April 21, 2012

Intimacy II

He can just make out her hair in the jumble of blankets and pillows.
He stands there looking at her, wishing that she was someone else.
Without removing his clothes he lies down next to her.
There are few things in the world more desolate than
undressing in the dark beside a woman who won't wake up for you.

Is it too much to want a tender and complete intimacy ?
Is it too much to want to sleep in someone's willing arms ?

He strokes her back, convinced that she can sense his thoughts, sense him wanting her.
If only she would wake up, put out her arms and tell him that she loves him,
he will sink back into the pillow and forget about ever leaving her.
But she has never done such a thing; nor him to her.
In fact sensing his fingers on her, she moves away, pulling up the covers.


April 19, 2012


She can hardly move about her room, without encountering his small keepsakes.
The trinkets that buy the world, she would smugly tell him while accepting them.
In their time, they had done duty for other, more precious gifts.

The bottle of perfume had been his gift for her last birthday.
"You can't afford it," she had said, clumsy with love.
"Does that matter?"
Nothing did; nothing had that day.

April 14, 2012

Thoughts on Love

It is beguiling how, in good relationships, even after years,
formerly undiscovered parts of people are suddenly exposed,
as in an archaeological dig.
They are not the kind of couple, who finish each other's sentences.
With them, there is always, so much more left to discover and understand.

The thing about love is, it is very real and tangible.
You can feel it between two people, sense their depths of pleasure.
It's no wonder everyone wants this kind of love - as if,
they have known such love before and can barely remember it,
yet are compelled even after, to seek it, as the only thing worth loving for.

Nothing is as fascinating as love, unfortunately.

April 11, 2012


She liked to believe that she ignored fashion.
She responded to its teasing, however, by random attempts at changing her status quo -
her hair was too long and, on other days, too short;
she roundly rejected saris and then wore them again after months, excited by their beauty.
She would spend hours over a sewing machine she could not fully control,
trying to turn out a dress, from scrapes of chanced-upon fabric,
which once finished she would promptly hate.

In between, were periods of spinsterish calm !

April 4, 2012

A leap of faith

And so it happens, through a concatenation of like events, that
she finds herself at the most unlikeliest of places - a temple.
She carries, in addition to the votive lotus, the muddied flowers of her bewilderment.
The obese pujari, plucks the lotus from the brown stems of her fingers
and stabs, when she is not been looking, a wound of vermillion upon her palm.

She notices nothing, but the placid silver mask with it's mysterious eye of lapis lazuli -
the stern women eye that seems to look at her with a candid unblinking stare.
It is to this, she addresses her anger but hears only her own echo, in return.
Slowly the sound of rushing waves fills her instead, their torment driving out her echo.
She walks slowly in pradakshina, circling her echo.

Fly away Peter

April 1, 2012

Hiding her heart

She reflects on how unerring we are in our choice of lovers,
particularly when we require the wrong person.
There is an instinct, magnet or aerial which seeks the unsuitable.

The wrong person is, of course, right for something -
to punish or humiliate us, let us down, leave us for dead, or,
worst of all, give us the impression that they are not inappropriate,
but almost right, thus leaving us hanging in love's limbo.

Not just anybody can do this.