to waste on staying silent? In what seems like a short and clearly-not-enough lifetime to be together, there is already so much to say, do and experience with one another. Can we really afford this waste of time in remaining silent?’

As his words seeped into her understanding, her eyes, red by now, finally opened. She looked into his eyes, that were just beginning to form their first pair of tears.

‘You are right’, she said, as her head gradually occupied the cavity of his chest.

Nothing but his simplicity had been successful in moving her from her womanly obstinacy.

Image taken from Google images

The Black magic of love

Tell me how you do that,

These wonderful ripples you create.

Is it just your physical body,

Or a deeper, invisible part of you?

Your mere presence stirs sensations,

That I barely knew before.

Do feelings have colours too?

Then why do I see a rainbow each time my brain processes a thought of you?

With even the slightest touch of you,

Waves of sinful pleasure rise in my spine.

And like shooting stars,

Dart to corners I barely knew existed in my body.

Let me guess what gives you that power over me- you gentle sorcerer I adore!

Is it the rustiness of you hair that tickles me everywhere?

No, it’s something else.

Is it the perfume of your exhalation, the most intoxicating fragrance that ever teased my nostrils?

No, there’s more.

Is it the black magic you cast with your deep brown eyes, rendering me incapable of movement?

No, this doesn’t explain too.

Or is it the bittersweet journey of your long nails all over me? How could pain ever be so delicious?

But I think I know now.. I have my answer.

It’s all of these things and yet none of these.

The answer lies not in the magic but in the magician.

It’s you, in all your colours.

It’s you, the whole of you- my delicious sorcerer!

Image taken from Google images