Watching you sleep

Watching you sleep

Here sleeps a girl with a head full of magical dreams, a heart full of wonder and hands that will shape the world

– Sleeping Beauty

Damn, you are so beautiful. My angel, my beautiful angel. Heaven only knows how many a hours I have spent beholding your tender face, kissing you in your slender slumber, caressing you with every gaze. I have never seen anything, natural nor divine that sis but half as beautiful as my lovely dear. You are but a little piece of heaven god left with me.

For those among you, who by superiority of your intentions are well on your way to let the authorities know that a certain creepy stalker is on the loose. Stop! I pray. I ain’t no pervert nor a creep (that may be up for debate) . I am but one such rare breed of a guy who is so in love in with his wife that watching her fall asleep in you arms is the one thing he looks forward to most everyday, One who just cant help buy gaze at her face and melt as snow at when the slightest hint of a smile dawns on her face.

Time is a strange thing, when you are in love. One could hardly believe how it flies and how it morphs around you. I can but hardly believe that it has been over 7 years since when I first met her, 6 since I first kissed her and eternities since I started loving her and of course 1 since we married. I have known her forever, from lifetimes before and will for lifetimes hence. Even now, every single day I feel as if it was just yesterday that we first met.

Those moments have become so magnificently romanticised, like the balcony in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet our places are no more just blips on the maps but stuffs of lore and serenades. Our stories have been told so many times that they are are now much myth and some essential fact.

I don’t want to write another ode to my beau, have I not written enough of that already. But then for what avail is this piece written, but for the being another ode to she; my love, my muse.

Her

 

The Last Love

+Amrutha T  was not the first girl I loved. If she had been I might never have realized how special she is. In a way all my past failures were a prequel for this moment of truth. A series of necessary failures for making the one right choice.

Beautiful Mornings

These mornings I have come to love, they have remained the same but then they are a constant reminder of the one thing that has not changed with us. Even when the hair fell and the skin wrinkled and as the small golden ring slowly bit into our flesh, this has not changed, these beautiful mornings, slowly waking up from the clutches of sleep and feeling that warmth of love clinging to you. It is as addictive as it will ever get with love, it is as much love as one can ever take. It is love and love alone and one can never seem to have enough of it.
Living and loving are not one grand expedition nor is it a luxury cruise. There will moist certainly be luxuries along the way, there will be meadows with green grass and beautiful flowers, there will be the wonderful music of brooks and the solidarity of woods. Even if it turns out not to be luxurious it will most certainly be happy. But that will not be all that is to it, there will storms and there will be dark clouds that slowly crawl its way over the marvelous dreams that we so incipiently weave. Even while as I was writing these wonderful words of love I am scornful at my lovely wife for she just bugged me insipidly. For she must know what I am doing and is convinced that whatever it is that I am doing, I love it more than her and this time she may very well be right.
Every fight revitalizes the relationship, you fight and you get it out of your system. Then you make up, apologize and make slow and passionate love as if you two where separated for an eternity. That is how you make it work and make it last, the fights and the thrown China is as much part of this voyage as the reckless careless love that we inspire. But one thing must be remembered not all fights are meant to be won some are to be lost as others are to be won, because your loss your victory as well.
Now are you wondering what has all this to do with the beautiful mornings I was earlier describing? Each of those mornings is a rose and they have their thorns. Every morning as you wake, as you glance at the angelic face, with eyes closed, face calm and a small unperceivable smile hanging on her luscious lips one must realize that it is love that is sleeping with you love that is both beautiful and thorny. Slowly when you kiss her temple and take in her scent, gently as you press her to you and feel in you, her heart beat that is the beauty of life that is love. When in your dreams and in your passion your heart beats as one and when every morning at the sight of that woman your heart skips a beat, that is love. And such love is made with great patience and utmost care.
PS: I no longer scorn at her but has a smile on my face that says that I can’t be angry at her long enough and at the first sight of her when I sneak out of my study, I will embrace her and look into the beautiful eyes of hers, I will kiss her on her soft lips just like our first kiss and the many first kisses hence. That is our love unspoken but forever expressed.

The Kiss

A small poem that I wrote for a past post and that was rediscovered now.

The day was dry, moments wary,
and then there was the kiss.
The sun shone and clouds gone,
and there was the Spring
Butterflies had come, birds sang
and then there was the KISS.
Read the whole article about the kiss here The Story of a Kiss

In Her Beautiful Eyes

Everything I know of that day I know from the myriad reflections it casted on her beautiful eyes. Everything thing about that day I remember not from sensing but from watching shadows it casted on the deep abyss of her eyes. That is where I was looking, that is all where I could bring myself to look, they were insidious like the fire was to the moth, captivating, entrancing. I am sure a million stars twinkled that night for eyes they out sparkled the finest of diamonds. What I did that day what I said that day, a different being of consciousness did for I was too busy witnessing the miracle that she was.

As I held out my hands to the open car door, I first saw her legs, with the freely flowing tunic caressing her smooth skin and soon enough a delicate hand came resting on my hands and a smile on my eyes. I was transfixed in that moment in time and a part of me shall forever be. She held my hands, trembling yet firmly holding on to mine as we ascend the stellar stairs. There was on her lips the most fabulous of smiles, one that befitting of the princess she was. Slowly we were shown to the dimly yet intoxicating lit tables placed near the dark waters of the pool that reflected the whole of heaven above and that which were ours to be taken. The dim yellow flickers of these half dozen candles played on her face the most coquettish of dances, seductive and sultry they suavely moved. A vision so serene you see but seldom in life that the mere sight of such paradisiacal beauty stops all of time and nature about it. I knew the light smile that have had strayed on to my lips and was slowly creeping into my eyes which but now filed with an almost animalistic desire. 

I think there was a man singing a beautiful European melody that may have ones made love bloom in the hearts of many a lovely princessess, I cannot vouch for his being there but the music I remember. I remember because of the subtle moments she made in lieu to the rise and fall of rhythm. There was wine I remember the red liquid creeping onto her flawless scrumptious lips, they say they twitched under it’s spell I remember. 
I remember talking to her and I remember kneeling before her moments later. I know I was transcribing my heart to her in not the most eloquent English I have mastered. I remember stumbling and I remember stammering, I remember my agonizing search for words, in moments when they seem elusive like the mystery of the heavens. I remember the sole stone on a solitaire and the teary diamond that formed in her eyes. I remember a feeble dampness on my hands and a feebler still response. I remember hearing my heart beat so loud that they were both deafening and horrifying . I remember the deafening silence and the moments when time stopped agonizingly still. I remember the feeble nod and the ring move slowing as our settled on her hands. I remember the taste of her lips seasoned with tears.

And that was the platinum moment of our love.

Lost

Stranded in the crowded Island, Often I find myself alone.

Staring at the starry water that knows not malice.
True its heart it shows me my wet eyes and the damp face,
It knows not my heart and cruel in disposition it stands.
Yet it tells me a tale of lost hearts and valor.
It tells of battles frivolously fought and lost for no reason.
I stare and stare back at me does the truth.
That I stand alone in a crowded island, Stranded I stand.
Sitting under the palm tree, On its lofty sand beaches,
I realize I wrong the boat and the voyage.
Yet marooned I should not be for my crimes.
In passion of utmost carelessness they were done.
I live not that life of moderation and revel in flaming passion do I,
The sin of such life is the peril of loneliness.
Over the expanse and adrift in its care is a boat.
A boat that I have missed for all that that was not to be.
Burned in the high flames of vanities passion was the plank.
And lost was the ride that was only mine to ride.
In this paradisaical expanse I stand, falsely wronged.
I stand stranded on a crowded Island, forever alone.
Destined am I to the case of invisible bars, 
Of lost dreams and careless passion.
Destined am I to this lonely abyss,
Of very slow decay of perpetual loneliness.

Oh! My Lovely Lass


Oh! My lovely lass, why don’t come sit by my side and lay your head upon my lap. Let me rock you to sleep and ever so slowly to the world of a million dreams. Why don’t you tell me your weary day and I promise thee that I shall listen with all my heart. Of all the people in this world so wide, I for one know that there are times when you look not for advice and opinion but an understanding shoulder to rest your heavy head.
It may not be always that I am the ideal husband, but for the wonderful wife that you are, I sure will work my way up there. For a lass so lovely like you deserve but the very best and the best alone shall suffice.

Oh my Lovely lass, tell me of all the vistas that you have seen, the people you met and the life you experienced. Let us be that teens again, who sat on a mossy rock by the ravishing sea and talked of all the wonders under the sun, the moon and the million stars. Let me bet that guys who used to listen to your ever heart beat and who reveled in the rhyme of your breath. I confess to the time that was once, when my very existence clang onto thine like a drowning man to straw.

Oh my love, tell me your tale and do fill those many a blank pages that I in my mindless slumber missed, I promise thee to miss not another page of our wonderful saga of love, I will with religious adherence etch every word of our life to be in the beautiful script that ought to be. Oh my love this I promise.
Oh my dear, do come and sit by my side, lay you dainty head on my lap, let me cajole you, let me relish you, Oh my love be here with me as if you knew that I belonged to thee.

Oh my love, look at me like you used to look, your eyes so moist and dreamy. Let me behold the love, the love know has not died, not yet.

The Plucking of the Daffodil

There was once a little daffodil,

Leaving beneath the great oak tree,
Who was also her dear uncle Bill,
Under his shade she dreamt a life free
Of chasing her dreams, ever so many.
Under the million stars, her dreams she kindled,
Of the faraway lands and knights in shining armor,
There she lay awake, night after night so splendid.
She had a smile to stop a king and humour,
A pretty face too to match.
Every night she dreamt of many a great things,
Of singing to the birds in early mountain dawn,
Of kissing the queen and of donning her mighty crown,
Of touching a prince and forever be in him gone,
But alas that was not so to be.
One fateful day came the great merchant doom,
He asked Uncle Bill so artfully for his dear little niece,
Many a great things awaits he said, not a drop of gloom,
For this beautiful daffodil would make a garland for ladies fair and nice,
Promised him of a place so fair, and all that’s good for his little niece.
The lovely little daffodil wept and wept and wept all right,
“I am so young, yet so tender for my dreams be forever crushed,
It is too early for me, to lose all of life from sight”
She pleaded and begged, but yet her opinion away was brushed,
Oh dear, Oh our poor little daffodil.
Her dear Uncle Bill did seldom put up a face so stern,
Pointed at his niece and said in a voice ever so hoarse.
“I wish only well, my dear little child, all I wish is you not burn
For you are to me precious as the short king’s mighty horse”
I wish only good and all the glittering glory to you.
I know of your dreams, so high and mighty,
Of wandering the worlds and of the royal garden,
But you are only a daffodil and take that not so lightly,
I am old and weak and with you future laden,
This is for you good my dear little one.”
On the day of the great plucking, came the merchant doom,
She was plucked ceremoniously, our little miss daffodil,
No more a miss but ever so young and yet to bloom,
She cried so hard that night and lost was her dreams and will,
Only to wither away in the dark shadows of an alley way back.

My Long Love (His) Story : The Tale of January

‘The Beginning’ or as I like to call it ‘The Tale of January’

There are no preludes, no forwards and certainly no prologues. But maybe, just maybe I will add an epilogue. Sure I will add an epilogue. How hard can that be? Right? So here is my little long love story from the beginning, I mean from the very beginning.

The first time I ever fell in love with any person or got anywhere close to being in love was at the age of ten, eleven perhaps. But even before that I was associated with girls but that can only be classified as the ones I liked or the ones my friends liked to associate me with. The problem can be rather simply be stated as I had no idea what it was to be in love. What can you expect out of a boy whose age is less than ten and all the ideas about love that he has ever had has been fuelled by movies. But when at the age of eleven I met this girl (let’s call her January), I knew it was something different and altogether ‘out of this world’. But things with January where not that easy and not to mention that I was totally an amateur in the matter of relationships. I must confess that the years that were to follow where enough to realise the rather accomplished stalker in me. But it took me over four years of conscious effort to gather the courage to speak to January. Even after that I was scared to hell of losing her by my one off handed remark. Things looked good or at least from my perspective it did to me. At the end of the fourth year I was so much into January that I and January was like… Hmm… Republic Day and January perhaps.


Then came the judgement day, the day I was to propose to her, I am not going to give you much insight into the way and manner of my proposal for the fear of being prosecuted and thrown to the deep pits in hell by the other sex in general and may be some rather too romantic males. But I did propose and I did it as sweetly and charmingly as I could, given the immediate circumstances and the strange and unaccounted seismic activity that persisted through my body the whole day. But through broken words and longs sighs and a trembling hand I did propose and was in elated to a land beyond heavens when January accepted it with the sweetest smile I have seen on her beautiful face. But fate has other plans and trust me it makes twists that makes most fighter pilots throw up. The next when she met I knew that something was wrong and she came to me, stood next to me looked me in my eyes and said “My mother says I can’t and so I can’t”. It took me some time to gather what she meant and before I could say anything she was gone and thus In a matter of less than a day my love life had experienced both success and heartbreak and with that ended the month of January and the first love of my life.

I can’t tell it was a total mayhem, but there were lessons that I could take from that one experience, of course I was too heartbroken to see anything at first and I imploded into myself for a long time and trust me February was not such a short month as it would seem to some people. My life from then took a lot of using to for my friends, but these days are the sole reason I started writing. I would never have risen had I not fallen that badly. The lessons from that one day took me over a year to learn and as each time I relieved that which is still do but with significantly less frequency, I learned a lot and I will leave it that.



The epilogue as I promised commences. One must understand that if I took the initiative to call my first girlfriend as January then there must be others to follow, Hence you need not look furlong for this long love story has a marvelous ending , one that ends in its own merit. No matter what happens and what angel one meets in his days to come the first love of his life shall forever be remembered. The days I spent dreaming of our future, the hours I waited for her sight, the seconds I spend with her and the whole world that danced to the tune of my romance. I remember each with a gratitude that is unassertable. If this story does has a happy ending, it is she who made me see it and if I never had loved January I would never have realized the love of my life when she came in friend of my eyes, I would never have understood what her smile signified and what her manner conveyed. It is with the sincerest gratitude that I remember our days or rather my days and our half a day.

Bon Voyage, Cousin!

Cousins


I got a call a few minutes ago, it is impossible to call it a call, all it was a monologue of half a sentence long. A string of words from him and an uneasy silence on my part, that’s what our conversation was. Can I call it a conversation I am not sure, but one thing I am sure of is that the feeling were genuine, even though my response was brutal and highly prejudiced.


Before I divulge what he spoke and what its implications are, I must tell you who he is and what he meant to me in another era. He is my cousin that much I am sure you would have guessed and here is more about my cousin that you would need to know to understand our relationship and its prejudices. I am willing to write about him only because I know he will never read it and even my stupid family will never stumble upon this, it will be buried deep in my archives waiting for an occasional visit and will eventually be forgotten. I guess when it comes to my cousin my ungratefulness extends to such a level that I could not even remember his name. May be its true that when relationships are forgotten through time and when they gets buried for so long in memory even blood shall lose its flavor.


He is cousin or nephew I know not which, I suppose I never got hold of their distinctions and I sure am not in a mood to look it up now. The fact it makes no difference what so ever to anything that I have to say or what I feel. His name is Vaishak and he is the son of fathers only sister. My father comes from not a wealthy family and he climbed up the social ladder (so he claims) on his own through much hard work and perseverance, hence his crude mannerisms. His love for book is perhaps the only personality trait I inherited from him or all I want to inherit form him. But nevertheless unlike him his family was not so lucky, I am not pretty sure whether “lucky” is the right word to use.

Bon Voyage

His sister’s marriage though happy is not with someone whose second nature is to have a rainy day account. This nature of his always left them at a state of perpetual poverty, never too rich never too poor either, kind of in the in between. This though in contemporary society is regarded as unfortunate, this has preserved in them a sense of innocence that is seldom seen among the corporate animals that roam the concrete jungles. They have simple taste and even simpler lives, something to envy I guess. 


My mother has instilled in me prejudices so coarse that it took me 21 years of my life to clear the soot and look at it with any clarity of mind. Such has been the extend of the prejudices that I forgot that my father actually had a family. It was like things in a fairy tales that are too good to exist. But I must Say my mother is not a bad person but pride and ego can do terrible things even to the amiable of angels. Don’t hate my mother I beg you, she doesn’t deserve that, She was only protecting me from what she had convinced herself was bad. Nonetheless her actions deprived me from understanding life as it is in its raw form. Alienating me from people who were earthly and volatile the same. I had to learn the art of being contended at the smallest of things on my own, to cherish the wet mud that molds my feet and the sight of the rare blue butterfly or even the smell of the virgin earth being touched by the mighty rains hands. But I ended up spending one third of my life learning these things when I could have readily understood it all, It was all there just outside.


I still remember the time I had spent with my cousin, the times we bathed together when we were children in the small open bathroom with mulberry bush hanging from one side, Splashing water from the little tank that use to store the water from the well. The little garden with all the beautiful flowers and the tasty mulberry bushes. The many a wonderful evening spend playing in the faint stream that ran by the green paddy fields. I still remember the small aquarium he had, a small one, with so many little fishes in it. Nothing too fancy, no expensive fishes just the ones he had caught form the nearby stream. He had even taught me how to catch a fish with nothing but a plain piece of cloth, Alas! I had forgotten it, I had forgotten it long ago I suppose along with the sweet memories of that era.


It surprises me how much there is to tell, I never knew the faded photographs in my father’s old photo album had so much history, so many memories in it. I never knew that the characters in those pictures had a life and they were more than their innocent smiles and that they were ones very much alive. Strange what one phone call, a few minutes of someone’s voice can accomplish. I don’t want to tell anything, may be another time when I feel I am much more ready to face the truth of life.


He had called me now to tell me that he is going to Qatar, in search of a job. I am sure he got a job in there where his other uncle works, I did not so much are bother to ask what he is doing and what job he got. I did not tell him anything but I did pray for him, pray that all that is good shall only befall him and I prayed him Bon Voyage.