Something of Myself
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Untitled
July 13, 1990
She tip-toed her way inside the hall, wearing blue denims and white tee. She was tall at nearly 6 feet, her bosoms well-formed, her waist neatly toned; she had a neckline that would put Munroe to shame. She took the last row, third seat from the wall. Quietly she sat. He kept watching her in awe. Hormones spilling all over. It was a hot Indian afternoon.
They ended up being friends for a while, as he was sucked into the possibilities of a romantic relationship. Then she just vanished. From the city. From his life.
The only explanation offered was this – ‘I really love him, and I need to follow my heart.’
August 27, 1995
The bus would have got her killed, only if she was not agile enough to flung herself to the ground. She stood there, covered with mud, white people laughing at her. She was beautiful, he thought. He had to help, for he was the only darkie around. He offered. She went to his apartment, changed, thanked him and went home.
They ended up dating each other for three years – giving romance a wholly different definition each time they exchanged looks. Expensive wine followed. Dolce Gabbana, and the likes were donned to visit parties and clubs. Music, alcohol, dance, smokes, and sex: this is what Harold Robbins or Sydney Sheldon would capture in 2 pages.
And it lasted exactly that long. She never vanished. She took a clean exit.
The only explanation offered was this – ‘I need to move on. I don’t think we can be together anymore.’
November 05, 1999
She was the kind of woman who attracted attention with everything she did. She broke a glass, people looked at her; she visited schools, people looked at her; she steered the boat, people looked at her; chocolate cake all over, people looked at her. He put some more chocolate on her right cheek.
She looked at him.
They ended up in a weird, un-named, unconditional relationship. Selfless she was, forever pining for lost worlds.
She is married now, staying with her husband (whom she calls doc) in a remote village near Porstmouth, UK.
The only explanation offered was this – ‘I’ll always be around. For as long as you need me.’
January 01, 2003
She was wearing a white saree, and she spoke very little all through the evening as he set his eyes on her. They exchanged phone numbers and promised to be in touch since he was in Australia and she was planning to emigrate permanently.
They ended up in a hotel room in Perth. When she walked in, there were flowers all over, champagne in the bucket, swiss chocolates and a live panda waiting to be hugged.
The sex was mind-blowing and after being with her for 10 years, he was beginning to get mind-fucked.
There was no explanation offered.
December 25, 2010.
She was working on her laptop as he rang the bell. The apartment was small, on the 28th floor in New York City. It was a dark, winter evening but New York was as alive as London on the day England won their Ashes in 2005. They sat in the verandah, sipping Smirnoff and Coke. They were in their late 40s now. Age had taken its toll on both as they lighted one Marlboro Lights after the other.
The desire for physical pleasure, (lust as they seem to call it), had tempered itself. The explanations etched in his heart. There were other desires that were pregnant now.
They ended up in an old home in India. At 82, his libido does not do much talking. He speaks slowly as she listens intently with those grey eyes, - ‘You know something Honey, you look beautiful. They tell me that you have wrinkles and that you cannot even walk the way you used to. But when I look at you, as you read out The Ode to Nightingale, I can’t but help falling in love with you, over and over again.’
July 13, 1990
She tip-toed her way inside the hall, wearing blue denims and white tee. She was tall at nearly 6 feet, her bosoms well-formed, her waist neatly toned; she had a neckline that would put Munroe to shame. She took the last row, third seat from the wall. Quietly she sat. He kept watching her in awe. Hormones spilling all over. It was a hot Indian afternoon.
They ended up being friends for a while, as he was sucked into the possibilities of a romantic relationship. Then she just vanished. From the city. From his life.
The only explanation offered was this – ‘I really love him, and I need to follow my heart.’
August 27, 1995
The bus would have got her killed, only if she was not agile enough to flung herself to the ground. She stood there, covered with mud, white people laughing at her. She was beautiful, he thought. He had to help, for he was the only darkie around. He offered. She went to his apartment, changed, thanked him and went home.
They ended up dating each other for three years – giving romance a wholly different definition each time they exchanged looks. Expensive wine followed. Dolce Gabbana, and the likes were donned to visit parties and clubs. Music, alcohol, dance, smokes, and sex: this is what Harold Robbins or Sydney Sheldon would capture in 2 pages.
And it lasted exactly that long. She never vanished. She took a clean exit.
The only explanation offered was this – ‘I need to move on. I don’t think we can be together anymore.’
November 05, 1999
She was the kind of woman who attracted attention with everything she did. She broke a glass, people looked at her; she visited schools, people looked at her; she steered the boat, people looked at her; chocolate cake all over, people looked at her. He put some more chocolate on her right cheek.
She looked at him.
They ended up in a weird, un-named, unconditional relationship. Selfless she was, forever pining for lost worlds.
She is married now, staying with her husband (whom she calls doc) in a remote village near Porstmouth, UK.
The only explanation offered was this – ‘I’ll always be around. For as long as you need me.’
January 01, 2003
She was wearing a white saree, and she spoke very little all through the evening as he set his eyes on her. They exchanged phone numbers and promised to be in touch since he was in Australia and she was planning to emigrate permanently.
They ended up in a hotel room in Perth. When she walked in, there were flowers all over, champagne in the bucket, swiss chocolates and a live panda waiting to be hugged.
The sex was mind-blowing and after being with her for 10 years, he was beginning to get mind-fucked.
There was no explanation offered.
December 25, 2010.
She was working on her laptop as he rang the bell. The apartment was small, on the 28th floor in New York City. It was a dark, winter evening but New York was as alive as London on the day England won their Ashes in 2005. They sat in the verandah, sipping Smirnoff and Coke. They were in their late 40s now. Age had taken its toll on both as they lighted one Marlboro Lights after the other.
The desire for physical pleasure, (lust as they seem to call it), had tempered itself. The explanations etched in his heart. There were other desires that were pregnant now.
They ended up in an old home in India. At 82, his libido does not do much talking. He speaks slowly as she listens intently with those grey eyes, - ‘You know something Honey, you look beautiful. They tell me that you have wrinkles and that you cannot even walk the way you used to. But when I look at you, as you read out The Ode to Nightingale, I can’t but help falling in love with you, over and over again.’
5 Comments:
Wonderful, mind blowing. However, it lacks something, i dnt know what it is. But it made me crave for more, as if i wanted to read some more in the piece. Lemme figure it out and would write back to u. But again it was fabulous as always.
beautiful. ... possibly the best ever
Misti - Thanks! Yes, I agree, I also felt that I could have teased out a lot more from many paragraphs...to me some of them are incomplete. But that's something I have to bear with, cause it borders on the verge of revealing too much. :)
Prero - Thank you madam - coming from you is a HUGE compliment, as always! Howdy doing?
That was really beautiful...tracing the fragile edge of relationships and how they change. The wonderful nuances of love and also the subtle motif that continues throughout with the last lines. Really enjoyed this.
Thanks Molly - took a great while to write this...and then re-wrote bits of it, so glad you enjoyed it.
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