Kauffee Life

The colors were not an imagination anymore, they were all around-brown, purple, red. The heels clicked their way, and in spite of all the chatter there was a silence she found. The silence she was starving for, a kind of calm to define which she couldn’t put in words.

Friends-she mused over the word as she watched familiar yet different expressions on his face. The laugh, the aura, the style, the chivalry-all was intact yet things had changed, the world had changed, she had changed or was trying to. For good or bad, was the question she thought she heard.

Couldn’t we talk, she thought of asking him-talk about all that I’ve been through, about times I really need you, about the bitter facts of today, about you and me, when we don’t remain us anymore.

And there were things she missed-small-stupid-silly-funny-but at the same time there was nothing better than the fact that they could still share a laugh, or coffee at times…

‘And it’s satisfying, well beyond it, the realization of the fact that yes; there -was-is- a man who loved you. It is a mean thing to do, to compare the part of love you’ve got with other things in the world or love itself-to weigh it-it won’t be a good choice, I feel’…she wrote down in her diary…

The shade of the evening got darker, the silence stronger and the taste of the coffee was wearing off. She combed her hair into a bun and wished she had let them grow.

Rushes

Finally, it fails me,

The lost echo of the last sound


A reverberation at the distance

A strung in the guitar, lost and found

Then it could happen, life waiting for me. And I could act silly and take a chance again. But my brevity lies in waiting, even if it gets longer and the silence is at times too much of a distraction.

I want a word, a sound, a sigh, a whisper…

P.S-Whenever Wildflower writes, I just know that I wanted to put words to the same things. But where I fail miserably, she does it with excellence.

Writing a story…

I wonder when I start this story, how should I begin it? Should I bring in curiosity or switch to diastolic movement of time to picture it for you. Should the characters be as they are or should I change them for the credentials of privacy? Where should I bring in romance, is it this easy to bring in it anyways? Or should it just happen-just like that? Is it this difficult for every other person who narrates a story or writes words to make them into one?

I plan the beginning as unimaginative as it could be. Maybe, a simple exchange of phone numbers in which none was interested, or could it be an unintended festival greeting and later, a phone call in return.

Summers are too hot for anything, you just sweat. Winters get too cold to have warm feelings, rains bring in a flavor but autumn suits them the best. Autumns, when the circle begins and ends, the season in which they meet and depart.

What would the time be like? Would the time fly by when they are with each other, or they’d talk and talk of love and longing. There would be coffees, sighs, cheers, kisses, songs, mischievous ideas etc.

And then the question-how to give them a perfect happy ending?! Anyways, are happy endings for real? Or maybe a twist would do so much better, just one twist and the romance turns bitter, maybe a hideous affair, or some secrets, a lover from the past, or a fight against parents. So many reasons but I still wish somewhere to keep it plain, to keep it happy.

And that all would go into this unwritten story.

A story-a love story, a ‘short’ story!

Or maybe, some stories are as ‘endless’ as this one!

Partings

If she had imagined it for a story, she would have made it a dimly lit setting, maybe the dusk-when the day ends only to leave darkness and shadows. But it wasn’t imagined, it was real, the sun wasn’t setting but it was an afternoon, though cold and misty.

There weren’t many things left to be said, by now. They were clear unlike the afternoon, in his head and in her heart. She often played with her cell phone, to distract herself from the heavy thoughts, keeping her brown eyes at it, for she was afraid a drop would steer down if she’d move them too much. He on the other hand, stared into abyss, stealing a quick glance of her face from time to time. He was afraid she would cry.

What could he say? What would she want to hear? He kept on thinking to himself about the times that had gone. She wished there were better times for them.

Soon, the silence was disrupted by the rattle of the rain drops on the red tin roof. She looked at the clock, it had been an hour.

‘Are you ever going to speak?’ she managed to keep her voice low.

‘Would it matter what I say now. It’s my fate and I’ve resigned to it’, he said looking out of the window for a change.

You’re such a coward, she said, picking up her bag.

As she made it to the exit, he rested his head in his palms. I would live with this; he thought to himself, finally feeling an uneasy comfortableness, something which he didn’t know what to name.

‘Fight for me’, she chanted the three words innumerable times under her breath and crossed the door.

A raindrop settled on her cheek bone.

Sunset(s)

*I didn’t understand him much when he asked me not to judge people.

*He also told me- do good and forget it.

* He repeated- don’t expect. Not even a smile! But that shouldn’t stop you from giving one.

* He quoted people. He had his favorites too. But I never really saw him ‘dislike’.

* He read books. He gave me a few!

* He told me stories.

* He said ‘Kid, I love you’

***

He died!!!

I thought I would never meet a man like him again;

I met him…

He went away too.

Only once…

Only once in your life,
I truly believe,
you find someone who can completely turn your world around.

You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more.

You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you.

When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement.

Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful.

You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.

-Bob Marley

(Tonight, the words sound so right! Thanks to Americanising Desi for introducing me to these!)

She stared at her bags and then at the taxi-driver. His mustache was somewhat crooked and she was bothered by the speed at which he was driving. She was in a hurry indeed. But then she felt glad of being late and him being waiting.

She was angry at him for all the delays and being not-so-particular about things. I am tired of all this, she thought. Why should I always be ignored, why only I am making sure that everything is in place and on time? And then he calls up at the last minute only to say that he is already on his way, she built up her argument, knowing she wasn’t good at them, especially if the situation is least intended.

And then if something would go wrong, I would be the only one consumed in guilt for choosing it and hurrying on it, she lined a defense when her mind drifted to the excitement of seeing him in a kurta, which he loved for traveling purpose.

It’s his job after all; she confessed to herself but managed to resort back to a calmer annoyance about how things turned up that day.

Her line of thoughts changed again. She was wearing what he had gifted on her birthday and hoping that it would be liked. The taxi stopped and the driver opened the door for her as she paid him the money.

The drift of excitement was overlapped with annoyance again and she made her way through bags and people to reach him. She found him, struggling with a blue bag in one hand and coffee in other, with a look in his eyes which she knew meant he was looking for her. She took a deep breath and they walked to sit on the available benches.

She was looking for an opening where she could rant and rave, so she let him talk.

And I haven’t eaten since morning; this coffee is the only thing I have touched ever since…’ he said casually, speaking of the work pressure and the days events.

Aw honey, she thought!

In an instant she found her annoyance disappeared and she was left disappointed in self for being so unreasonable and selfish.

If only she could understand him better.

The book thief…

“A tale of love, living, colors, friendship, survival told by death. A tale of words, stories and their power. A tale of a thief-a book thief. ”

That’s how I would surmise if you ask me what the Book thief is all about! I’m not reviewing it, particularly not in a manner which is conventional. But I’m mesmerized by the book. Completely!

But I’d like to tell you that it’s a must have. Written by Markus Zusak, I think it’s the best I have read after Manto’s Black Margins. The settings are of Nazi Germany and the story begins with the Liesel Merminger, a little girl being sent to foster parents.

She adapts to her new home, her new parents, the foul mouthed Rosa Hubermann, Liesel’s adoptive mother and Hans, her new father. To me, the three come together as a family never separated. Liesel journey continues with her nightmares, her bed wetting, the football with Rudy (her best friend) and a little stealing.

In a way, Liesel’s love of books can’t be described, it’s not because she knows how to spell the words or know them at all but because she picks up her first book from the grave of her dead brother. There is a bit of suspense until you discover that a Jew called Max Vandenburg visits their home for shelter in lieu of a promise made by Hans Hubermann during First World War. The family hides him.

The Second World War has already begun and gets closer to them and so does death, where Liesel miraculously escapes. I prefer not to reveal the end, for it’s much more than a simple escape from death for Liesel and for death.

The narrative is strong and grabs your attention. The first half may be a little slow but the peels reveal off just at the right time. I think it’s a book to be enjoyed, a book to be loved, and a book with some lovely insights, some thoughts that can’t just cross your mind until you read it. Its in all a new perspective.

“Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.-the book thief”

Life’s silly…

(*Facebook)

Priyanka ‘Dil ne kaisi harkat ki hai!!’

(11 minutes ago · Comment · LikeUnlike · Show Feedback (4) Hide Feedback (4)

You like this.)

Neha Chandok at 6:10am July 11

dil ne kesi harkat ki he, kya dil ne mohabbat ki he…
nazar aata chaand mein uska chehra, khuda ne yeh kya qyamat ki hei..

Priyanka at 6:12am July 11

lagta hai aap bhi is bimari ki mureed hain,tabhi aap bhi shayari kar rahi hain.. :P

Neha Chandok at 6:14am July 11

mureed nai priyanka hum is bimaari k karan ‘murde’ hone wale hein… :P

Priyanka at 6:18am July 11

hehhehehhe…Way to go :D

Neha Chandok at 6:22am July 11

:)

****

(Background-I went to meet M after a gap of two-three months. She has lost a lot of extra baggage in one year and plans to continue with it…)

M-You have lost weight again…you look thin, not like how you were after returning from Delhi!

Me-hmm, okay. Thanks!

M-Have I gone fat?

Me-Is that relative?

M-No, but I feel its proportional in a way. Least, by appearance.

****

Hope

red desires

Least, I find you in my dreams. Then, there, it’s nothing but us. The world dissolves in the oceanic wrath, the clocks no more play and we stand on the shores of the eternal sea. And when I wake up, I feel like taking a plunge down into the hidden sea and I wish, you could have been there too. I don’t find you along those shores and the feeling is never acceptable enough.  Say, there is always a sigh close to it. A mute, expressionless sigh…

It’s a sad feeling, the way our hopes find illusions.

I could wait there forever but I know that soon we’d become past as well. Time has stained us, and left its mark upon us. I brush aside my dreams but reality is as confusing. The distorted images in my mind play havoc yet I clearly remember the way your skin smells. These memories were to serve the foundation to the new ones but they are being buried, killed, would be a better word!

And there is a thing inside me which is all calm. I am no more vulnerable, the fight seems to have disappeared, gone with the moments you’ve kept me waiting for you. There was a moment when I felt like shrinking but sooner I realized its you who had been caught off-guard. Unexpected. I want to stay as long as your wounds don’t heal, till the ache doesn’t subside for I know you can’t do it on your own.

Men are, in one way, a part of women after all!

At times, frustration soars through me and I want to disappear. But you reach for me in such times and I feel helpless. My thoughts drift on, to times when it would require courage to stay while the sky gets filled with black clouds. But your nonchalance doesn’t promise, ironically, it doesn’t leave a single word. You would often start with an ‘if’ and use a ‘but’ and I’m left looking for an answer, carefully choosing the right words to express the right feeling. Usually, I go wrong!

Hope’, they tell me.

It isn’t that real, I can say.

Despite that, I cling on to it alone, tired and weary.