It hurts

Its not new. At all. Its painful instead.The sense of being cornered,the feel of being ignored. The desire to be closer. All are painful. Equally. Something wrong happens every time. And I come to realize the space and gravity I hold. I hold a space like air. Expected to be squeezed in to a small balloon and expected to be leaked too. Expected to be ever expanding and at times and expected to be like air, inert to all these. So color, no taste.Just stay inert. And then it come in like the air trying to going out of the boundary of the balloon. But It remains to regain its space,when the balloon bursts. It waits.Like I do, with hope.

Truly
Abinash

Goa - The see experience of the sea (personal account)

Standing on the porch of the land, the beach the sight holds the infinity. The bubbly waves run into you foaming around the feet and embrace you with the welcome hug. The smell of the blue that the wind brings and moist you lips is enriching. The feet move deep into the water gripping the sand beneath and fingers snuggled. A smile runs through the face and arms stretch wide open to have the juvenile desire to hold the whole sea, the whole horizon. As you move you feel the chill of water and warmth of feeling that it brings. The mild music, the hearty laughs, the sound of wave, the dancing beauties magnify the whole sight into a scenery. The whole beach is a world in itself. Lively, enchanting and engrossing.



Off the beach lies the small huts decorated with lights, flowers and the handicrafts to create the genuine sense of being in Goa. Lovely couples walking hands in hand, energetic elders living their youth again, and the local residents running to earn a business make the crowd off and on the beach. The idly and chatni on the banana leaf makes the breakfast more delicious. The smell of fish curry and the menu of seafood brings the foody even in the fitness maniacs. The speeding bikes, the white skinned bare bodied mass, the hippie stylish women make you a sight of youthfulness. Smiling you move on to the road to explore the beaut of sea, the country sight embodied in the catholic styled houses holds your eyes.



Long way down the sea are the water freaks taking up sports. Gliding above the blue line, diving into the depth, conquering the waves. The days see it all. The wave becoming tide. The dry becoming wet. The rise going down. The boats returning soar. The beach becoming a party. The day becoming night. The darkness becoming enlightened. The silent wind becoming musical. The day sees it all. The sea prepares to welcome a new day. Goa lives in every drop of the sea and the sea lives in Goa.

Random thoughts - Again

Well I was wondering what all things you see here around us and find to your utter surprise, they are socially, personally entertained. Not a question asked and taken for granted..

1. Staring at people
2. Riding bike on the pavement
3. Bad garlic breath with an aroma of onion
4. Ogling at "Female" (any age, any shape, any race.... includes bitches :P)
5. Running behind the time, thats an official governmental attitude now pursued by every citizen of the republic
6. Being an IT professional
7. Being a politician
8. Spitting just any where (including inside theaters, public transport - thats why its public, government office's walls, on a bald head, over a Mercedes) it adds to bio degenereable content to environment you know.
9. Pissing - any where again... on walls, on animals, in the public gathering, in front of girl's hostel, inside college class rooms, just any place you think of even it adds to the biospheric fuel.
10. Blame anyone you find dead or alive, mass or indivisual, for anything that entertains you.

If you find some one doing all the above welcome to the community, its an Indian.

Truly
Abinash

The loner

Abandoned, silently it lied there. Moist on the ground. It had someone's company. Sometime, some where. It had the sense of belonging. The beauty of decoration and the fragrance of admiration. It had all, in it. But its felt aside, it has lived its stint. Left over on the ground, no beauty it looks anymore, no fragrance it dispels in the coll air that touches it. It just lies there waiting. Waiting in the hope that the air will bring it its company, its beauty back. The air will take away the loner with it. And it will rejoice again, now in hope and then in possession. Possession of the one who left. It alone, uncared.

Truly
Abinash

Being an unknown

Some people don't understand many things. And leave you alone when you need them the most. Like you are an unknown. A man with out a face amongst the million there. Just an unknown.

Truly
Abinash

Winter of love

Winter is special. Like love. You love it. You want it to last for ever. You want to snug to your beloved. You want to feel warm. The whole world seems clean, air chill, sky blue and touch sensational. You want to feel the breath, hold the hands tight. Winter makes the chicks pink, like you blush in love. winter makes you stay back in bed few more hours, like you wake up late after a love filled night. Winter is lovely, like love.

A good morning

On the porch of Monday, passes the week. A laziness borrowed over from the weekend I start the week. Hoping to see the eyes, the smile that has grown indifferent to me. The day spent mostly brooding over the monotonous office work, same dirty desk, filthy code. They add up to the pain of the moment. Then I see the face smiling, slowing and blushing. At me. The day fades. Fades the smile, glow and the blush. The dusk comes in quite swiftly. Brings in the sense of a lost day. The same indifference is re-uttered. Refusal, the hands move. Initially close then away. The chill air blowing with the running wheels of the bike. make you feel cold. No warm. Just cold. The words hurt. The actions hurt. The day hurts. And I hate the day. It passes away with flying time. Comes in the night. And a smile. My smile is like a panacea. The day is erased. My mind is skilled in it. Forgetting. It helps. The night brings in another smile. Of the motion of the hands from away to closer. to hold up. To cling together. Night brings dream. Dream brings the hands closer. And starts a good morning. From away to closer. A real good morning.

Truly
Abinash

Lets make it

Intentions. Perceptions. Decisions. They all occur like they are eternally linked. Maintaining their camaraderie. Intentions how ever remain obscure, assumed and silent. Perceptions remain wrongly articulated, mostly misunderstood or un-understood. And decisions timely mistaken, untimely regretted and perfectly spontaneous.
At the spur of the moment, the overwhelming emotions, uncontrolled motion of thoughts, misplaced facts and the assumed wrong assumptions. They do the killing. Killing of happiness, peace and the need. What is truly desired is always hidden. Ego drives the motion then, taking over love, care, wishes, dreams. Human are designed err. To err and name it life. To live and name it fate. To mistake and name it experience.

It takes a small decision drifted away by the ego to destroy it. But it takes a thousand small dreams, a million small desires and one strong will to construct it to live it. And name it life. In the shape and form it deserves to be. Happy. Decorated. Beautiful. Lets make it.

Truly
Abinash

The moment

This place never felt better. We change moods, we toggle teams, technology and priorities. We take leaps, we run to embrace what we call success. But success is never ending for it soon becomes a trend of life when the we clinging together with unfathomable commitment to live up to ourselves, take the united stride.
Then the jittery final moments come to confront you with the drain you out of you courage. But this is just the sign that we are just very close to it, the goal. All it takes is a faith in self and each other and a little will-full will. It passes and the moment suddenly becomes ecstatic, full of energy to be retold over and over again.. of the glory. And we realize: we have achieved. The feel is pure and firm. Just a will against odds and it remains, as history as a mark over time. To be adored.
This is what we all have achieved, as a team, as a united bunch of willful souls.
Thanks to every one.

Truly
Abinash

At the moment

I am contented in the moment. The moment of now. I overreach unvoluntarily. A strong sense of happiness flows in me. And I smile. I smile at how I possessed her in the moment, how she belonged to me. For ever. And then she wakes me up to the reality with her musical alphabets waiting to be answered back. You dont listen to me, she would protest. And I search for her in her eyes. I a everything she assures. I believe.
And suddenly the I find myself missing. Missing in her world. Like a old furniture kept aside in the newly painted house. I find a piece of myself which no more gets the sense of possessing her. She has a life, and its a definition with people other than me. I am a hidden definition. I am unauthorized. She has a routine to happiness, the routine bypasses me. I feel. But I know this feeling is false, false for I know her and I know the truthfulness she has for me. And I exist some where inside her. I know. Always, every moment. She knows. The routine ends and I get a place in the definition again. And the old furniture is placed in the center of the painted house, again. To be admired and adored.

A lust, a beast a night!

The curtains down, lights dimmed, luxury classy furnitures all around and a chill air blowing out of the air conditioners they set the plot. The daunting smell of spirit, the marooned crowd with lust brimming out of their eyes blinding them of anything but lust, raw lust. The frustration oozing out of their faces filled empty pours of the hall. The red-blue-stinking-with-spirit hall.
The almost nude fair bodyies moved in the loud noise, the dark music. They moved to the satisfy the lusty eyes transfixed at them. They moved up and down, round and round to meet the frustration, to gulp it down their bared dangling flesh. Stains of sins engraved into them, on to the skins. Their eyes filled with again lust, lust for money. The lust of flesh and the lust of money enriched the whole moment, little too prolonged to bear. The bargains for night began, the bodies are owned momentarily by the paying beast. And they, the fair dangling fleshes submitted there flesh, soul to the beasts. All that began with spirit, smoke, light, money, lust and a dark beast will end. Will end in some hours.
All this will end in a gloomy room left with untidy bed sheets, wiped out stains of semen, a dark smell of alcohol and smoke, a abandoned used glass left with little wine, a mark of cosmetics and a set of lost soul. A lust of flesh satisfied by a lust for money. No love, no desire, no existence. Just a set of sins committed over long lost guilts. The whole plot is set again, the whole scene taking place exactly the same way over again the next day, with the rise of the moon.

Lets count it right, lets live!

Life is a set of moments, like a video. Each momemt logically clinging to each other. And we count them to judge our own life. We measure can measure our life in two ways: with number of un answered calls, mails and messages or with the number of calls, mails and messages we got. The first one hurts, lets you down and kills your happiness. The secon one joys, puts you up and gives reasons to be happy. The first one actually are the people who never cared, and never made any difference. The second one is of the people who care and who want to make a difference. The counts never end. Life does. Who remember and forget in the same sequesnce. We remember each unanswered mail, call and ,message. We forget each mail, call, message we receive. We err, we are human. we find so inner thrust for sad moments. We remember the tears and forget the smile. We live a wrong life. We die a right death. An unhappy death. We must count the other way. LIve a happy life and die an inifferent death. Don't measure your life by the number of people you missed, measure by the number you ahve gained. Be happy.

Feel a refugee days are back

I hate a few things. Saturday and Sunday top the list.
The feel a refugee days are back. :(

Life of boredom

Personal life, Private life, public life, Professional life
Life with family, life with friends, life with the loved ones, life with enemies
and there is one more, life of boredom. When you get time from all other life, and feel bored. There exist few people there in your life of boredom.

I want you....

.. is what I say. It comes all over to me when you are not with me. Even for a moment. I feel abandoned. The body feels dilapidated. No strength I could find. Anywhere. I just feel the pain of a sharp cut. I want you is what I say. And find how wrong I am. How significantly wrong I am. I don't want you.
I need you. I need each moment to hold on to you. I need you to live the moment you are away. I need you to rejoice, to hope, to create, to admire, to love. I need you to live.
I dont want you. I need you.

And we move on - Clinging to each other

It was not new. The day, the time, the people around, the lights, the chill air and the rain. Nothing was new. But we move on. Finding the new heights of love, new depths of warmth, new surprises of the moments. 'I love rain' she tells often. And it rains often, when we are together. In the moon lit evening, the sky speaks to us, making the moon light just dim enough with the clouds, hiding the stars, making the wind smooth and cold, pouring the water to make the moment just lovelier and romantic. The black pitch roads are deserted just the water flows and we move clinging to each other. The whole world is ignored, the whole sense of being in the middle of the city is forgotten and we just move on. Clinging to each other. The drops running down the cheeks melt on the lips. She comes closer holding me tight, with her hands resting on the chest, with a almost silent whisper the words are delivered 'I love you'. With the deserving delicacy. Ecstatic I smile, live the moment and admire the precision. The precision of everything at that moment. And we move on. Clinging to each other.

Indifference Hurts

It cuts sharp and it hurts. It hurts right where it hurts the most.
An indifferent disposition, a lax attitude shown deliberately, I believe. Just to show you worth nothing. You just worth nothing. It wont even take a moment to forget you because you have never been remembered. The depreciating love. The wearing out memories. The not so long company. The few good moments. Its not new. Its been there since long, I always ignored it. Now it doe snot ignore me. It catches me right at my eyes. And I just ask one question. Why?

Truly
Abinash

A morning of love

The morning comes little too early for me than the rest I know. I wake up to a dream by the first sunshine. The golden soft and warm sun light falls into my eyes as soon as it rises. I become still. Motionless in literal sense. My brain does not run forth with time anymore, ear numb, and eyes closed and transfixed to the most beautiful thing. Her face. I just cant't take my thought off her. I remain sedate with the thoughts and the magical imagery of hers. A silent node of euphoria plays some where. And completely lost and overwhelmed I smile. I get up just to realize what I imagine in reality. Its my reality now.

Truly
Abinash

10 reasons why an Indian metropolitan does not vote

Well people does not turn up as expected to vote in the Indian metropolis. Nothing strange. Now I got the reasons after a logical deduction on the statistical data in a demographic perspective with a meticulous precision. :p

1. Eh! election? But Obama has already won, ain't he?
2. Ahh you cant vote over Internet or SMS. we need e-election.
3. They still take black and white pictures on the voter's id card. So I don't have one.
4. the vote mark on the nail looks nasty.
5. Voting centers don't have air conditioning facilities.
6. You see they must think of valet parking facility.
7. The party symbols ain't that catchy. The need to innovate and get some more flashy symbols.
8. It was a holiday! Now it takes some real motivation to get over the hag over and get out of the cozy blanket.
9. I was alone can't leave my "Tiger" home alone. They should allow dogs to voting centers.
10. I ran out of my sunscreen the day before. (malls are closed on voting day. Their fault)

The modernised sexual frustration

Man has always been striving to satisfy his sexual aggression by any means and many means. Bisexuality, homo sexuality, some people indulge in imaginative sex. But lately I have come across a different species of man, and to my surprise he majority belong to this class. They tend to have an inclination for verbal sex, with just anyone for that matter. Passing obscene comments, and "on-a-lighter-note" statements when they use dual meaning words. And then shamelessly brag it. The senseless stupidity is flaunted as wit full intellectual ability. I pity them. In my office I have seen people doing so with an appended statement of "don't-take-it-otherwise". On chat exploiting the limitation of English script to spell out regional words say hindi words which actually carries a vulgar meaning. And they like it. And both the genders. The guys mostly take the lead in doing so and the girls take the pride in approving it. All
"in-a-lighter-note-you-know". But some where with in they are approving their sexual frustration with it. Knowing or unknowingly. Its not new. Its subtle existence
is apparent in the old literature and cinema too. It has now become a cult. A sign of metro sexuality. But the modernity has reinvented this retro approach. In work place,
glass builds, chilled aired chambers, when these sex starving frustrated heads assemble. They indulge in this witful verbal sex. And few who choose to withdraw from
it just become silent onlooker and reproach in recluse. And take out frustration as criticism or judgment by writing such blogs.

Truly
Abinash

Hope the fight

I had never been weak ever before. Mentally. May be because I never longed for something with such a desperation or strong desire. I don't even now for anything else but that one thing. I know I have been effusively emotional. And I have discarded any rationality that could have attached to it, ruthlessly.
But I ma only weak now. A strange sense of insecurity flows in me.
But I am not like that, I am told. And my hope that I still cling to fights back the darkness of this fret and insecurity. My hope wins. Just because I want it to win. I smile. And the fight starts all over. Its been a part of my life. I want it to end. End fast and end happily. May hope prevails and may hope wins ever.

Truly
Abinash

The mall crowd

Shiney, flashy faces
with dangling, fleshy asses

They flaunt the tag of brand
tight jeans, exposed cleavage meet the demand

dull, dead eyes
racing to grave with silent cries

They flaunt the lies of life
recluse, on deeds they just remorse, they grief.

This is written on the context of the shiny-car-driving, kala chasma clad we-the-rich-with-extra-pounds-to-show people roaming in the glass malls.

Truly
Abinash

A love story

Well its been quite long since I had written any fiction. Particularly fiction about love. You can say a love story. The last time I tried was some almost 2 years back and it had two parts and yet incomplete and then I never found any motivation to complete it. Nevertheless I want to write one again. Afresh and inspired. Fiction yet inspired. Hopefully I will complete it this time. :)

*-------------*--------------¯`•._.•{Love Story}•._.•´--------------*------------*






Dark it was when I opened my eyes. I don't know what woke me up. In a blink I was conscious out of deep sleep. Unvoluntarily my hand grabbed the mobile lying by. It read 4:24 a.m. Scrolling up in the message inbox I could give the most blissful smile possible. Everything in a predefined sequence. In a delicate manner. I just take a look on my palms joined together. Trying to figure out how accurate is the curvature that my heart lines cast when joined together. Some one had told the more they are curve the more possible it is to get your dream partner. Everytime I wake up in bed I do it. Everytime. And in the memory-lane it suddenly came upon me, just like that. I was driftted to the day, the day which still wakes me up. Puts the smile and makes me joint my palms in anticipation....
(A magical day, 2008, Bangalore)- Hurriedly I looked back at her. The same face with the same smile I would dream of, to love to and to be loved by. I could not resist the desire to keep the gaze on. The next moment I remember over the coffee table, I asked her "do you believe in love at first sight?" "No" She snapped. I smiled and said then you must be believing in love at third sight, I do. She smiled, silently. "Its your third sight for me". She smiled with eyes, biting the pink lips, blushing and looking down. The moment spoke it all. The moment of love. The "yes" reverberated with out being spoken. Yes she loved me too. Then each glance of her ever, was as magical as it was then. Everyday the love grew older by age, it grew younger by the intensity. As fresh as a blooming lotus, as warm as the first sunlight of winter. I slowly hold her hand in mine. The hands trembling, the lips open, the eyes in the eyes. We lived the moment. A sudden sense of belongingness, and a sudden sense of pride took over. Us. The sight became hazy in slow motion. The image became blur to blurer. The eyes had their share of it. They are empty nomore. Filled with the drops of joy, two small sparkling drops. In hers and in mine. The moment then came on to be the most exquisitely designed. Filled with bliss, surprize, happiness, warmth and just magic.
All the imagery run thru my eyes, as I lay on the bed, in the dark, remembering each moment of it. Living each second of it. May be this is the only way you can re-live the past. But its not my past. Its my present too and will be the future also. How does it feel to live the whole life in one single day? I ask myself. And I answer back. "Its awesome". When you deliberately stop the motor of life to keep harmonising in the same lovely moments that you define for it. I have been living it each moment since then.

"Again?" She woke up saying beside me. I smiled, as she came closer to my face to have a look like everyday. I smiled, took her hand in mine, and kept the gaze on just into her eyes. "Will you share the smile with me for the rest of our life? Will you be my bride every day till we breath? Will you let my love admire you till my heart beats and my mind can think?" .... She smiled. Again. I loved it. Not again, I never stopped loving it ever. "Yes, I will. I will with all the love, commitment and sweetness of this world, will be your bride for ever." the joyous beautiful lip moved to make these magical sound in the little air between her and me.
My arms around her, my head resting on her chest, she made me sleep, and we slept embraced with the shield of love.
It never felt I am old now. It never ever felt so. My eyesight has gone weaker, but I can still see her in the dark, my ear don not allow me to over hear anything anymore. Still I can listen her voice in every moment. I am old now. But I can feel her in me. And she says she is too old to blush. But she does when she sees me.
(One more magical day, 2048) "You slept?" "Ohh sweetu let me take you on my lap, I promised you I will never put you down, its my lap that can carry just one thing over hundred pound now, and thats you." Every day we come to this park, me and my love. Its been more than 30years we are married now. And each morning I wake up and see too. and we live the same moments. Its not life we have spent together for last 30 years now. Its magic. Each morning has been same for us I wake up dreaming of her and she makes me sleep in her lap. Its a saga of love. May be this is what they call love.
And this is what we call life.

P.S: Its fiction, but a dream. Its a story but an inspired reality.

* the header design is taken from a fellow blogger friend Raji's name style :)

Truly
Abinash

Thodi der

Thodi der. How long could thodi der be? One hour? two hour? may be a whole day; eh? But its been infinite at time. A thodi der that never comes ever. The clocks show the exact same time twice, thrice, and several times more but the thodi der never turns up. And you can't do anything about it. You dont master time, you dont master the promiser. You do master yourself and and do just that. Anticipations die out. a false assurance creeps in. A assurance which seems just timely false. You know it now and you knew it then too. But you srive yourself to believe that assurance. It gives pleasure. Its what you want.
And the time dies out.

Truly
Abinash

Hope

Hope is a strange thing. It makes you smile in adversity. It makes you look up when you fall in to an abyss. And give strength when life turns back at you. But I am in none of these kind of times. So I find a new aspect to it. It keep you happy when happy days are around. Its not the good time but the hope in it that makes us feel so good. So happy. And it does not take bad times to learn the strength of hope. Good times teach you more of it. I never want to loose hope. It keeps me happy. It gets me going. And it will till I die. Thanks for making me aware of this hope. :)

Lets hope, lets be happy.

Truly
Abinash

Lonely I feel happy

Lonely evenings sips in as the over accompanied days die out. Seclude, I take refuse in the well lit, room. Finding myself comfortable on the edge of the bean bag, just with a stare at a point. The scent is spread in the room. The zincs, dazzling here and there. The creases in the sheet, the coffee mug with standing exactly at the same place. The dust coat on the TV screen ornamented with her name. The place has just been decorated with beauty. The beauty which is absolute for me. Sill they seem to others. The sound of breathes resonating the air, the movements still reflecting everywhere. The smiles I feel inside me. The magical eyes looking directly into mine. The mystic sound of the voice. And the beautiful bright face. They just fit in to create magic, absolute magic.

Lonely I feel happy.

Truly
Abinash

Surreal

Surreal! The days of late have been just surreal for me. Unexpected, incoherent, almost a dream at times and near to nightmare at times. Things change. Cause they are supposed to. And I am supposed to remain serene to them. But seldom I do. Never in fact. I could smile at them not anymore. They hurt. Hurt right at where it pains the most. But then its life. And life is supposed to be weird. So it is. My eyes at times makes my sight hazy and floating. Its then I realize it has got a droplet of tear in it. Almost involuntary. I wipe out. And I just grow little stronger than what I was before the drop was born to my eyes. One month was never so long. It were the weekends that come as prized days. Not anymore. I hate them now. I just want 7 working days. I hate going back to wake onto a Saturday morning. A dead Saturday morning. Its surreal and unpleasing.

Truly
Abinash

And I just miss

The heartbeat increases, the mind loomed by thoughts suddenly I stand still. Reluctant to move. Even a step. No desire to look at anyone, anything. Just a spontaneous desire to go into a self exile. Just a nonsense may be still a wish to yell out loud and cry alone. The gravity does not feel so strong as a sense of weightlessness takes over. The fingers tremble before the eyes. Like I have just heard my death sentence. Little nervous I guess. No noise, no voice can enter my ears. Just I can hear myself. Restless I reach to the pocket, grab the mobile in despair and anticipation. But in vain. I put it in my pocket close to chest, not to miss a single beep. Even unconsciously. It never beeps. Its blank, like my mind. The throat feels dry and i gulp some water. But in vain the feel continues. And I continue to be empty. I just realize I am missing something or may be some one to be more correct. I just continue missing.

Feel a refugee

Human is indeed a weird creature. He can hurt himself and he can heal himself.
At times it feels like you are a refugee. A refugee, who is just a burden, nothing more, nothing less. No values he carries. No authority. Just he has been granted a wreck shelter and a few favors dumped upon. He has to take them all. To survive.
He can't speak. he is not supposed to. He does not worth a single word of love. He but a refugee. A burden. This feel comes at times. And it feels bad. Really bad.
You are refused a even one minute of celebration. You are reminded and re-reminded that you are just a refugee, granted few favors. Mind the limits or you will be banished from here too.
And you gulp the pain, accept the fact and live with the fear. You just try setting your love free and you are reminded. Again.

Truly
Abinash

Love the water way

A guy became a confidant on me of late. He came complaining of her girl friend. That she is not caring at all. He does so many things, he cares so much, ONLY he does. And by far such a relation can't grow much as only he cares, he told. It aint fair at all, he doing all good, and he being all good. As he claimed. I gave a smile. And completely disagreed. Orally and mentally. Just one thought went through "they are not in love". Or might be they are yet to understand what love is. But I did not utter it. Not everyone can understand this. People just so confine themselves in their own irrational thoughts that if you try to penetrate, you end up hurting yourself. I said lets assume you care a lot more than she does may be double than her. And he looked amused with my this assumption. I just gave him a small example. Example of water. Whats water? He went on, water is life as taught in primary school. Water is the reason of life on earth. Its the most important compound on earth. Its The most abundant compound also. And yet its the most precious compound.
I smiled giving a nod of acceptance. He said all the benefits he gets from it, and for him what it is is defined by what it can do for him. But naturally he is human. And this is human. He missed the most important part, what it is made up of? Its 2 part Oxygen and one part Hydrogen. Oxygen may be the most precious and important element. Its takes two parts of this most important and significant element and just one part of the other not so significant element to build the most precious compound. Oxygen never complains. :) But that way it builds water. Had it ever asked for even two parts of hydrogen it would be Hydrogen peroxide. Rather toxic which can kill. Just opposite as water, which can give life.
Everything that is great has a unique combinations of things. Appreciate it. Realize it. You love her because she is what she is. Appreciate it. A slight alteration can potentially convert this nectar into poison. Understand. Do not doubt things, keep the trust up. Its the foundation of love. Know the rare blend of your love story. Its unique. And just fall in love with that. It worths it.


P.S.:Read with attention and u can find the obvious flaw. :)
Truly
Abinash

A dream

She was standing right there. With a mild smile, looking directly into my eyes. A thin bunch of hair hanging over the right eye. Down till the pink lips. I moved slowly removed the hair like removing the veil with anticipation. Just to discover the most beautiful face beneath it. And the most beautiful heart beneath the face. I looked with admiration, with a sense of satisfaction. The smile was still intact. The love in her eyes, the warmth in her breathes. I raised my hand and put my fingers on her lips with elegance. The soft touch, the integrity of the pinkness. The desperation to speak the moment. The brimming words of love. Silent enough to be called quite lips. Loud enough to be called voice of love. A sound meant for the heart to understand. She moves a little with exquisite moves, breaking the silence of the moment. Her lips stuck close to the ear. The only voice audible remains hers. And the words like ever lasting, "I love you'.
And the alarm rings, I wake up, off the dream smiling trying to hold back to the dream. I move on to work the day. Still smiling. :)

Dimaag lagana mana hai

Dimaag lagana manaa hai. So dimaag nahin laga rahe. :)

Just a little yaad

Feelings are always weird. You never know how you would you feel until you feel it. The thought to be away and just be bonded by yaad feels good, when you know the away is not far enough to generate the sense of separation. But the same feel goes toxic when it feels separation. But I am lucky its not a separation for me. It can never be. I am assured. By her. And I trust, her. Always. She aint any far, I just close the eyes and feel her. With open eyes she lives in the pupils. Always reflecting in everything I see. She lives in me. As a part. Inseparable. When if separated the error in my life would be "Location not found for integral critical process, hazardous malfunction occured. System stopped working, responding. System will shut down."

The warmth

The most warming sense is always a nonsense to others. The most warming sense would be the anticipating eyes, the marvelous smile, the heart filled with satisfaction on the day's first glance at her. But it's nonsense. To others. But I never share a self with anyone. No others. I continue to hold the warmth. Looking beyond the day.
I feel her completely in the images I create. I feel her soft fingers waving to me. I feel her expressive eyes speaking with her softness. I come out of the imagination. Just to find he is not all mine. I ma her in her personal world. I feel the irresistible desire to reach her. I see a bunch of worn out faces. Making all sort of preposterous acts like they are there to kill my desires and in turn hers.
I just move back to imagination safeguarding her smile and with the solace and asset that she loves me.

Truly
Abinash

A new smile A new day

The first sight is always appealing. Gorgeous, bright and beautiful.
Like a blossoming flower, her eyes would open, with the curved eye lashes departing to make way for the glitter of her eyes enlighten everyone. The shinning hair neatly bound to reflect perfection. Confused she turns her head to search. To search her love, which her wondering eyes had dreamt of the whole night restlessly awaiting for the morning. Not to miss the first glimpse of him. The pink lips little moist desperate to render a smile at him. His eyes meets with hers. The moment stops. Stops for ever. The smile is rendered with purity the same artistic way petals are rendered on a blossoming flower. He lives the moment the whole day long. The next day brings in a new smile a new life.

Truly
Abinash

I am unromantic

Now comes a doubt of doubts. After struggling with thoughts to find out an answer myself, when I failed miserably, I took refuse in internet and then correlated it with what perception I carried. Will juxtapose both what I found and what I thought here.
What is it "being romantic"? How to be?
Well the literally meaning would be like:
Adjective:
1. Belonging to or characteristic of Romanticism or the Romantic Movement in the arts
2. Expressive of or exciting sexual love or romance
3. Not sensible about practical matters; idealistic and unrealistic
Noun:
1. A soulful or amorous idealist

Well going by its meaning as an adjective, I certainly am not romantic. At all.
I am not part of any romantic movement.
I am not an expressive sexual lover
I am not unrealistic, non pragmatic thinker. Might be I am not a thinker at all.

So By definition I ma not romantic and I would want to be one.
Now after wondering over many sites and pondering over many facts, I guess they are facts (Please check Here ), Again I realized I never have any such compulsion to any of the mentioned things. Neither I would like to have these abilities in me. So again I am not romantic.
Then I wondered is it really so I ma not romantic, and i researched and bumped into this link, Here. Now as per this link yes I ma romantic. I am not monotonous. I love to say I love you. I never show any disregard.
I make my way of doing things, saying things. Never let go small things, as i just love every small things too. Well I am just not much sincere. I agree. Now thats single point does not disqualify me from being romantic.

This is what the result I got after the comparative analysis of being romantic with internet data. Now coming to my very own perception, it goes as below:

Being romantic is being honest at the first place. Honest all the time and keeping the dignity up all the time.
Its being in killing the ego, to let the person in your life, to understand the needs and desires of the person. Its about the honest care and the feel of longing that comes naturally. It in letting her feel that you love her, not just say it.
It in respecting her liberty. Its in being the most trustworthy person in her life. Its being in making her feel the most comfortable in the world like a child in mother's womb. Its in giving her the sense of belonging.
I always believed this is what is called being romantic. Never knew that the world perceives it differently, like in gifting a surprise on a special occasion as if not every day u spend with her is special. In following a hundred weird way to speak that you love her. In kissing her with out regarding her comfort. In giving a card or flowers on a meet and utter out few emotional nonsense, which will carry no values in the course of time.
Sorry I am not romantic. And I prefer not to be.
I can'y make my love the slave of few false acts. I declare I am unromantic. And I take pride in it.

The eyes

"You deserve the best" she declared. Looking right into the eyes. I guess she was looking for her own image in my eyes. I don't remember taking breath, with my eyes transfixed into hers. Tiny black eyes, carrying thousand large dreams. The small droplet in there told the saga of love they carried. She loves my eyes she would say. I will smile, at her, at what she said. I wanted to speak with unbound emotion but restrained. I wanted to say, I don't love your eye. Only. I love the tiny black pupil where I find my self reside. Like a black pearl on a white fur. I love the small droplets that moist your eye just to magnify the beauty. I love the eye lashes curved to perfection, to protect the dreams. I love the way she moves her eyes in almost slow motion and I follow is all along. Not to let go even a single glance. Its precious to me.And she looks back, with the same reassuring love. Oh the pleasure. And I behold it for eternity.

Truly
Abinash

A morning magic

The door is always kept ajar. The morning ray would stealth through it and awake me every day. I will wake up with half closed eyes. Half closed because the desire to get cozier under the blanket is too irresistible. Then the half open eyes take over the closed counterpart. Half open because it can see the morning ray, the golden stream spread across, my face. But then I prefer to hold back for a while. Hastily looking for the mobile just to see if an sms has beeped unnoticed. For its she who would take over my conscious mind inevitably. Her face will run through both my eyes. Closed and open. She lives in me, all the time. I will smile at myself. Try to recollect each word of the conversation we would have had the last night. Each word she had written I would try to hear with her voice speaking in my ears. I could almost feel her whispering. Her soft words touching me right at my heart. I forget its morning. I forget its wake up time.
I stay back. She filled in each part of my life.
Suddenly I realize I am already late for office. :)

Truly
Abinash

A trust I lost

Not many times I do it. Not even once in a while. Last I felt my cheeks
wet, eyes closed, mind blank and lips trembling some years back on what I
don't remember.
Standing at the edge of the balcony, facing the chilly wind with bare body
gave a soothing pleasure as I felt the salty liquid on my tongue, running
all the way from the eyes, like a moist fountain coming to life. A respect lost, a trust lost. The birth of tear take the deaths of many. Trust, respect, smiles, love. To live is to stand by a code, a code of values. It was a great day till then. When suddenly it perished. Turned around staring right at my face, laughing at my helpless disposition. I felt nothing, no pain, no chill of the winter, no danger of falling, no sense of love, no sense of loathe, just a cord of apathy. I moved back. few steps to a safer position, to realize the fountain had died again. And no more I could feel the salty taste on my tongue. The mark of tear remained like a scar on earth's face by a dead river in a summer too hot to survive. The river succumbed, so as the tears. I moved back, smiled. Shrugged off everything in the hope tomorrow I will revive the day. The same way like yesterday and wont let the dark win. Never. I wont be a looser tomorrow. My lost faith was nonexistence. Its dead now, with the passing day. It will revive. It will reborn. I am not giving up. My trust and love will rejoice again. With sunrise, like the sunshine.

The fight, the smile and the day

She usually does not speak. So I make things unusual to make her speak. In my way. Fighting over nonsense issue, or just nonsense to be more accurate. Complaining over and over on the same monotonous mistakes, or just an act to be more accurate. Pampering her. Always. Overriding her on every small things. They she speaks; she speaks with conviction. And I just stare on. Smiling. With the pretension to be listening to her carefully but no word would enter me. Just the soothing voice, a song for me, I get possessed. She suddenly finishes, her explanations. Deliberation to convince me. In vain. She knows I can only be self convinced. She even knows I don't listen her explanation. I am thoughtful she believes, when she speaks. But am not. I am actually thoughtless. For I am obsessed with something else. Her. Her smile. Here eyes.
The day ends we bid adieu. The next day comes for her the next morning. For me the last day never ends, it just gets little prolonged, little too prolonged. And I start my prolonged day in a dream as she starts in a reality. And it all happen again. The fight, the day, the obsession and the prolongation.

Truly
Abinash

New blog launched

Hi All there,
Have created a new blog (http://amorphouscrystal.blogspot.com/) with first ever post in it.
It will contain analysis of current events of my interest.
Check it out Here

Truly
Abinash

An evening, with her and with nothing

It was a silent evening. Little chill which can actually give the sense of warmth.
A little silence which can give the sense of calmness. People, the colors, the chill wind, the shinning lights, the starry sky and the full moon, rendered in perfection just to meet my imagination. I was restless to out reach myself. It was she who was waiting for me. I stepped up, and my eyes met hers. She was looking indirectly which was too direct to be resistible. Like always at her sight, my heart out pace itself, face became bright and the lips half open in anticipation. She remained calm and indifferent. Like always. I sat looking into her eyes. The bright face, the neatly done hair, the glow filled clothes, the weird nail polish, the smiling eyes. I wished I could behold them for ever, like this in a silent moment where it belonged to me. Only me. I took my eyes off her playing a stroke on my lips, almost a smile. I remained in the joy like my nerves had lost the apparent consciousness. Swam to and fro in that small moment I wish I could spend my life in that tiny space. I jerked back to reality, the noise playing a random symphony, the still image of crowd moving fast. And she looking away with the same indifference.
I smiled again. But It made all difference to me. To me it was few of the best moments for rest of my small life. To which she is indifferent might be.
And it was a time when anything meant absolutely nothing.

Truly
Abinash

Being outsider

Its a weird feeling. The feeling of being an outsider or worst of being an intruder. Life is like sphere. Soap bubbles in the air.. fundamentally free but practically bound by gravity. And the miracles happen and these bubbles merge to create a yet bigger bubble, merging their life and merging their horizons. But there exist people like who just stay on, being just an on looker. And suddenly driven by this irresistible desire to bump into some one'e life, the sphere. By own choice. But as soon as you realize the other life has no value for your choice, you forget the choice was yours. It hurts then. It hurts in an unending way. You are left stranded, just looking at from outside, with no strings attached, by yourself. Like the bubble heading to merge but just collided and bounced back. Being outsider.
The sense is painful. At times too overwhelming to be circumvented and you just succumb to it.
You remain an outsider, or an intruder, with dying out desires and failed dreams. Half drowned wishes and gloomy smiles.
Still you are the driver of your own life, and you can drive the bubble away from the gravity of the other. Just moving on in the search of, may be, self.

My idle mind :)

Well goes the well known adage "An idle mind is devils workshop".
I realized my idle mind is her workshop. :) Not idle actually to be honest. She is there in my working mind as well. Now its debatable when my mind is working and when its idle. Appreciate my honesty for it that I proclaim the confusing status of my mind. :) But almost every time I am conscious of my thoughts I find my self pondering on her. So not quite surprisingly my mind is mostly idle.
I see a lot of imagery and I am the director. But a director driven by the fantasies of her. The same familiar and lovable face with that I-can-die-for-it smile. The same way of looking from the corner of her eyes. The same way blushing when I smile back at her. And all at my personal space of mind.
I choose to be idle. I choose to be driven. I choose to be with her for ever.

Fire, light and smoke

The sounds were screaming in my ears. The lights lighting my eyes. I could see smoke and noise around. People rushing form one end to other. Running off the spot.
The place soon became darker,as soon as the sound died out leaving only numb ears.
The place looked scattered. I could see a torn piece of cloth lying orphan in the fading smoke. The numb ear responded to the cry of a child who could hardly speak.
I took my eyes off it and put it back on the fire and the smoke. The light was deem and the smoke no more. Then the next instant it came all over again. A few steps far from the earlier. The fire, the light, the smoke and the ear numbing sound.
I was standing on my terrace looking down how the boys were exploding the fire crackers in joy in the eve of diwali. :)

Truly
Abinash

Still Lost

In the late evening, or early morning. In the broad day light or in the night's darkest side. Amidst a million people or marooned in an island. The sense is as intense as its now. The sense of this shadowy feeling. The feeling of being lively.
A repulsive desire drifts me in an garbled fashion. And I feel lost. lost between dreams and reality. Love and rejection. Smile and frown. A node of yes and a node of no. A self too fragile and a self too strong. A life with her and a life alone. A day with her and a day in empty thoughts. A hope and a realization.
But all that remains is the fact I fell lost. I look too despicable. I jerk back to reality. I jerk back to now. Leaving the sweetness of the fantasies alone marooned in some isolation. Her being would clearly transit form reality to just a desire, from I reached her to I am lost. I jerk back to reality and I move on. Smiling. Still Lost. :)

Truly
Abinash

Of late is often too late

The realization that comes in of late are often too late. The feeling of not being some one's first love or not being love at all. The sense of being pitied. The feeling of not being so charming. The sense of rejection. The worries of perpetuation. The declined happiness. The loneliness. The refuge in solitude. The sense that you are just as volatile at some one's heart who is as permanent and constant at yours. But things happen, like anything else. Things change and take different shape like everything else. Life is as weird as it is. And you at some point in future would look back at it, what you now call present. Then nothing would remain neither this pain nor this emptiness. But you would give a smile, just a smile at yourself. and you will move on. Thats life, strange, wild and deep. But some feelings that comes of late are never too late.. like the realization "even this will pass".

Truly
Abinash

Nagma-e-Sayari

Of late I have got a growing interest on Urdu poetry.
A deliberated effort I to live upto the interest... few from my pen :)

Pyaar

Uff.. si ek awaz nikli,
jo tera deedaar hua..

humne bas tumhari taraf dekha aur
pyaar hua

saam ki angdai mein tasavvuur se baithe the
Jab tera khayal ayaa

kya tumhein bhi wo kasak hai bechein dil mein sawal ayaa...
---------------------------------------------
Kashak

ish kasak ko kya naam dein
kya naam dein is sisak ko

ishq ki fardoshi hai ya hai
nagma-e-Diwanapan

Gul bhi suna lage, lage bekaar gulistan
jitna zikra ho mehboob ka fir bhi lage afsana kam.
----------------------------------------------
Dard-e-Ish

"Chup rehneki meine sajaa hai pai.
zeeban main jaise khamoshi hai chai.
Dard mein zeena to humne sikhh liya,
Par dard kise kehte hain ye tum ne sikhai."
-----------------------------------
Kya khoya, kya paya

"Dard to bana he zeeban ka saaya.
Jo hume he khoya, wo tumne he paya.
Saath to tum kabhi the hi nahi,
Bas dhoondh si thi , use bhi humne suna hai payaa."
-----------------------------------
Manzeelein

"zeeiban mein manjilein to humne bhi paayi thi,
Par pata na tha in manjeelon par aakar hum rah bhatak jaayenge,
Manjil to khodiya ab to rah bhi gum gai".
-----------------------------------
Thokar

"Hum aansu to dikhaya nahi karte,
Kyun ki samjhne wale paas hua nahi karte.
Ise pyaar keh kar aapne bhi dhutkara...
Phark kya kai jab zamaane ne bhi he thokar maara."
------------------------------------

Hum laye hain tooofan kasti main daal ke - :P

I love a master piece of a song from early 50's ("Hum laye hain toofan se kasti nikaal ke...", what I din't know was that it has got a Pakistani version from that time. Have a look :)
The Indian Version




Now having watched that, see the Pakistani version :)

FYI ....

I thought of writing a poem. I wrote it. I wrote two infact. But was asked not to publish here. So am not posting them. Anyway.