Love is it? - Part five

ट्रेन जब स्टेशन पर रुकी तो रुचिका ने अपने बेटे को गोद में उठाते हुए एक चौकलेट थमा दिया. सामने रजनीगंधा के फूलों पे नज़र पड़ी तो अचानक अतीत के पन्नो से कुछ शब्द छिलक आये. कभी कभी सोचती हूँ कि जीवन के जिस जिस मोड़ को छोड़कर आगे बढने की कोशिश की है, क्या वे कभी टकराने की गुस्स्ताखी नहीं करेंगे? मिलना तो नहीं चाहती उन बीते, रीते लम्हों से, पर सोचती हूँ कि अगर कभी टकराकर मिल गई उस से तो क्या खुद को इस नई मैं में छ्पुती छुपाती उसे बिलकुल अपेक्षित कर पाऊँगी ?

"हवाओं की तरह तुम मुझसे मुखातिब हुए. दूर किसी पथरीले चट्टान पर, चुपचाप, मैं खड़ी हवाओं से बातें कर रही थी. तुमने अचानक मेरी मासूम दुनिया में दस्तक दिया.मैं थोडा अचकचाई, थोडा सा घबराई - पर कहीं ऐसा लगा जैसे ज़िन्दगी किसी अनुभव से टकरा गई हो. मेरा रोम रोम पुलकित था. न जाने मन में कैसे भाव उमड़ रहे थे. तुमने मुझे अपने आप से वाकिफ कराया. शायद मैं काफी अनजान थी. धीरे धीरे खुद को जानने और समझने लगी. अपने आप को पहचानने लगी. कल तक मैं जिंदगी जी रही थी. तुमसे मिलकर पता चला कैसे जी रही हूँ. कल तक मैं रिश्तों को समझती थी. तुमसे मिलकर उन्हें निभाने की सीख मिली. तुमने मुझे हर इंसान का महत्त्व समझाया. मैं स्वयं होकर भी स्वयं से सबको जोड़कर महसूस करने लगी. शायद काफी अजीब हो सब कुछ. पर मुझसे बिन कुछ कहे, तुमने मुझे काफी समझदार बना दिया. हमारी आपसी बात काफी कम हुई लेकिन तुम्हारे द्वारा कहे गए कुछ गिने चुने अल्फाज़ भी मेरी ज़ेहन में उतर गए. तुम दूर होकर भी हर पल मेरे पास खड़े मुस्कुराते रहते. और तुम्हे शायद पता न हो पर मैं स्मृतियों के पटल पर ही सही पर तुम्हारे आस पास मंडराती रहती. फिर जिस तरह सोपान दर सोपान तुमसे करीब हुई थी, उसी तरह कदम दर कदम खुद को तुमसे अलग करने की कोशिश करने लगी. तुमसे जुड़कर ही समझ पाई की हर बार पाना प्यार नहीं होता. वह तो निरा स्वार्थ होता है. किताबों में पढ़ा था की त्याग भी प्यार का ही एक रूप होता है. लेकिन मैंने त्याग नहीं किया. त्याग तो उसका किया जाता है जिसे कभी पाया गया हो. मैं तो यह भी नहीं जानती की तुम मुझसे जुड़े हो भी या नहीं. और हाँ मैं सांसारिक शब्दकोष में अपने एहसास को बांधकर खोना नहीं चाहती. धीरे धीरे मैंने तुमसे जुड़े हर एक निशाँ को मिटने की कोशिश की. कई बार लिखे शब्दों को दोबारा लिखा पर कोशिश की कि तुम्हारे शब्दों को, तुमसे जुड़े अल्फाजों को खुद से अलग कर दूँ. हाँ, यादें हैं जो नहीं जाती.कोशिश करुँगी कि वे भी कहीं किसी तरह गुम हो जाएँ. उन्हें भी कहीं दफना दूँ. सुना है वक़्त के साथ स्मृतियाँ भी धुंधली पड़ जाती हैं . शायद समय के इस अनवरत क्रम में तुम भी मेरे अतीत की अतल गहराइयों में समा जाओ. बस एक ही गुज़ारिश है, कोशिश करना कि मेरे अतीत से बाहर झांककर मेरे वर्तमान में दस्तक मत देना. मैं शायद एक बार फिर दोबारा अपने आप को संभाल न सकूँ. बड़ी मुश्किल से एक कदम उठाया है. इसके बाद शायद और हिम्मत न बची हो मुझमे.

इतनी दूर चले आने के बाद इसे पढ़कर साहिल ने बस इतना ही कहा, "बस एक बार कह तो दिया होता, रुचिका." और रुचिका ने एक लम्बे अन्तराल के बाद कहा, " साहिल, अगर तुम सब जानकर भी चुप रहे, तो यह प्यार नहीं एक प्रतिद्वन्द था. और मुझे बस तुम चाहिए थे. तुम्हारी जीत की शायद कद्र ही नहीं कर पाती मैं."

Love is it? - Part Four

This was due for a long time now. The February sun glided past on the veranda kissing the pillars and pilasters and shading the free expanse in a grey apparition. Radhika sat there knitting the complex threads of wool. A steel grey muffler it was. For Nishith.

They had met just twice. Only twice. But they knew each other like souls mates. Or this is what she thought. In this world distances of geography hardly matter. It all began on a silken Saturday.

Nishith had a way with words. He could write almost anything and let readers swoon to the rhythm. Radhika chanced upon the same one day and it all began. The interaction on world, life and everything that a writer could compose and an auditor could fathom. Radhika's lonely life after she lost Dhruv seemed to gain a new verve and meaning each evening on her laptop. But they never moved beyond the literary realms. There was a control and a sense of freedom in the mutual touch they shared on the fabric of the stories Nishith wrote. Fresh and new. Like minted dew. Like the sun each dawn.

Nishith's work went down in the final call up for the literary fest. Radhika learnt about it in the interview that happened on one of those lazy evenings after work. She got down the memory lane and searched for that one meaning that sociability offers. Recognition? Respect? Loneliness? Or plain evasion? A new way to efface one's self? She smiled and continued with the last few pages of Nishith's novel.

It was an informal corporate meet at her office that weekend. Radhika had to go despite herself. In an olive green dress and loose hair, she looked very much the spring that April. This is what Nishith said when he saw her. After inane, crisp introductions, Radhika realised Nishith's wife, Ambika was her company's lobbyist. Sipping the drink and stumbling out the remnants of their conversation on his blog, they let the party groove and move while time stood still on the stony porch they sat on.

"Goodbye, Nishith."

"Would you be my muse, Radhika?"

Radhika left for work early that Monday. Had a very tense and hectic week ahead. Driving down the roads of the maniacal city she learnt of the literary prize that embarked Nishith on his new journey to stardom. Life it is.

The reinvocation of the mythical Urmila in Nishith's text, the reincarnation of Krishna's Radha in his writings jolted Radhika's sleep into a steady delirium of her past with Dhruv. The memories of Dhruv's mother hugging her daughter-in-law tight when her son failed to turn up for her call or when Dhruv reverentially passed on all his property in Radhika's name before leaving for Spain - all seemed to soak her in the dew of her tears till early morn. And then she had Nishith's line in his novel to her rescue. "I want you to fight for me against me."

She felt like she is losing herself in the myriad hues of life - career, love, marriage, Dhruv and everything that life introduces as important and inalienable. Radhika became whatever they wanted her to be. Where she was in the roles she played, she seemed not to care a bit. A doting wife, a perfect daughter-in-law, a successful professional and many many more Radhikas emerged out of her closet with each demand. She gave herself away completely. As Nishith said, "You held all of them as willing prisoners in your personas, Urmila. Ever cared if you deserved a ground too?"

And she could just say,"Life is too short for installments, Nishith."

The kind of rarity she felt in his company came with a lot of silent distance. The odd thing about the kind of conversation they had was that there was so much unsaid in the said and said in the unsaid that gradually the nothings acquired lot more meanings than somethings spoken and discussed. Perhaps it was the charm of the unknown, the unexplored, the untouched that had her acquiesce to the strange emotion between them. It was a coming together of the simple spilled realities into the two separate lives they lived, in two separate columns of the world.

Nishith was a successful writer. The paparazzi seemed to offer him a lonely respite from the constant evasion of his self and its effacement in the fabric he wove in his works. While Radhika accepted the same as her warm quilt, Nishith discarded each shred of his longing in those fine curvatures of expressions. Yes, they fit so well.

It was another warm Sunday when Radhika sat in her garden, overlooking the wide entrance of her house, reading the few pages of Nishith's new novel. She was all in tears, lapping up each word that spilled out in the frozen moment as blood drops on the ethereal, white snow. She allowed each of those to drench her in her commitment to the life she swore she would offer herself. For once it was not a symbol but a structure, a definite solved problem of suspended tension, of balance, of security in the counterthrusts.

She was convinced she wanted her reality now. Real like a naked need. Not like a surrender or an obeisance but like a willing capture of herself in Dhruv's soul. Like an embrace out of her complete acceptance of her own being. Not the hopeless erasure of the ego when you love someone but the very clear understanding and recognition of the 'i' when she could say, "i love you"...even for once, if at all - without any demand, any expectation, any care, any desire of mutual reciprocation.

When Dhruv left her to face the world here, she discovered the truth behind pulling the house together all this long - the abundance with which she had sacrificed herself in her devotion for everything Dhruv was. The surplus 'love' and extravagant emotions she felt all this while appeared vulgar and contemptuous to the integrity she had, she desired, she knew she commanded. With that one goodbye, she let herself close in a corked bottle, lid shut with a final snap. She knew that she failed in keeping Dhruv to her by letting him go free, by allowing herself the luxury of unsurpassable trust on her own dutiful love. She failed in fathoming that love is never only duty or devotion. Perhaps that is why she could never love because everytime she tried, her 'i' melted into his oblivious existence.

Nishith's words gave her a fragrance of discovery. A compulsive impulse and an intuitive power to decide her fate - all on her own, for once. She read Dhruv's mail again. Visualised him exactly as he would have said, "I am coming back, Radhika. Love."

Moments erase merciless memories. Or this is what one has heard them say. Do they erase or do they merely lighten the charcoaled markings? The intense pain and dilemma behind forcing that smile on a creased, papery face - past innocence fades with time.

"Is my feigned smile enough to allow him to love me and for me to tolerate being loved in return? For godsake, can one ever get rid of love by any means of closure, at any negotiable price or unnegotiable compulsion? Or is this closure life itself? A finalised beginning? Can love acquire newer forms?"

Radhika and Dhruv together visited Nishith for his party. She clutched him tightly. Dhruv gave him one reassuring look and that itself said everything she had ever wanted to hear. His lips opened to mumble something when she stopped him and went to Nishith.

"Meet your muse, Nishith. You fulfilled her, unknowingly."

Dhruv smiled at Radhika, rediscovering her and his love. Radhika threw a parting glance at Nishith and wrapped the muffler around his neck. Thereafter, together they walked in the rains of life, beating sunshine and braving the winds.

It came with the winds. Like a breeze that had always nursed it along its curling spine. Like a desire too strong to be resisted. Like a loss as soon as one finds something. Like Radhika would say, "I love you, Dhruv." Like Dhruv would say, " Where were you for so long, Radhika?" Like Nishith would say, " I would never lose you Radhika. I could never find you to be able to say so."

Like all these spilled realities nourish themselves from above. Like one loves and loses, time and again.

मौन और शब्द

• • • • • कोई चुप्पी मौन नहीं होती.

          चीखते उद्गारों पे लगा प्रतिबन्ध होता है मौन.

          
          

          शब्दों की अजीब नगरी में छुपा सच होता है मौन

          शांत, गंभीर विशेषणों की चाशनी में आरोपित

          किसी अल्हड़ व्यक्तित्व का सच होता है मौन .

          हर विस्मृत की गई आवाज़ की अनुगूंज होता है मौन .

          
          

          शब्द मात्र छलावा है

          धोखा, फरेब , झूठ .

          सृजन मात्र है उन तरकीबों का

          जिनसे मौन पर पर्दा डाला जा सके ,

          जिनसे इंगित चेष्टाओं के गाम्भीर्य पे

          मतलब की बात थोपी जा सके .

          
          

          शब्द बांध नहीं पाते

          जज़्बात और आरोपित लक्ष्य को .

          मात्र असफल कोशिश होते हैं शब्द

          मन से गुण को पाटने वाले संकरे पुल

          जहाँ सिद्धांतो के चढ़ावे पे

          भेंट चढ़ जाती हैं कई अभिव्यक्तियाँ .

          
          

          जैसे परदेस में बहते आंसू

          सिसकियों की भाषा नहीं बन पाते

          वो टूट जाते हैं

          निस्सार सामाजिक संबोधनों में .

          
          

          वैसे ही जैसे वो मजबूत कंधे

          नहीं बन पाते बिखरे उन केशों का आलंबन .

          जैसे शर्माती सर्दियों की धूप

          नहीं चूम पाती पूरे आँगन को .

          
          

          शब्द होते ही हैं अपूर्ण

          मौन का एक लघु , पेचीदा परिचय .

          
          

          मौन होता है सच

          शब्द चीखता असत्य ...

I am where...

I walked those paths again.

Yellow remembrances -

dry leaves on the beaten path

cobwebs on the uncared corners

some stale fragrances in sleepy whispers.

I walked again.

Heart skipping beats with each step.

Purple bruises -

steps on crunchy fallen leaves

screech and squelch.

I shiver,

get back,

retrace -

afraid, frightened

tears, nightmares.

More tears.

A seductress lane.

Serene, golden grey -

alleys that end in wide armed pilasters -

comforting, inviting.

The turtle peers out

the shell gives way

crawl i say -

soft, tentative.

Softer lights through the tunnel.

Choked vision.

Run, run i murmer.

The legs tired

breath short

preserving rot and muck

Get back, get back - i scream.

The stable pilaster smiles

as always.

I turn back,

look again stealthily.

A long deceived smile i return.

Outside air, in the open.

Teasing me with caresses.

I am on the run -

again.

This time to nowhere -

as always.

Indulgent smiles

enchanting affection,

demanding everything -

but my own self.

Neglected i lie

somewhere in the alleys

Lost or found?

Can't decide....:)

Confessions and ruminations on 'life' at home after seven years....

I came back to Delhi yesterday, after my longest stay back home ever since i left the place. One month at a stretch. It feels good. And worse or better to be judged after the after results, i feel different, almost changed, transformed. I am no longer me in more than one ways. Firstly, apologies to all my friends who painstakingly reviewed my texts and snippets of lines here and there. The story is delayed for lack of enough creative drive. Secondly, i have no clue what do i intend to write on my blog today. May be it is my elation after so long a sabbatical from the virtual world, that i just wish to pour in words without caring if they mean anything at all, if at all they attempt to.

I did not venture out this time in Patna. One month i was absolutely at home barring one day when i caught up with some buddies at PMCH while on my way return from a school teacher's house. This was strange for i am not really the domestic type. Stranger still for i enjoyed every moment. It was quiet, serene and beautiful.

Some interesting and soul searching moments graced my stay. The primary one being the visit to my school teacher. I would like to maintain anonymity of his name and the particulars. But the sight of a fast-ageing man in his late sixties, trying to salvage his ever cheerful spirit by very creative and very beautiful attempts at stamp collection, painting, various kinds of craft was very very refreshing. The pain and problems of old age, lonely couples and the need to see their sons and daughters through a promising career despite themselves was heart wrenching. Just wondered, if life actually becomes so complicated, so busy to allow time to rule you than otherwise. Should it?

I was invited by my alma mater to teach English to class eleventh and twelfth students for a couple of days. It was to put it in one word, exhilarating. I was proud at the honour, really excited at the prospect and most strangely very very expectant. I can't believe i actually jittered for a moment as i did the first day of my first major inter school debate. It was strangely smiling a moment considering it was definitely not the first time i was taking a class. In fact, the strength of classes at Army School are much smaller as a matter of AWES policy. It was nostalgic. To see some very old students in the school giggle and stealthily say, "Arey ye toh assembly conduct karwane wali didi hain" and some new ones to stare and remark, " Bahut strict ma'am hain yar", some naughty and lively attempts to pass witty, situational comments, the frantic scampering off the corridors when teachers (and yes me too!) walked on the same was so nostalgic. Coincidentally, i taught in the same class i had once studied in. Memories flooded, i got misty eyed once but well camouflaged all with a stern attempt to write something on the board.

Maa and papa left me with my youngest brother in Patna for the village for almost half of the time i stayed there. It was fun yet inspiring. To see them pack up and leave explaining how difficult it is for baba and dadi to live alone and that when situations favour them with their son's and bahu's company, they would grab every opportunity, was a little puzzling at first. Afterall, maa and paa were the ones who called me home. But later in my solitude, in the peace of the entire house, i realised how they have taught me the various lessons of life at various stages through these silent, subtle, muted gestures. I feel proud and really lucky at being brought up under them. I missed them but well to live with the disaster kid and manage all his culinary whims and fancies at home was a daunting task in itself. I enjoyed my stay and my productive time with books.

One of my cousins is getting married may be earlier next year. She is a year elder to me. I had not been able to talk to her for some undefined reason after hearing the news. Worse still, i had acted abnormally awkward at moments she tried reaching out to me and trying to talk about the same. I still can't fathom why i behaved so. But well, i did. May be got more scared about thinking about the whole thing than her. May be i could not imagine her in her post-marital roles and saw the glaring disconnect with what we had been all these years and what will become of her after the official declaration of being tied up. I mustered courage and talked. It was lovely to hear her out and cathartic to help me loosen up the stupid reflex in me. We reminisced about one rainy day in Ranchi when all of us siblings drenched ourselves to the skin on our way back from an adventure trip in Ranchi to some undefined forested outskirts of the city while elders back home were scared to their guts at the prospect of around six-seven of us missing. Well, i confess the plan was mine but for my seemingly innocent face was saved while our elder cousin bro got a severe thrashing of his life. We laughed our hearts out. And thankfully, reconnected as we always were.

I observed the Navratra puja this time. So unlike me, for i am not strictly religious in my faith. And surprisingly loved the ritualistic routine of getting up early in the morning, reading the texts and shlokas and all such attachments. Well, i could not fast for the obvious foodie in me gave up the first day itself. But i atoned for my departure from the dictates by observing a nirjala fast on Durgaashtmi. I would never forget maa's expressions at looking at my photographs on Navami. I had observed Kanjak puja and invited two girl kids to savour seven prasad items i prepared early morning. Maa is still aghast at my transformed religious fervour. And so i am. I still can not relate to this me who is suddenly drawn into institutional religion without a prior rational thought process. I seem to be just doing things i like at the moment rather than my earlier habit of proper dissection of whys, hows, whats. Crazy!

Diwali was fun. Funnier was my maa's insistence to make me sit for "Naak pujna hai tumhara" much before the Lakshmi Puja. As a child, i cried my heart out at not been worshipped on this day. I whined and got everyone irritated until they gave in to worship me for as i argued then that one keeps hearing the entire year round that "Ladkiyan lakshmi hoti hain." Precisely for that reason, on the day of Lakshmi Pujan, why can't girls be worshiped than only some symbolic photograph or idol. I thought that my stupidity and childishness was forgotten long time back but for the actual pujan on that day. It was funny and crazy to see maa and papa touch my feet but somewhere they earned a new respect albeit our differences in opinions on mutually controversial issues and positions. I learnt the new meaning of committing to what one believes in rather than following customs and rituals and religion blindly. I learnt how labels like conservative and liberal, traditional and modern are not strictly and mutually exclusive.

I know that this seems like a stream of consciousness blabber in a blog. But may be the seasonal fever and bad cold is getting on to me. May be i am missing home so bad that i could no longer concentrate any longer on this month Yojana's discussion on Non Governmental organisations. My be this post will ease out my emotional slur.

In the hope of learning more about different facets of life, newer dimensions of people i seem to have known for so long, in the hope also that the nasty cold gets better, i sign off for now.

And indeed apologies for the delay in the story i claimed to have written. I seem to have lost that craving to pen something down back home. May be with time, the urge will grow again. The texts are promptly saved, the peripheral lines etched in my mind, waiting for that impulse to take over. Thank you all for being patient and liberal with reviews here, on my mail, texts and facebook.

Love - is it?? Part Three

They say life moves on. And that it surely does - with super random pace. Friends get busy with work, relationships, career etc. etc., leaving only a trail of aromatic whispers behind. Nostalgia yes! But more than that a realisation that all is apocryphal, temporary - nothing lasts. Not even love.

It was a bright sunny Sunday. The sun mercilessly stared through the glass panels in Vrihad's bedroom. A severe headache gripped him. Oh yes! Last night was the party! May be the hangover. Vrihad reached out for the empty water jug. Frustrated, got up to grab a bottle from the refrigerator. The television glared and blared at him. Gaping at its night long, committed entertainment to no one in the hall, Vrihad switched it off. Smells of stale beer, dusty shoes, leftover pizza. All leave - everyone - leaving trails of memories behind.

Pavani and Vrihad sought divorce after a seven-years long marriage. Thankfully, they had no children to fight over and further complicate things. What went wrong is futile to think about. After all marriage is not all rose-tinted like a wedding - only smiles, only bling, only sheen. It has to be renewed each day, to be cared for each passing moment. And it is difficult. Difficult to wake up and see the same person every day, difficult to find cuteness in the irritating habits of the other any longer, difficult to keep respecting the passion for work and sense of social responsibilities in the other half, very very difficult to remain cocooned in the former days of courtship. Marriage is lot of compromise, lot of patience, lot of trust and above all lots and lots of commitment. And if any one of these begin being shaky, slowly but steadily, the edifice crumbles.

Vrihad realised a tear drop on the newspaper. The Sunday suddenly seemed bleak and boring. After all, one can not expect each day and night after 30 to be a college-goers bliss. Friends have to have their own family time. Colleagues have to have their space.

Yes, space. And suddenly Vrihad remembered that beautiful day with Pavani. That day when he realised, "This was it that i wanted!"

"Vrihad, i am out for a friend's home warming party. You want to join me?"

"Nah sweetie! I shall pick you up in two hours or so. I would better lounge around for some more time."

Pavani smiled, nodded and shut the bathroom door. This is what he looked for in their companionship. Mutual freedom, space, independence. Not being crushed by unnecessary social obligations, mutual friendship calls etc etc. Grabbing a mug of beer, he lovingly looked at the fresh-out-of-shower Pavani, getting ready for the bash. He went to her and looking deep in her eyes said, "Thanks Pavani! I am so damn lucky to have you in my life! Unlike other women who stifle one with love, you don't. And still you love me so much more."

Pavani's mouth opened for an affectionate laugh and she patted Vrihad on his forehead, "Mr. i-am-so-feverish-last night! Do not forget to pick me up in a couple of hours. I want some time with you too. This space is merely to atone for the day long engagement you have with me."

They kissed and she left.

The apartment, empty and insipid, stared at him all this while. Vrihad realised it was time for him to pay the dhobi, newspaper-vendor, cook...holy crap! He had left the milk to boil in the kitchen. He rushed inside to find a charred pan, staring teasingly in his face. Vrihad drank another glass of water, placed an order for a brunch and tried to occupy himself with the newspaper.

"US decides to withdraw troops from Afghanistan". And this headline transported him to his world with Pavani - only just a few days ago.

"Vrihad, i need to work out a paper for my lecture this Friday, honey! Drop me to Prof. Verma's place. He is a brilliant scholar of international relations. By the time you finish off catching up with Sharad, i shall be done with my discussion too." Pavani peered out of the kitchen cabinet to catch Vrihad shaving in the mirror.

"Yeah sure!" Vrihad muttered under his breath.

On their way to return, Pavani said, "Mmmmmmm....what about a lunch outside today, Vrihad? I am a little busy with work for this international seminar"

Vrihad blurted out, " No Pavani. I want to go home. Can you not reserve these articles and papers on days other than a Sunday. It is the only day we have, honey!"

Pavani glared at him, "Vrihad, it is a mega event. I need to work yar. And this US-Afghanistan thing is too complex and historical to be grasped in a day. I am sorry, i need my space to work. These two weeks i am super busy."

Vrihad looked at her. He nodded and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Yeah Pavani! I understand. Sorry yar! Wait! What about i cook something for you today?"

Pavani threw a disinterested glance at Vrihad. "It is okay, Vrihad. We shall order."

This was the beginning. Days after the seminar, which was a huge hit in the intellectual circles across universities, Pavani got enmeshed in more research papers, more projects, more assignments, more meetings.....Sundays were Mondays and weekdays were of course, working days. Vrihad's hectic week-long work in the law-firm guaranteed him no respite before ten and sometimes eleven at late nights. He reached home to eat cold dinner, a sleeping Pavani and of course a short night to rejuvenate for a new day.

Slowly, the oil crisis in the world, the judgements on Salwa Judum and the politics of Libya and Tunisia grew more important for both Pavani and Vrihad than catching a movie on the one Sunday they got, cuddling on the sofa once in a while, eating ice-creams from the same bowl - these became 'cheesy, juvenile and nonsensical' gestures within a very short span of time.

Vrihad thought of talking to Pavani. "Pavani, Maa wants to visit us for a couple of days. I was wondering if you could spare sometime at home after classes.'

"Vrihad, i need to work in the library yar. I need references and sources. I can get manuscripts and books issued. But then, you know, work-efficiency is much more there than at home. Why don't you take a couple of days off."

"Pavani, you know the current turmoil in the legal situations yar. I can't, unless i wish to shoo away some very powerful clients. Try to understand Pavani. It is a little difficult. Look, when you worked like a workaholic for your seminars, i did not complain. But do you realise, we have no time for each other now. Look, i am not complaining......"

"Yeah right! Vrihad, i know what you mean. You want me to baby-sit your Momma when you build a lucrative career and i sacrifice my work for being a homely married woman! Brilliant, Mr.-i-am-all-for -gender-equality!"

"Pavani, Relax! I am merely requesting you to spend some time back home, AFTER your classes get over. And not to baby-sit my mom, but to just be here at home, working in the other room if you wish too....It is ok. I shall manage. I shall say, i could not get the tickets or something else. You enjoy your workaholism."

"Vrihad, this is preposterous! Yes, yes, why won't you? After all, i am the one anyway, to carry the tag of being the negligent daughter-in-law always. Go ahead! Do what you want to!" And she burst out in her tears.

Vrihad looked at her in disgust and stomped off.

The door bell rang. Vrihad collected the food and decided to get a quick shower and wash out the morning fatigue before digging in the meal. In the shower the bitter sweet memories of Pavani assaulted him again. How they shared the happiness of Vrihad's first job salary in the quasi-rain of the shower! How they celebrated Pavani's first success in the literary festival's seminar on the rooftop on a moonlit night! And it all seemed just yesterday. How adorable Pavani looked with her wine-sipping lips and ringlets of hair caressing her cheek that evening! Vrihad emerged out of the shower.

Memories are the worst faculties of a human mind. They store so much, they torment so much. Why can we just not live and let things be? Why is it always important to remember birthdays, goddamn "first kiss day","first date day", "proposal day"...and what not! Vrihad stared at the food and felt fresh onslaught of tears on his face.

"I still love her so much. After all the humiliation, disrespect and bitterness that the past few months offered to me with Pavani's new and fresh ways to insult and instigate me, how can i still love her so much? Is she right when she says,"You men have zero self respect when you fall for a woman!' Whatever it is, i love you Pavani. I love you so very much!"

Vrihad got up to grab some alcohol again. Chugging deep gulps of the same and forcing himself to eat the ordered mess of food in the plate, Vrihad realised it was long before she actually signed the divorce papers that she had exhausted herself of the love for him. Just as their wedding was a formal solemnisation of their love in the respective societies they hailed from , those papers were merely to announce an end to their mutuality. He began to feel sick. He began to feel giddy.

Pavani got home late and announced calmly, in her usual, sophisticated, pretty and silken voice,"Vrihad, things are just not working out between us. We don't talk, we don't laugh, we do not spend time together. Look, it is none of our faults, you know. Reality post-marriage is different. We become habituated to each other after sharing so much after a couple of days. There is no romance left in our lives, Vrihad. Let us call it off."

Vrihad looked at her in dismay. "Pavani, are you saying we should consider divorce?" His voice shattered, just as a crystal glass on a concrete slab.

"Oh! Come on, Vrihad! Don't be such a Puritan! It is ok. It is not the end of our lives yar. We can still be friends. Just that, off late, i have realised it is increasingly becoming taxing for me to see you around. I confess honestly, Vrihad, i do not feel anything for you anymore. Forgive me, Vrihad, but please let me go. I can't bear all this."

"Pavani, you merely need a break, sweetie. Nothing more. Look, i have seen you all these years. Trust me, give ourselves some time. It will all work out."

Pavani looked at Vrihad and said, "Vrihad, you do not know about it perhaps, but i am also involved with this colleague at work."

Vrihad looked crushed.

He broke down, all of a sudden. He signed the papers and asked her to leave his apartment at the earliest. Pavani was inconsolable too.

Before leaving she hugged Vrihad. "Vrihad, i am sorry. I know i have hurt you. But trust me, when i say this. It just happened. This equation between us. Just as we gelled so well because we had common passions to talk about, Aniket and i bonded for the common interests in the subjects. It makes work easier for us. It makes lives simpler for us."

Vrihad looked at her with a stone dead expression. "This 'us' and 'we' does not include me, Pavani. I am a crumbled man. I have lost faith in myself."

"Oh, come on Vrihad! As it is you are so busy with work. Trust me, all this will fade away with time. See, anyway, things have changed between us drastically. You never compliment now. We never enjoy quiet times together. All that is left to our marriage is crumbs of leftover exhibition of lust - nothing more, Vrihad. Which, by the way, is easier to procure anywhere."

"Pavani, are you punishing me because 'i' did not have time for you? Because "i" fell short of love for you? Is it always necessary that men pay compliments every alternate day to their women in order to convince them of their love? Is love all about words and crooning sweet nothings in the ears all the time?"

"Vrihad, you are indirectly accusing me now. May be it is a mutual fallout. Maybe it was a wrong decision to begin with. But whatever it is, Vrihad, it is all over from my end. You look out for yourself."

Pavani said this and left the apartment, robbing the house of its homeliness.

Vrihad had had enough of beer and food for the day. He slouched on a sofa, opened his laptop to finalise tomorrow's work schedule. Work was the best way to drown oneself, apart from beer, of course.

Vrihad opened a mail that Pavani had sent, perhaps moments ago.

"Just wondering, is love never enough? Sorry for what i did, but next time, i say from experience, you do not try to immortalise change in forced permanence. I loved you exactly as i loved Aniket. Nothing more, nothing less. But even that was transitory, Vrihad. However, i would not leave him for the simple reason that i can not keep changing men in my life as fresh clothes each day. Just realised that it might be difficult to continue to love eternally but it isn't to live without it. You just need to grow immune to its call. Maybe i learnt it from you. Thanks."

Vrihad deleted the same and twisted his face in a cynical smile. Yes, love indeed is never ever enough, wondering if it ever was, would he have failed in making her understand all this?

Love - is it?? Part Two

It was deja vu. Similar words had reached him six years ago.

Samarth hurried back to his apartment to check his mail the last time. Was he dreaming? Did she actually say she wanted to see him? Clutching the next flight ticket to Delhi, he made his way to the airport. Aparna's melting voice ringing clear in his ears.

"Samarth, i want to meet you once."

No sooner did he hear this, than he got the first flight to her city. Among the many sordid moments in their relationship for the past couple of months now, this call convinced Samarth that they might just be together again. For the last time. He would make all amends. He would change for her completely. He would do all that she ever wanted, and much more. Aparna's innocent and reassuring smile clouded all his apprehensions with hope now.

They met in their small little corner in campus where it had all begun. Samarth had reached much before Aparna arrived. The days just flashed by his eyes. Aparna shedding those tears and looking at him with those searching eyes, his hug which she said reassured her that she could make all wrongs right given that he was with her, their first kiss, their stretched conversations on life, Brecht, sex, career, Marx, malignant cancer cells - everything, everything under the sun jolted the bygone Samarth from this version of him that lay all ruined and incomplete, all half in her absence. Samarth knew, just knew that Aparna was his life.

Aparna came and sat down. Not even a moment passed when she looked up at Samarth and said, "Look Samarth, it is all over. I know you could have been convinced by all these months of ignoring you. But i just needed you to see that i am happy with my status quo. I just needed you to see that i do not need you anymore..."

Samarth cupped her face in his hands. Teary-eyed and almost broken, he muttered, " But i need you Aparna. I just can not live without you. Look, things will work out. I assure you with finality this time. I will do exactly as you say. But please, for godsake, do not leave me alone."

Aparna got up and went out to get coffee. Samarth cried and fresh onslaughts of memories and moments all gone assaulted him in her absence. Aparna was a charming, vivacious girl - very popular for her beautiful ways and intelligence. She was this girl who made things go right just by her magical presence. And suddenly from this one day, she refused to smile. She did everything that she was supposed to do but it seemed as if she was punishing herself with her own life. It was then that Samarth chanced to come in her life. What began as a partnership in the annual cultural festival of college developed into this meaningful, inspiring relationship between them. Aparna got hold of her life ravaged by her widow mother's malignant cancer status and Samarth got a new dimension to his life with this wonderful girl's presence in his life. Together they broke university records academically, coincidentally got into the same work profile in the same company. They had begun to believe that all was perfectly planned for them from above. They were happy. They were just brilliantly happy.

And this one day changed life for them forever. After their job training, Samarth got posted in far south and Aparna was given the prerogative to settle in her hometown given her family condition. They bade emotionally choked good-byes to each other. Perhaps unaware that life would change for them forever.

Aparna came back. She handed over him his coffee mug and insisted on thrusting that sandwich in his hands. After a few silent sips of their once favourite coffee, she began, "Samarth, it is not always necessary that two good people end up making a perfect couple. We all were kids when we indulged in this love-shove business yar. Look at this. I was emotionally wrecked at that time. I found a genuine friend in you. And, come on, you did confess, didn't you, that to date the most popular girl in campus was like the coolest part of this relationship for you? Samarth, we needed each other, mutually. We were friends with benefits. But it ought to get over yar."

Samarth looked at her with utter disbelief. "Aparna don't tell me all that you said right now was true! I did not date you because you were the most popular girl in campus! Never Aparna! I stood by you because i did not want to see a talent as you go waste over her family issue. Love was gradual between us, Aparna. We did not date like star-struck couples. We thought about each and every step all through before we plunged into a commitment. Please do not say we were friends of benefits, for godsake! Aparna, do those evenings of togetherness hold no meaning at all? Do those converstions on......"

"Oh! Shut up Samarth! I am independent. I am smart. I am beautiful. Earn as much as you do. It is juvenile to think Samarth that college days' romance last forever. I need a man different from you, you know. I can't imagine wasting my time and emotions in managing a guy all my life. I need a man. I need someone who is more mature, much much more mature than you. Someone who is strong enough to be able to hold me, control me. Someone who inspires me. Someone who is better than me in all respects, Samarth. Someone i can look upto. Someone who treats me as an equal because he can afford to do so, because he is better than me. Because he isn't insecure about losing me. Someone who respects me for what i am because he believes and trusts his own love enough to guarantee my love for him for the rest of our lives. Samarth, it's all over between us. Look, i am sure, you would be thankful to me to have made this call early on in life before much damage is done."

"Aparna, don't tell me, you manipulated my emotions all these years. Don't tell me i was all but a temporary need for you. I feel used, Aparna. This is not what you were. Ok, what is it? Am i too clingy? Did i ever stop you from doing what you wanted? For Godsake Aparna, what is it?"

"Don't shout, Samarth! I have given you enough reasons for my decision to part ways. I am bored of this love between us. I am bored of this routined call everyday and prying questions about how my days were, whom did i meet, what did i wear and so on and so forth. I need someone who is settled, not a struggler trying to get his way through. I want stability in your and my life, Samarth. However hard you try you can not jump four years hence and work things out for us. It is over because i am no longer a person who lives in the present. I have changed. I think about investments now. I envision a future better than what it can be with you. Samarth, i called you because i wanted you to see the new me."

Samarth gazed blankly at Aparna. She was not the girl he knew. She had changed. He got up and said, "Just answer me one question Aparna? Did you ever love me, even once?"

Just then her phone rang. She picked up and asked the person on the other end to wait outside. She got up and hugged him.

"Take care of yourself Samarth. You need to support your family. They have huge expectations from you. Trust me, five-six years down the lane, you will not regret this decision."

She moved out of the campus, got in the taxi that stood there waiting for her. In a few moments it disappeared on the winding roads. Shattered, Samarth came back to Chennai.

And after these six long years he got this mail. He re-read it once again. Tears rolling down his eyes, he got hold of his car keys. The flight was to leave for Delhi in another hour. He was wondering what could he possibly do with that condolence visit? Should he actually go?

He read the letter for the umpteenth time.

Dear Samarth,

By the time this letter reaches you, i shall be gone forever. I was detected with cancer too in the later stages of Maa's illness. I knew you already had lot of stuff to take care of back home. I did not want to be a burden on you. I spoke all that i spoke that day to make sure you work hard enough to get to the place you are now. And well, i am happy that you did. Just do me a last favour. I have bequeathed my property to the nursing home for cancer patients. Please see to it that it reaches the requisite hands in time.

I needed to fight against myself to do this. Forgive me and carry on with your life.

Love,

Aparna