A wait of a lifetime.

I saw her sitting on the couch next to mine in the student lounge. It was about five in the evening and I had finished a class. It was a strange moment. I felt like I wanted to know her, to talk to her, ask her story. She looked like she had a lot on her mind and despite that she glanced at me three times. Yes I was counting. I wonder what she was thinking when she looked at me. Was she thinking what I was. She must have. Maybe that’s why I felt this compulsion to keep looking.

I have since kept wondering if I will ever see her again. It’s been impossible to stop thinking about her. My senses are on full alert and I keep looking. For her. On the bus, on the train, on the streets. I spend most of my time in the lounge waiting. For her. I don’t fully understand or appreciate why. I am sure there is a justifiable reason for this psychotic behaviour. Maybe I am going mad. But that, probably, is not true because I heard crazy people don’t think they’re crazy.

I think its the look she gave me. Three times. Yes, that must be it. I’m not looking for her because she was really beautiful or because I want to sleep with her. Yes, I’m positive about that. But I really want to find her. I am not sure about what I will tell her when I do. How does one tell someone they don’t know that they’ve been looking for them. But I will cross that bridge once I get to it. I am desperate to find a way to that bridge.

Surely this must have all happened in my head. Surely there was no such moment. But that won’t stop me from looking. For you. There are many things I need to ask you. You know where I wait. Please do come.

One more affair.

I feel you walking away from me, but,
Why don’t you feel my despair.

I have visited all those places again,
To just stand heavy hearted and stare.

I have seen the world change, but,
The one in you was the hardest to bear.

I can say this was a dream, but,
It was reality which caught me unaware.

I might not say where I am, but,
All who suffer among us have been there.

I know I shouldn’t feel wistful, but,
This was not just another affair.

Be with me.

Every single ounce of pain, all the heartache in the world, each and every kind of sadness, I would bear it all, if you would just be with me.

There are some people, who are just that, people, but there are some people who can make such a difference within you, they make you think, they make you love. Just be with me, I wouldn’t care about my life, only yours, I wouldn’t care about my days, only yours. I wouldn’t care about anything in this world, except you. You make me want to continue living.

Just look at me once, tell me you can’t feel my love? I know you do, I can see you know. Just give me one chance because a life without you is no life at all. I would bear it all, if you would just be with me.

First ( and probably last) Video.

This is just an experiment but it does go on here and yes I'm prepared to be made fun of!! :D

Ek Fariyaad.

Zindagi se ek fariyaad thi, ki aap mil jaaye, lekin,
Aapko hamare phoolon mein bhi kaatein nazar aaye.

Umr kat gayi, par na samajh paaye,
Ki aap ke bina, jaaye to kahan jaaye.

Ek din hamari wafa ko yaad kar,
Agar aap chahen rona, to na ro paaye.

Dil jab dookha, to aap yaad aaye,
Is gham ko lekar, na jee na mar paaye.

Love in Thoughts.

I seldom say what I feel,
The thoughts swivel in my head.
But that doesn’t make them real,
Don’t know what they are instead.

I remember times and people past,
They make it hard for me to forget.
At times I’m amused, at times aghast,
That all I see are silhouettes.

I’ve grown between now and then,
And put things in perspective since.
About love, the question is when,
Do I fall and evince.

It will always start with a thought,
It will always start with you.
I can say, for it, I have fought,
And I will never say adieu.

Of this, you will never hear,
And that wasn’t my plan.
But it’s never been more clear,
To love in thoughts, is the only way I can.

Brown, black and white...

I was born brown and you were white,
The world was dark but we were the light.

We only felt love and never taught hate,
Why didn't we realize the world's fate.

This world in which your color defines you,
Judged and affronted, as I grew.

Grew up to be a man in this world of fools,
Never to abide by their system of rules.

You can still judge me and make declarations,
Based on my color and my nation.

Never in the past or now do I care,
If I'm dark or someone fair.

That is not something which defines your worth,
The mere idea is one of mirth.

If you have to judge, don't by color,
As a human being it makes you smaller.

We're all born equal, this you should know,
Whether it's now or a century ago.

Now that you're here, make love the movement,
This god forsaken world could do with some improvement.

An evening in a small town. (Continued)

It was ironic that she knew she was a forgetful woman and he thought of himself as a forgettable man. Sometimes he asked her, in all seriousness, if he even existed. He would frown and reason that nothing he ever did seemed to have happened. At first she found it amusing to qualm such thoughts but in the end she was left frustrated as to not being able to see and live in the world in which he seemed to be existing.

She drags the couple of bags she's managed to fill and walks out the door trying her best to be cold and unemotional. Five steps later she's bawling on the floor. Taking another step away from him seems to be the hardest thing to do. But she forces herself up and continues on, then stops again for one last look, only because it seems to be the right thing to do. She hails a cab outside and asks to be taken to the train station.

He has never experienced pain such as this. It was impossible to even open his eyes. Physical torture was no match for this mental anguish, and, anguish it most undoubtedly was. He, who had handled with dignity almost everything life threw at him with utmost carelessness, was not prepared for this sucker punch it dealt him. He thought it was unfair on life's part that because it couldn't defeat him fairly, it had to stoop down to this. With an effort that seemed to him almost superhuman he gets out of bed only to throw himself out of the window. As he gets nearer to death and closer to the ground, he sees a most unusual sight.

An evening in a small town.

It seems like she left in a hurry. There are things strewn around everywhere and most of her belongings are missing. He's in shock. Where did she go? Who with? Is she ever coming back? Again he's left to pick up the pieces of a broken down life which seems to have lost it's only purpose. Sorting through the mess he finds something. A diary. That's not like her. She hates to write. He remembers her laughing at his weak efforts to give his life an identity through a story. Should he go look for her? In the end he decides it's best to let the things, which you're not sure belong to you, go. If it was yours, it would come back. But he knows no one is coming back. It's not with sadness or regret that he realizes this but with a final acceptance. In a gesture of ironic defiance he decides not to read it. He pulls the curtain and drags himself to bed to try and forget about this cataclysmic joke his life seems to have become. He's a defeated man, he doesn't know any other course of action.

A couple of hours earlier she is packing anything of hers she can get a hand on. He is, again, in a meeting with a publisher to try and get another of his disastrous work read. She pauses for a second in reminiscence then resumes packing rapidly, angry at herself for that momentary lapse. For giving him another second in her thoughts. She knows he deserves better from her. It's not his fault how things turned out. But she still blames him because if she doesn't then she can't go on hating him. For his attitude, for his helplessness, for his failures and most importantly for his unconditional love. She quickens her pace further knowing he might be back any second, considering the fact that none of the publishers he meets gives him more than a few minutes of their time.

Finally she's through with packing. She takes out her diary. He knows nothing about it. She's always pretended she has a disdain for writing and writers. She writes a few lines in it, adding to the ones she's written before and throws it carelessly among her many possessions scattered on the floor, to give it a pretension of being forgotten, not very unlike the man she's walking out on.

(To be continued...)

Aap jo gaye...

Aap jo gaye, humne sadiyon intezaar kiya,
Wafa samajh kar, bewafa pe aitbaar kiya.

Aap ki jagah sar aankhon par, waha rah kya kiya,
Zakhm hazar dil pe chode, rooh ko ruswa kiya.

Chaand ka wada kar, chaandni ke saath kya kiya,
Aap hamare na sahi, apne saaye ke saath kya kiya.

Ab jo na rahen humsaaya, umr bhar kya kiya,
Jab tak janaaza utha, sirf aapse pyaar kiya.