DEAR MORE THAN A FRIEND

Sliding through the crevasses in my heart, you let all the butterflies in my belly meander to the depths unfathomable… And tsh! You stealthily slip away as the grey fish in silvery waters under the scorching sun. The alarm of reality does so, to me, every time.
And I bite my teeth, fidget hands and tremble, “Will he be more than friends or none at all?”

Sketching across your bare chest’s canvas, the pain that is synonymous to the temple of all human emotions; I faintly withdraw my hands as the curtain of reality falls abruptly. And you, still jovial and still exuberant, remain illusionary in the multi dimensional world. Never diminishing yet never approaching. Like a mirage.

As I try to fix all the digits right while working out the math whether you love me a little more or you just be chivalric; I just can’t terminate my perplexity even after all these years.

Spelling it all out: Let’s just wince in pain and moan gracefully sans any need to conceal it, act strong or leave it indestructible? Cry me rivers and I’ll prick you thorns. Let’s just feel human?

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DEAR DAUGHTER

​When you were born, just like any other mother in the world, when I held you- a tiny swathed lump, in my hands and fed you for the first time, I’d promised to myself that I would defend you from all the woes and mishaps till the very end of my life and beyond. Laying wishes upon the shooting stars and never letting a leaf turn brown in my sapling, I smelled triumph when you were five.
But God’s been wise. He taught me about beginner’s luck and victor’s terrible struggle in this motherhood journey through personal experience.
Barely did I cognize on the maternity bed that laboring for your end goals and ambitions in life by yourself is so obvious and so definite that no one can substitute it. I’m sorry darling but failing to my promise- I could only motivate you, counsel you, support you -and that too only some times but not battle out life on your behalf. 
I surely, won’t claim that I successfully protected you from the evils of the world, as I’d wished or never wept because of the troubles you gave me, which I’d never expected. Sometimes I failed miserably in being the ideal mother- not caressing you when you’d no clue of how to convert your tremendous speed into velocity by saying “It’s okay darling” when you were 15 and not letting you go out because of my fears and my insecurities. And, other times you failed me. Because I wasn’t like Sally’s mother.
You know, when I stroke puberty, my mother gave me a cloth napkin as an undercover for my bleeding uterus in secrecy- never letting me touch the pickle that would go stale nor letting me enter temples that would become impure during “those” days. She consoled me that I’ll be fine but I didn’t know I was hurt or sick or not fine. When you went through the same stage, I sat next to you and explained the intricacies of what’s going on behind the curtains. Hunting down for words which didn’t sound pervert, I meandered through curvy lanes thereby, leaving you in sparse darkness. Today, I wonder how you’ll surpass this phase as a mother. Drawing those diagrams, explaining her social norms and steps to break them; I wish you do it all which I always wanted to but never could.
Today, as I look at you nourishing the sapling in your womb, I’m bound to reminisce about the good old days. Your tiny fingers, your generous smiles and troublesome cries! But what is to remember beyond this phase is glorious!   Dear daughter, thank you for being so strong that instead of making me crib about failing to lay a bed of roses for you, you – a warrior princess and a pilot girl, taught me to rejoice in it. 
When I was fifteen, my mother taught me the nuances of sewing, stitching, cooking and basic art and craft. She always mentioned the profoundness that came with it; thereby making you self dependent and economical. You see, your nani always wanted me to earn my own bread. But I was a vibrant and an enthusiastic soul- raring to be a pilot, a warrior, a policymaker and an entrepreneur. She protested, explaining to me how these professions are all noble but not manageable, because at least for once my uterus would deliver a baby who would need nourishment for another 20 years.
You may call it the generation gap or progressive thinking but with all due respect to her divine soul, I didn’t and won’t forward my mother’s legacy onto you unedited.
My love, being a mother is its own kind of beautiful but that’s not your only job, because in you – I smell guns blazing to reach Mt Everest. Irrespective of the galaxy or constellation you choose to shine in, you’ll always be my star. Agreed, sometimes you’ll barely sleep as a mother and will still have to report on desk the next day on time. During those years just recall how you partied late all night and still gave exams and went to job on time the following day without cribbing about the intricacies of being a woman, craving for sympathies and a special status in the society. Don’t let anyone befool you that age has its own limitations and life at 20 can’t be rewound at 40. 
Because in this misled era, the best way to be a feminist is by being just a civilian. Don’t overdo it by being a male or a female. It gets complicated.

An open letter to lovers and their beloveds

Dear lovers (who brawl),
Why don’t you cognize that you and your other soul are from altruistically variant parental background and hence, are programmed quite unlikely from one another? This doesn’t bear the obvious interpretation of one’s parents ticking the right boxes and the other set of parents ending up in guilty paints due to incorrect upbringing of their son/daughter.
Sans judgment, you both are apart from each other and none of you need to rip a part from each other in conquest of being wholesome together. On one plain day, you struck the chords of each other’s hearts because you did something pleasingly stupid like maybe, kiss them or hug them and they couldn’t spit out gravel in response.
So they too reverted with something stupid no differently from other people and impressively, you burnt your hearts for each other from then on. Such was the fire that oceans would run dry if they’d try to blow it off, such was the depth that the thirsty crow would’ve quenched it till perpetuity and such was the exuberance that concealing it from the society would’ve been parallel to calling it quits from the human civilization. If then the differences between you both were so resoundingly fitting irrespective of their majesty, then why not now? Why now, is she no sheer ecstacy when she gorges on savoring delicacies sumptuously (and ill mannered)? Where did the captivation of his mesmerizing hair fade into nothingness (unkempt hair), all of a sudden? Why are his lethargic ways still not iridescent?
From exactly when did you enunciate alleging each other’s parents for those vagaries that once synchronized aptly?

Jump off that sinking ship which you promised to; if out of the blue things didn’t work in tandem. That time is now, and that person who committed to it is in you. You submerged that old self of you in your souls of souls and now only you can bury yourself alive with those clandestine and only you can shovel your way out with your ragged fingernails. Choice is deftly yours.

Our childhoods were lying, there is no thing as a fairytale. Love is loose teeth, love is a noose around your neck sometimes too. It is an array of bullets of “I made a mistake” and “I am sorry” whizzing past your ears at incredible speeds. Do not give up on him. Do not give up on her. You’re only few rounds in: the act of proposing, the act of being crushed by your crush and maybe that’s it.
There’s a lot left in your imperfect relationship because the act of coexistence is perhaps, the greatest play with inevitably elating dénouement in the world’s greatest movie theater.
Sincerely,
Well-wisher of all.

An open letter to everyone who thinks otherwise!

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To love

He watched her, from a hundred miles in an hour to asleep in a nanosecond. He wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the bed, to wrap his arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Not even make love. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But he lacked the courage, and she had a boyfriend and he was gawky and she was gorgeous and he was hopelessly boring, and she was endlessly fascinating. She scared the hell out of him and calmed his soul at the same time. Maybe, that’s what love is, a total contradiction that somehow balances out. So he walked back to his room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, he was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

And she watched him perpetually fluttered in his hearts of hearts and minds of minds between whether to do what seems right or to follow his heart and go for the kill (read: confession of his love). Observing the surreal ordeals he was going through, she laughed hastily, not because she wanted to seize his attention and distress him by the loud noise but because she hoped that maybe, just maybe he’ll fall for her laughter as hard as she did for his and hopefully, his dilemma would be resolved. He would probably then inherently and successfully argue it out to himself, so what if she had a boyfriend with whom she had made out on several occasions. He assured himself to intensely believe that wherever his thoughts led him to, be an evergreen path. But, it was the road not taken, he reminded himself. It was the way of life that killed him yet made him feel alive. And, alive is awesome. He recollected all the romantic movies’ cheesiest dialogues he had heard ever, dashed towards the heap of books lying on the floor jacketed with dust for some refuge. He muttered all those lines from the love stories which he dismissed as trash someday earlier, thinking to himself about his naivete in the yesteryear. Those lines were now whimsical.

And he read it out loud: “We don’t have sex. We don’t fuck. We don’t even make love. What we do is align planets. Create galaxies. Out shine stars. Give birth to solar systems. Shift the universe. Have planets orbit around us. Cause shooting stars to make wishes upon us. Discover new worlds. Make the time travel. Become alpha and omega.”

“We need to regularly have orgasms of insight, discovery, revelation and understanding intended for the person we claim to love.”, chewed the other book. He exclaimed in the affirmation with all the text he was reading for the nth time but was absorbing for the very first.

Those words shined brighter in the periphery of his eyes. They emitted light this time too. After all, he’d looked at her in a way all girls want to be looked at.  He was bamboozled in the thick of things but he vociferated the unsaid like a knight would to his warriors or a minister in a political rally or a cheerleader in a house packed stadium or simply, just as he had panned out to do at the age of 8 if he’d found true love.

Now, he was afraid. Afraid like chimes in the wind when the winds lips are sealed. Afraid like dreams when they realize they’re just dreams and reality is that one scar that’ll never fade away. Afraid that she wasn’t the one he had idealized to do life with as a kid. She had flaws, but now that seemed okay. She was fierce, she was strong. She wasn’t the kind who would embrace him in emergent situations and lay back on him. She would get right back up to the scenario and take up the responsibility, and embrace him still. But with an I-can-do-things-on-my-own-and-i-love-you-still attitude. He thought and thought, maybe it won’t work out but maybe seeing if it does would be the best adventure ever. And, soon he survived the tornado of his thoughts, and enlightened himself with a before and after she’d marked in his life. She had made him question things that never appeared like one before.

This was a modern fairy tale. No happy endings, no wind in our sails. But he couldn’t imagine his life without, those breathless moments breaking him down, down, and down. The heart wants what it wants. So, finally he walked up to the cold bed where she laid and slept warm and close. Yes, he slept. Just slept with her. He didn’t fuck, like in those movies. Not even had sex.
With love.