Forever? Maybe not.

But maybe the cupid struck the right arrows that day.
maybe the arrows hit the right places.
maybe…?

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A/N- With this story I complete one year of writing stories. It has been a beautiful one year. Thank you for your love and support .
This story is roughly based on the lovestory of Amrita Pritam and Sahir Ludhianvi. It doesn’t aim at hurting anyone’s emotion. Enjoy it as a story and learn a little about love too.

Happy Reading Folks !

Before leaving, she looked into the mirror one last time. With shivering hands, she straightened her bindi. Dressed in a traditional kurti and a pair of rugged jeans, she reflected her inner chaos.
She passed the room clouded with smoke and inside that little chamber rested a man in his late fifties, a newspaper in one hand and cigarette butt in another. The man took to his feet, came close to her, hovering above her tiny body and whispered with a hidden rage, “Don’t you dare look so beautiful and hit the club. I know my kind, we are an easy prey. I don’t want another man to fall and never learn to rise again.” She freed herself from his claws and went away without paying any attention.

Before going any further, She is Avantika, Avantika Chauhan, and the man with the subtle threats is her husband Mirza Khan. Avantika, a freelance poet, wrote mostly in Hindi and was trying to better her works while Mirza was a famed artist who painted his canvas with the colors of Avantika. But unfortunate as his fate was, Avantika never loved him enough nor was he free enough to spend time with her and give her the love she deserved. Twenty years either was tortured by the other. They were tied in a bond which neither could break because they were equally alone, lonely and brilliant to find someone else.

………………………………………………

The first two performers were already down and the audience was loving them. It was her turn. She exhaled the problems and went up to the stage. This was her first Poetry Slam and a one filled with love to start with. Scanning the audience for the last time her eyes rested on another pair of blue ones. A smile flashed from that end and poetry was what escaped.

After the slam was over, they had a dinner to attend and that was when the blue pair of eyes got a name, a friend and a place in her heart.

Siddhartha, an accomplished poet of the time, melting fleshes around the country with the heat of his words. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions. Love, affection, relationships, foreverness, intimacy, lust were only a part of his poems.

But maybe the cupid struck the right arrows that day.
maybe the arrows hit the right places.
maybe…?
They hit the heart of a poet dead by heart and a woman tied in the knot of a lifetime.

There’s a thing about fate and destiny neither have been seen nor can be decided. In this world of injustice, pain, and cruelty a little love found its place and blossomed, making one’s poems true and the other’s life worth one.

Siddhartha once described their relationship as,

वो चाय की पहली सुडकी थी,

तो मैं अधजले सिगरेट से निकलता आखरी धुआँ।

It was the most beautiful thing happening to two individuals in their mid-forties.
It is true, love always finds a way. Love arrives when it has to and when you know it is the love you deserve everything falls into place. Everything just fits!
Both of them were so engrossed in each other that their poetries and works reflected the love and respect they felt.

Avantika was a free bird again. The rustic cage of twenty years finally broke open. Mirza and Avantika went separate ways.

Siddhartha and Avantika were made for each other. Their relationship was above the world of materialistic possession and physical intimacy. He found love in her slurps of tea while his poems over a few stubs of cigarettes, that’s where she lost her heart. Even twenty-four hours a day were short for the discussions they struck,
the poetries they shared and
the love they felt.
But there’s a thing about love, it has to be taken care of like an infant. You need to express,
you need to talk,
you need to confess,
you need to let go of the boo-boos
you need to hear and above all,
you need to understand the unsaid.
That’s where they lost their ways.

तारीफ़ों से चीख उठता है जनाब का दिल,

उनकी आँखों में देखा है मैंने,

बस जुबाँ पर कभी आने नहीं दी उन्होंने,

भूरे सी डायरी में आवाज़ों को कैद किया करते थे।

Funny, how it took a poetryslam to make and break two hearts.

While one yearned to hear the emotions hidden in the pages of the diary, the other turned blind eye to the silent requests made.

She just happened to lose her soul in their cup of relation so much so that she never realised when she was holding onto an empty cup, where emotions and expressions never had their place.
And for Siddhartha, he lighted up the story like his piece of cigarette, smoked it, let it affect his system and put it out when half finished.

In the echoes of their verses, a few cups of tea and some half burnt cigars they felt so much love that they never knew when the sound of their beating hearts was hushed,
Lub-Dub hush!

Lub-dub Shhhhhhhh!

They were caught, reflected and absorbed in a dark, dingy ally meeting an immature ending like several other incomplete stories whose shrieks still haunt those wandering the streets.

-Dash

Ink and Paper

If you ever comeback,

I’ll be here waiting for you. 

With Those voids and some wounds too.

But this time, I won’t let you

 color my scars again; For,

You are the ink and You are not

 supposed see the paper’s pain.

You’re not supposed to see the paper’s pain.

Like those disclaimers before the movies, I thought my life bears no resemblance with others, just a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person is a pure coincidence. But the paper proved me wrong. The letters scribbled on it mocked at me when I told them my story. And then I realized you were the ink to my papers. 

You came to me like a summer breeze , hot ,warm and making me restless. Your presence was something I had always feared. But slowly, as the summer turned into rains, and it started to drizzle, you showered me with your attention, love and care. And I started dreaming about your touch. Gone were those hostility and those ignorance. You made me come in terms of my past and made me spoon the threads of a beautiful dream. 

You know, we all are like these white papers. Everything leaves an impression. A dot, a line , a tangled mess of doodles, a tear drop or any stain, everything leaves an impression. Even some deep stretched wound of those who are close to us, leaves a mark. Still the paper remains white. Bearing all those scars on its soul, it craves for the ink which would see beyond the white of its heart. You were like that ink to me, Which poured itself on me and covered all those scars, with the color of its being. 

Sometimes I do wonder, Does a blank paper matters to ink , as much as the ink matters to it?Does the ink feel proud to leave its permanent imprints on the heart of papers? Or its just another notch in its belt!? . Does it craves to touch that used sheet of paper, as much as the paper wants to be kissed again.!? Does the colorful ink ever gets intrigued by the blankness of the sheet!? I often wonder, does it know , how much it matters to the paper to bear it’s marks for the rest of it’s life!

Even the paper feels jealous about the other blank sheets. They have what, she lost. Time! They are still pure. She thinks about the other 100 pages the ink had touched . They have what she is yet to achieve. Experience! She compares herself with all those blank sheets and also with all the written ones. Does the ink find them more beautiful than her?Has it told more stories to them?Has the ink ever told them about her?The page wonders, Is she the only one to fall in love with the ink or are there many! It wonders Which page is the ink’s favorite one!. Does it care about the pages as much as they care about him!? 

 Unfortunately,no one asked the ink about it. Had they asked, a new piece of paper could have refrained itself from falling in love with the ink. That’s the fault with the readers. They never ask. They only trust the ink. Had they known the deceptive nature of the ink, they could have tried to listen those suppressed sobs of the papers. The cries which still echoes in the spaces between two words, the echoes which could be heard in the untouched parts between the lines.They could have seen the unrequited love which remains hidden in the commas and semicolons. And could have felt the torments of heartache which are witnessed by the periods and full stops. Had they known they could have stopped the ink from scribbling more and more poems on papers and in return stealing away bits and pieces of the innocence of the page. But unfortunately, no one ever asked, nor they have ever tried to hear.

You know, That’s why I blamed me, the people around me and you, for what had happened between us. The way you touched me to the core, the way you drenched my heart with your tears and the way you made me fall in love with the protagonists of your stories. The way you kept on writing poems and stories about Us and the way you kept on Scribbling the lessons from the past. And the way you vanished from my life, without any bye, without saying anything ,had  left me craving for more . But no one ever cared. Not even  you! You’re supposed to steal my scars, you were supposed to color me with your kisses. I was supposed to take all the burden away from your heart. I was supposed to soak those tears of your bleeding heart. We both did our job. But in between I fell in love and you didn’t. Or was it like you said that you fell in love and left me waiting for you forever!? Had I known I wasn’t sufficient, I would have saved my self for someone else. For someone who after caressing me, wouldn’t have left me . Now see, I’m everything but blank . You will never come back to me. But someone will. Someone will come back and read me again and again. Someone will take me in hands caress those wounds given by you.He will be intoxicated by the way I smell, but would never know I have drowned myself in the aroma of yours.  Someone will fall in love with me. But he would never know me the way you did. He could never leave an impact on me the way you did. He would fall in love ; But not with me. He will fall in love with the girl you left behind. 

Time would change. The white of the paper would gradually turn into yellow. But the marks on it would still glow in pride. The words signed by the ink wouldn’t fade away. Time could not heal these wounds of the paper, it can only make it grow older with it. After some days, the corners would be tattered , but still those inks would matter. Those words, those wounds now define the paper. The scars she was trying to hide would now become her identity. May be the ink would return to it, after realizing it’s worth, but it wouldn’t be the same old blank sheet, naive and eager. The ink might try to reunite with it again, but that would only deepen the wounds, stealing away all the beauty of those scars. Now the paper knows, they were star crossed lover, for one has to die if they wish to remain together . 
I used to think you to be the journey which  I never fathomed the courage to complete. But those ruffling paper sheets spoke to me  of destiny. Perhaps I wasn’t destined enough to be your destination. Perhaps to you I was the journey you would cherish forever or never. Perhaps the miles that you crossed would be treasured in the space beneath your heart or would never even never cross your mind. Perhaps when you complete that dream story of yours may be , may be some where I would be in the acknowledgement section or would be somewhere in the pile of rejected sheets.Lets just hope that  I at least makes it to the acknowledgement section.But I would be lost in the crowd. That uniqueness of mine wouldn’t matter to you anymore! Would it!?After all ,the story is about achieving the goal and I was not even a mile stone. 
I would not try to make you come back, but I’ll wait for you. Wait for the day when you will come back and see how you had helped me to grow. How those small bits of your heart has now become the Alma matter of my survival. I would like to see that pride in your eyes, in the same time want to see that helplessness of not being able to touch me again. If you ever decide to come back, you will find me the way you left me, but what you couldn’t figure out would be the way I will flaunt my scars. For , I have learnt to believe in the power of being broken . For Now I believe in Scars being beautiful. 

I have crumpled myself. Tried to burn myself. I have leapt in to the ocean and I have flown into The hurricane, but no one had been able to erase those imprints. So I decided to flaunt them. I’m not going to tell them to you, coz you could never notice. Like a paper I haven’t been granted the power to pour my heart out. You are the ink, you are the one to speak. I was the one to get drenched and I’m still getting drenched. I’m yet to make people believe,that it’s not me but you. 

 The first time when I was drenched, it was raining blood from your heart. Now when I make people cry, I rejoice those tears, thinking it to be you. I’m living in these stolen moments, when people believe it’s my story and offer their condolences.

 But you know, I wish someday, they could see it all along. I wish they see the resemblance between the lies told by the ink and see the helplessness of the papers. Some day, I want a fellow to go to that never read  acknowledgement  section and  seek out for me. I believe those colors of the ink would fade in the waves of time. But what about those imprints! I want the fellow to touch those scars and feel how deep the wounds were! I want him to learn the beauty that lies in those scars. I want him to see the voids only love can create. But don’t worry, I would make him understand you. I would tell more about the restlessness ,ink had and how the paper wasn’t enough. I would tell him about your dreams and how I was just another step.

In the mean time I wish for you to see me, smiling and living without you in those stolen moments of yours. I don’t want you to see how much I have suffered. If you wish to come back, come n see how much you had mattered.
If you ever comeback,

I’ll be here waiting for you. 

With Those voids and some wounds too.

But this time, I won’t let you

 color my scars again; For,

You are the ink and You are not

 supposed see the paper’s pain.

You’re not supposed to see the paper’s pain.
But you know! deep down I still crave for your touch. Tell me how am I supposed to forget someone who has made me what I am today!?Does the paper ever forgets the ink which craved it’s story as her identity!? Perhaps it dreams about all those moments and day dreams about the kisses. Perhaps it still wants the ink to see her smiling and fall for her all over again.

I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. To a stop where there would be only you and me. To the time where you belonged to me, Where there would be no memories and there would be no dreams.To a stop where the parchment wouldn’t be needed to change, where the ink would only tale about the present. Where there would be no complain from the paper and the ink would not crave for more. Where the snapshots would be beautifully framed in black and white with no colors to fade and with no journey to be ended. I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of Time to a stop. 

And sometimes I just want to move on. To be old , ratteled, withered and to be forgotten. You see, this heart , it never stays at a point. It knows it’s incomplete without you but still it always wants to prove that I’m better off without you. I have been here and I have been there but I have never been at somewhere I belong. This restlessness is not anxiety, neither is love . I can’t define it now. But I know someday it will going to define. Not your imprints on my soul , not the ink on the paper rather the experience we have had and the story we have waven is going to last till eternity and is going to define me.

Yes! The paper has never been blessed enough with the power to express of its own but it will tell stories that will definitely make people to think about the ink. And I might not be a mile stone in your journey but I will be that Cross road which will be the turning point of your journey. A book is nothing without the acknowledgement and you’re nothing without this lost part of yours. So, Here I’m waiting for you to succeed, so that when you come back and look at me I could say, no it’s not you but me. 

From being it’s not me To it has always been me, I have came a far way! In the process of finding you,I have found myself. You’re going to matter me Everytime I breath, every time I die a l’ll but from now on I’m not going to let you define me. It’s my story and I’ll project it the way I want. I’ll not wait for you to come back . I’ll move on and with that the corners of pages will bent and began to fade away and so will the ink . 

Just Another Phase…

But you will be treasured for life.

A/N – This is for all the people out there who have had either, numerous people to crush for or just one. Every single person goes through these feelings, sometimes it is lost, sometimes we are lost but all we keep with ourselves is memories.
And if it resembles any of your phases of lives it’s just a coincidence, this isn’t intended to hurt or showcase anyone’s personal feeling .

Happy Reading folks!

Waking up every morning, before rubbing my eyes open to the little notes of musings stuck on the wall of my room, I think and hope of meeting you and brightening my day manifolds.

With eyes closed I think of the encounter we had the day before. No exchange of words, no smiles passed, no tales attached either. Just a glance of you working as I walk past your workspace. That’s where everything started, started in my world to which you will remain forever oblivious.

Watching you engrossed in your work was the first thing I was hooked to in this place unknown.

One place, one crush.

This norm of mine didn’t even seek the need to be reminded of. In this crowd, the only face which made sense and I looked forward to was yours.

People fall for people who were meant to be just attractions.

I didn’t.

I didn’t fall for you, because I knew that the pure heart of yours had already got someone to nurture and love. All you meant to me was the light in the times of dark.

A single mention of your name, one look at your face and the bad day was already running for a cover.

There have been days when I have run errands just to have one glance of your hair, your hand, even your shirt. But it’s funny how in the times of crisis I never got to see you but again you have arrived during moments I least expected.

Years passed, more like in a blink of an eye, but now as this phase of life comes to a closure besides several other memories you and your workspace will turn into memories too.

There won’t be the same me zooming in and out of your work place looking for you. Tagging my friends along just to ensure I don’t get caught red handed looking and drooling over you.

There won’t be the same me getting teased in your name as I disclose “the name” to my friends. There won’t be the same me scrolling through the pictures of your good old days.

But one thing will remain unchanged, you will still be the light to my dark days. You are still going to be the reason for my laughter and smile when I will look back and search for the best of memories.

You will still be around but I will be long gone.

Gone to a different place and following the norm getting a new someone to crush for

… but you will be treasured for life.

~ Smaranika Dash

Mother’s Love. 

It’s more of a protective shield she casts on us, it’s there even if when she isn’t around making sure no evil can penetrate that shield of love and compassion.

 A/N- This is a very small tribute to all the mothers around the world traveling through lives of three mothers of the magical world. Hogwarts has portrayed several characters each of them having a life-long impact on all our lives. So this a little something for the Mother’s Love.

 
An invisible feeling which you can’t resist describing as beautiful, lest talk about the irony!

It’s something which was there when we were inside them, month after month and yet after all these years when we have reached our adulthood it still remains the same.
It’s more of a protective shield she casts on us, it’s there even when she isn’t around making sure no evil can penetrate that shield of love and compassion.

——————————————————————

This kind of love is universal, be it a red head pureblood or a blonde one. She knows what we need, she knows what we are going through, she helps us getting over tough situations, she offers a meal when no one around cares, she saves us even if we are the nemesis because she knows the side she supports is wrong, is bad, is evil.

And no mother will ever want a child, even if it’s not her own blood, to suffer a death, death will fear.

——————————————————————

Even if he isn’t able to make it through, there is Mother’s love in heaven too.

One mother reciprocates the gesture of another by taking her twin into her arms and treating, caring and showering love in all possible ways just to ensure he feels like the Burrow, it’s not much but it’s HOME.

________________************_______________

~ Smaranika Dash

Solace to the Soul… 

it has crossed my mind a billion times of asking him to let me be a permanent part of his life but the idea of rejection has always pushed away those thoughts, so it did today. Maybe today isn’t the right day.

A/N- Any resemblance to anyone’s personal life is a sheer co-incidence. The aim is not to target anyone’s love life but to hoosh the taboos of our societies.

Happy Reading Folks!

From where I stand I see a silhouette of a tall man, some six feet two-three inches tall, in his forties, looking across the valley amidst the setting sun searching for answers to the questions he has been asking himself for the past few years. And I know all he is being able to find is the reason for self-doubt and remorse. I have been a part of his life for the last three years, I have seen him face some ugly truths of life and some situations beyond the control of human emotions. But his dark clouds were swayed away by bright sunshine, his two little packets of joy Harsh and Avni. He did win the case of their custody, he parted his way from his wife, but there was this guilt of separating his kids from their mother. Little did he know his little angels were indeed his angels, they always stood up for their father. With all these incidents turmoiling their lives they moved to Chicago, that’s when we met, again.

In a short time, I became a part of their life. From helping them settle in the “Heart of America” to guiding him apply for universities, in helping the baby grownups find a school to dining with them on special occasions. With time, these occasional meetings started becoming frequent. And then I was there with them 24 hours, inseparable. Harsh and Avni had started building up a pleasant rapport with me, they were by far the best bunches I had come across.

The Earth kept spinning about its axis and revolving around the Sun and swiftly the days turned to months, we started getting closer. What I thought to be an infatuation started blossoming into love. This wasn’t a thing of mere months, it was a bond I had with him at first sight, when we first met, back in India. His tall figure, his stature, his confidence and humble attitude had intrigued me. The only difference is that he was a happy married man then, now he’s just another man in the pursuit of happiness.
And now, I stand here today looking at him and shifting my gazes between him and the ring in my hand, it has crossed my mind a billion times of asking him to let me be a permanent part of his life but the idea of rejection has always pushed away those thoughts, so did it today. Maybe today isn’t the right day. It’s like gravity when you release something it comes back to the ground that’s how science works. With people, if you set them free and they return to you then it’s yours forever, but if it doesn’t, maybe you are just on the wrong planet or he wasn’t the one, to begin with. Pushing away these thoughts as I walk towards him, slowly closing the spaces between us I suddenly hear him whisper my name. I keep my hand on his shoulder assuringly that I am here, have always been here, will always be here.
He looks back adjusting his glasses, smiling, he points at my messy hair unaware of his own. His stare hardens as if he is trying to say something, my lashes dropped instinctively giving him the permission to speak his heart out.
Sliding his hand into his pant pockets, he shows a ring and slides in my finger, “I have done this before yet I am more than ready to do it again. I have had once given my heart and soul to someone who was dear to me, more than anything else, yet I am here today asking you to mend my broken existence. Will you be the Mandrake to my petrified soul ?”
Tears welled up in our eyes slowly finding their way out, they escaped. It was different, cold surrounding, racing hearts, warm tears. “Yes!” I whispered, “only if you promise to be Professor Sprout and help me grow.” The light sobbings turned into a hearty laughter. I slid the ring I bought him. We stood there for a few minutes, arm in arm. I don’t know about the forever thing, but whatever happened today was meant to happen and it somehow made me feel complete. Hazel Grace’s words seemed to be true, I did live a forever in those numbered minutes.

~SMARANIKA DASH

Unrequited Love- Elixir of her life…

A/N- This thing is pure imagination any relevance of one’s personal life to the story is sheer coincidence and maybe you could thank me for writing it up for the world to read and being passed on to that one person in your life who hasn’t got a hint about your feelings.

Happy Reading folks! 

As the alarm gets snoozed for the umpteenth time,  the red eyes look into the mirror in front, yet another sleepless night. This has been her daily routine since she was 19. She never really cared to sleep, be it the Summer or Winter nights. In the race of leaving her friends behind her, she never realized how far she has come, away from her parents, away from her friends,  away from her one true love.

Ana, a girl of nineteen kept struggling with her own self for she was tired of being the ideal daughter,  tired of being looked at for defining the first born.  To the world she was the best one could wish for but nobody knew the Ana who died every time someone praised her for being someone she wasn’t. From being the darling daughter to the world’s best friend only the nights knew what she hid from the world. Right from the beginning, she was always expected to be bound by a set of rules set by her parents but how dearly she wanted to escape and leap over the boundaries was unknown to all. No one knew that the little girl too had a heart which begged for a little freedom with every beat. No one knew that even that little heart knew how to love,  love someone so deeply to let it go.

Falling in love with Ayan was the best thing that ever happened to her, which gave her the hope that maybe one day I will speak my heart out.  She never realized how much she liked him until she watched him fall for someone else. He never left her mind and she never crossed his.

Busied by her daily chores,  studies, in the race to prove her parents and society of her worthiness that love was buried somewhere deep in her heart. Yet one day when he knocked the door of her house. She saw him standing in front of her house from the window. Her heart skipped a bit with every step she took when finally she started leaping 3 steps at a time, gasping for breath she came to the door and opened it with a hearty smile, one she had lost in a long time. He came forward and hugged her, she pinched herself just to confirm she wasn’t dreaming.

He turned around and handed her a card, checking what’s within, her smile from meeting her long lost love turned to one filled with pain. It was his wedding card. She looked on as he left,  it had been over a decade after which she saw him and was perhaps the last time. Feelings of the past love came to her in a flash and passed by as a whooshing train.

Last night she celebrated her 60th birthday. Friends, colleagues all had gathered but her eyes searched for one man.As a daily routine, she went to the park the next morning for a walk where she met him again and this time with his wife.  He had aged a lot over the past 30 years but her love for him was as fresh as it was when she was 19.

People say problems can be fixed but unrequited love is a tragedy. But only she was able to turn this tragedy into the elixir of her life for the past 41 years and for the years yet to come.

-Smaranika Dash