I am waiting for me to turn 49.
Sooner mentally, if you count maturity.
Then the world will get to know
Of the prolonged battles hard fought,
Of the loves evanescent.
Of the sentiments bittersweet,
Of the stubborn commitments I kept,
Of the promises made to fail.
And of poems too pellucid to betray the labour.
Until when I become the poet of your choice
I am waiting for me to turn 49.
She said: Talking tires me out quickly, can we just walk by the footpath in silence for some time.. let this entire day together, absorb..
He nodded yes.
They let the passersby rush past them on this busiest stretch of the city. Her favorite place on earth.
On a few occasions, in order to give room for people to move past them, their arms brushed briefly against one another. She could feel her heart skip a beat, her stomach flip and her thoughts jumble. The seconds felt like minutes, everything on ‘slo-mo’. She was anticipating at the same time for this connection to break and the strange feeling inside to find its peace.
He wanted to prolong this moment.
Their arms briefly joined, palm against palm, elbow against elbow. He was tempted to wrap his fingers against hers but was too scared to be the first one to do that, uninvited. She looked so blank..oblivious of the moment, he tried hard to figure out what’s going on in her head. In vain but. He knew she didn’t like hand holding.
Both couldn’t look at one another for a long while. She stopped the first cab she could spot ,fumbled uttering the destination to the impatient driver. He took the last Metro home, sighing, “if only we were lost together on the same trail.”
From experience I know, you cannot write about a person at length if the character doesn’t interest you much. I would much rather prefer writing about my imaginary pencil box than wracking my brain trying to find words for a person that boring.
Today, I am writing about a boy I’ve known from eons back.
Some 100 years back, in the era of Orkut and Google Talk, he taught me how to download a movie from Torrentz and thus saved my college days.
I come from a background where I’ve mostly been treated as a shadow. You notice it and that’s all the acknowledgement about your existence. When was the last time you asked a shadow “Howdy?”. Albeit my respect to those who have this uncanny knack or shall I say privilege, of chatting with shadows. That’s awesome Bruh, keep it up!
He used to be a mysterious young man, I assumed, with plenty of secrets. Secrets that could be considered injurious to his already talked about reputation. I gave a damn about it, not because I wasn’t curious about it. As I reckoned, I would always get to hear only a partial side of the story, from different mouths, never quite the entire picture. Now don’t be too soon to label me a cynic, it is just that I’ve been under the influence of Kurosawa and the likes since teenage days. I remember deciding against judging him, even though I never got to know the whole truth.
Now, why am I writing about him today all of a sudden? We haven’t been in touch since god knows when, I forgot the count. I think he deserves to be written about here. Not to unveil his mysteries that one could decipher, but about the ways he could respect you, about his harmless intentions. This boy would lend a patient ear to you until you make it bleed! Be attentive enough to hold a conversation about absolutely anything under the stars.
It’s okay by both of us not to talk to one another, for each their own reason. But rarely in my life, have I ever wished a person not of my own kith and kin, so much of happiness. The boy deserves all the good wishes in the world 🙂 I don’t think, ever again in my life I will chance upon a friend like him. A friend who would ‘care’ just enough, a friend who would sure turn up as the only audience to your 75mm masterpiece someday! And I would ‘care’ just enough to talk gibberish to.
P.S: I know he reads my blog! Thanks for the listen again man.