Saturday, July 24, 2010

Chronicals of a Death foretold


- I like bougainvilleas, when the sun sets through them. They shimmer in a glow, which can make you smile, sad, hopeful and nostalgic. All in that one moment.

- For me the evenings are always a little sadly uplifting. They take me to my grandfather’s place in Silchur.
You know they have very different evenings over there. It’s either raining if not, then the sky unlike the orangish hue here has a bright dark shade. And when the sky is black around you
All your hopelessness and failures seem to have a lesser dope on you.

- You have these strange romantic notions about sadness. I fail to understand them. How can dark clouds make people feel better?

- They do. Just like a sunset through bougainvillea can give you a closet filled of emotions.

[Somewhere distant, in between the orange and black, a pair of bird separated. Their trajectory changed.
The hue of sky was blue there]


Adjectives defined her -
tall, slim, brown eyes
and when you look closely she had a particular spot in her lips.

It was all of this that he saw, everywhere, anywhere.

In novels, crosswords, streets, dreams.

And once even during a particular cricket match, he thought he saw her among the crowds in the television distinctly.

That was the moment when the word love registered his mind in all its glory.


He was amazed, agape; spellbound
and if you went any closer, the distinct thuds in his heartbeat could be savvied. He felt.

[He still has this recurring dream where he is drowning.
And someone laughs in deep unbearable intonations.]

It was the way he spoke among people, the words he wrote calling them poem
And how a cup of coffee could make him think of utopia.
His chasteness was his sex appeal perhaps.


- How can I frame you in something tangible? You are a face carved in me.
You are my words in all her beauty; you are my origin, my infinity.

And a few more lines in an absurd rhyming pattern were conjured up as her birthday present.
She smiled and kissed him.
She knew he hated ornamentation and loved him for it.

He refused a promotion to become professor as it required using new pin codes.

In her newly furnished apartment in Rajar-Hat, everything is Italian.


- You are the most elegant thing I’ve ever touched.

- You too sweetheart are the most precious thing I’ve ever took hold of.
In our bed room.

Laughing loudly she hoped he laughed too.
Now when she thinks of this moment
seldom she does.
She has an out of body experience.

He loved the way she smiled and laughed.
But then he loved his poems once too.

He had stopped writing altogether even the journals he has to write in his capacity as a Department head, too seem difficult at times.


- You are all my words garbed into one. You give meaning to me.

[She was undressing.
A dim scarlet was all over her,
it was the slow seeping light of his study lamp.
She was smiling.]

- I love you for the ways you make me feel special through you.

[They had made love just then and she was looking for alibis for him.

She had groped for those words even before the two minutes ordeal began.]

It is on moments like these when she tried to love him even more.


- I think am falling for you.
- What’s that supposed to mean?
- I think, I love you.
- So, you think?
- No, I feel.
- You feel?
- I do.

[She smiled; he took it as love accepted.
Perhaps it was then.]


Now in her Italian furnished home,
She tries to read quality literature.

He tries to sleep peacefully
But it’s an ego war every night.


- I am very bright.
Even as a kid, I learned to walk, talk and read earlier than most.
I can grasp things quicker than is average.

- I had dyslexia. I still have.

They had told each other once.

It was true.

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