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

KEEPER OF THE MEMORIES…

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.

Happy Reading folks! 

 

Sitting by the window she watched the sky grow dark as the nimbuses gathered. The soft pitter-patter of the rain was audible as the drops fell on the leaves, beautifying it with every drop. As a drop raced down the windowpane, she smiled to herself and hurried to her shelf.

Sarah picked up the hardcover at the end of the shelf, dusted it and returned to sit by the window. She crossed her legs, ran her hand across the cover of the photo album, “Alma de la casa.” As she went through some of the pictures one particular photo held her attention, that was the last photo of them clicked together and below “Amigos Para Siempre” was scribbled.

A thousand thoughts and memories shuffled through her brain and arrested on the day when he held her hand and they just walked around because that was the only thing she loved which slowly transformed to the first time she went on a bike ride with him, he tried to maintain the speed limit as he was asked to but looking at her sullen face he pushed the limits and let her experience how it feels to talk to the wind. From their fights on who will get the bigger slice of pizza to her apologizing him for pulling his hair and hitting him in the process, to the day when she got bored at social parties because her partner in crime was busy attending his, to him photo-bombing her graduation ceremony photos, to sneaking into the kitchen quietly and having a look at the fridge for any desserts left, to proudly celebrating his success, to hugging him for the last time before leaving for the airport and adjuring him not to leave, to bidding him the final adieu at the airport. How she wished for the time to stop right then and there, but alas! She looked on as he hurried in, how he didn’t even look back once because she knew if he did he will never be able to board the flight and travel to his dreamland.

As the chain of thoughts ended, tears rolled down her cheeks, wiping them away she muttered to herself “It will be the last time I see you guys, for a while now.” The rain had stopped and there was this broad daylight, sun peeking behind the skyscrapers. As the clock struck 2, she realized she was already fifteen minutes late and in the meantime, a  message pinged, “5 years have passed and here you are late as usual. Be quick. Waiting. :D” She collected the car keys and drove away.

The photo album smiled to itself, Sarah wasn’t the one who waited this long. He did his waiting 5 years of it, to fill him with the memories of Sarah and Lucas. The empty pockets in the album were a proof of his waiting but not anymore. Soon the 2016 pockets will get filled probably making up for the voids of the past five years. The album was rightfully named “Alma de la casa”, THE SOUL OF THE HOUSE. It contained all the memories and lifetime events of Sarah and Lucas. It was never HOME without them, those waves of laughter and those fights, cursing each other and yet apologizing if they were rude to one another. It was a long wait for a sister to meet the most special person in her life, her SUPERHE… oops, BROTHER. And the album patiently waited for the sibling duo to breathe in some soul to it.

PS- Before Lucas left for the airport he told Sarah,

“ You know how I always wanted to be a SUPERHERO but I realized being a BROTHER is even better than being a Superhero.”

~Smaranika Dash