Dovelove and my darling friend!

As the plane soared and started shearing the thick air, cotton like clouds appeared to wave us.  Seeing the innocent and immaculate clouds, a smile floated across my lips.

“What Happened Sudha?” asked my husband.

“Nothing.” I played down.

Actually, these clouds reminded me of my friend Tulika. We were together at our MBA college …some 10 years ago. We were room partners. She was my chum.

She had the habit of picking out faces in the clouds. She used to describe in such a creative way that I was able to see facial features of somebody in the clouds. Sometimes cartoon characters, sometimes hostel wardens and sometimes professors: she could pick out any face from the stark white clouds.

I was the worst introvert kind in the college but she was a complete brat. A tomboy. She used to play cricket in the team of boys. It was her brilliant batting skills that forced the boys’ team of the college to include her in the team. I still remember distinctly when she had scored a swashbuckling 50 runs in the final of an inter-college cricket tournament. The team of our college had won that final match and she was adjudicated (wo) man-of—the-match. Next day all local newspapers  were singing hosanna of Tulika.

She was a master mimicry artist as well. She used to mimic the voice of even male professors.

Once there was a bet of Rs. 5000 in the girls hostel that entailed going to the boys’ hostel and draging on marijuana from gang of boys who dragged regularly. I thought that no one would agree to such an outlandish bet. But I was wrong it was our own daredevil Ms. Tulika who agreed to do the act. She got her hair trimmed -- she had thick hair strands. She just wore a baseball cap on her head and impersonated herself as an electrician and in a bag she filled all electrical instruments. No one could recognize her. Through her mimicry skills, she mingled with the gang and dragged on the marijuana.  She came straight after dragging to give smell of her mouth to us. It was reeking badly. She had vomited several times that night but didn’t have any qualms as she had won Rs.5000 of the bet.

She might have been masculine in many of her acts, but one thing that made her true feminine was her care for her skin. And for that she depended only upon Dove Soaps. I was not loyal to any soap brands in those days and used to buy any of the brands available in the market, but she was very particular about her choice of soap.

One day in the evening we had gone for our regular shopping, when the shopkeeper informed us that he didn’t have any pieces of Dove soaps left. He tried to push- sell us some other brand of soap but Tulika didn’t budge from her brand loyalty. We went to the main market of the city on her scooty and rummaged out Dove soaps. We had some snacks in a roadside dhaba there. It was winter season and it had got really dark at 7 in the evening.  We wanted to reach to our hostel as soon as possible.

When we were just a kilometer away from our hostel, we heard a whimpering sound.

“Seems somebody is crying,” said Tulika.

“Yes,” as soon as I said it, she stopped the scooty and went in the direction of the voice. My affirmation for the crying voice was not a signal for her to stop the scooty on a desolate road. But she didn’t care; she always did things that she considered right. I also followed her in the bushes by the side of the road.

Within a distance of a meter, we saw that five six teenagers were slapping a boy of their age. One of the gang had a dagger in his hand as well. And the boy being slapped was whimpering, crying and repeating the word ‘sorry’. From their conversation we could draw that the matter involved some money.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

“They will kill this boy,” she said without giving any heed to my words of caution.

As soon as the boy with dagger stepped forward to stab the whimpering boy, Tulika put her finger on her nose and produced the sound of the wail of a police van. She was damn good at mimicry.

This made the gang very scared. They left the place at once, and left the whimpering boy alone.

We also ran towards our scooty. Tulika drove the scooty with a maximum speed that a scooty could be driven. In a matter of minutes we were in our hostel. At that day, I had known that behind the naughty and tomboyish veneer, there was a very brave person lurking in my friend who could put her in any danger to save someone.

Ah! These clouds refreshed memories of my dear friend. I wish we were also like clouds then we would have flown to anywhere and would have met anyone. For last 8 years, I am not in touch with my friend. Such is life, once you are very close and once you don’t see face of your friend for years.

“I had told you to sit still, hadn’t I?... You spilt everything” a voice from some rows before our seats broke my thoughts of good old days.

A lady in a bright saree  got up from her seat and strolled towards bathroom.

“Is she Tulika?” I whispered in my mind.

That lady also looked towards me with a wet cloth in her hand.

She smiled looking at me, yes she is Tulika. I jumped from my seat in the mid- air and hugged her. With mist in the eyes and frog in our throat, we introduced our families to each other.

When the plane touched down, we talked about very many things and at last I asked her: “what happened to your love for Dove?”

“We love once!” with an impish wink of her eye.

Since that day we have never lost touch and hope to remain in touch till our last breath.

P.S: This creative account is an entry to a contest being held at www.indiblogger.in and sponsored by DOVE . 

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My Plati-Numb Day of Love

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Kolkata. I was enjoying my spare time with a book of Paulo Coelho -- my intellectual diet. After some time, my parents came to my room and exhorted me to take my wife to show around the famous Dakhshineshwar temple.

“These people will never understand value of finishing a book,” I murmured in my mind.

Actually, it was a ploy of my parents to make me closer to my wife, whom I considered a misfit in my life. She was from a small town in Bihar and a fresher for the hustle and bustle of a metropolis like Kolkata. It was for, just, last two months that she was residing in the city. I felt she was backward as she didn’t know English and didn’t have any intellectual leanings. She didn’t understand even a wee bit of the debates on the T.V channels ranging from coalgate scams to elevation of Mr. Modi as a prime ministerial candidate.

Yes she was naïve, but this is what I abhorred most about her.

 I wanted a life partner who had at least a little intellectual inclination. But she had zilch of it. Whole day she kept herself busy with kitchen chores and tending to the needs of her in-laws. She was happily ignorant to the happenings of the world.

Anyways, after a lot of goading from my parents, willy-nilly, I conceded to take her for the “pilgrimage”.

By an auto we reached the Mahanayak Uttam Kumar Metro station.  Metro trains are cheaper than hiring a taxi in Kolkata, so it was an obvious choice.

There was a big throng at the station in the afternoon as the metros didn’t do rounds in the mornings of Sundays.

I bought tickets at the counter after standing for half an hour in the serpentine queue. I gave one ticket to my wife.  I was trying to be aloof from her and she had to almost run, on occasions, to match up with me. I wanted to make things uncomfortable for my wife so that she never dares to come out with me in future. This male domination mentality was in every ounce of me.

Soon it was announced that train was coming on the platform.  Multitude of people gathered in front of gates of the train to secure their seats.

As the train pulled up, the crowd bundled us into it. However hard I tried, I couldn’t secure any seats for us. Quickly the train doors slid closed and we got packed in the train.  In the process of entering the train my wife and I got separated. I was standing in the male dominated area and she was in the area where women were in larger numbers. In Kolkata metros this separation of male and female side gets created on its own for the convenience. This way, at least, the chances of eve teasing gets reduced.

The train chugged along and suddenly picked up its speed.  After 4-5 stations, the crowd got thinner and now I could see my wife from a distance in her blue saree standing by holding the bars attached to the roof of the train. I was thinking that the ordeal of metro journey would deter my wife from any future excursions with me. I was wickedly happy for this metro mayhem.

Suddenly there was an announcement that the train would not go ahead Park Street metro station ,as a suicide had taken place and passengers were advised to get down on the Park Street metro station.  As train pulled up at the station there was an unusual crowd waiting for us.

I got down from the train and stood at a side of the elevator, waiting for my wife. And after a few moments, there she came in the blue saree. “But where is she going?” I thought. I called her, Suman… Suman. But she didn’t listen. I was really angry at her indifferent attitude. What does she think of herself…. Queen of Kolkata who knows every nook and corner of the city? Now, I decided to walk up to her.

I tapped on her shoulder to attract her attention and when she turned towards me, my face turned pale. It was not Suman. I quickly apologized to the lady.

Now my mind went numb. I could only hear the wordless murmur of Bangla language and see the blurred human frames. My wife had got lost. I tried to search for her trudging through the rush of the station. But she was nowhere to be found.

“Did she get down on any earlier station mistaking someone else for me as I mistook someone else for her?” I thought. Several other ominous and scary things started flitting through my mind and suddenly it occurred to me to make a ring on her mobile. Shit! there was no signal in my mobile.  I kept the mobile back in my pocket and started scanning every female face frantically again.

“It was all my fault. Why didn’t I hold her hand in the crowd?” I was cursing myself. My all intellectual air and male ego had gone for a toss and I was feeling week and trembling inside, typical of any ordinary husband whose wife was missing. Now, it downed upon me that how meaningful she was in my life. Beneath my snobbish façade of the intellectuality, there was a heart of a commoner that throbs for its near and dear ones.  Now, I realized that I loved my wife despite her shortcomings (from my standards). Now I didn’t want her to be a sophisticated soul, I just wanted her, the way she was. “Please goddess, return my wife,” I prayed.

With all sorts of thoughts jumbled up in my mind, I came out of the station to ring her again. The phone was ringing but no reply. I grew more anxious.  After several attempts, I decided to go inside the station once again to give it my last try before going to police station. As I entered the station, I heard an announcement in Bangla and Hindi that had my name. It said: “Mr. Neeraj Kumar of Tollygunge, wherever you are please come to the control room, your wife is waiting.” I felt a new leash of life being pumped into my lungs. I ran crazily towards the control room.

As I entered the room, I madly scanned all around the room and when I turned to my left she was there in her blue saree, standing anxious but clam. I hugged her tightly. She got embarrassed of my gesture. But I didn’t care about the people around me at that time. My most precious thing was in my arms and I was a relieved man. With my choked up throat and teary eyes I thanked the control room officers and with my wife came out of the station.

That day, I came to know that knowing English and listening heated arguments on the burning topics of contemporary India was not all to be called an intellectual. An intellectual was one who handled his/her situation with a calm mind amid the adversity. And to my mind it was my wife who was intellectual on those moments of separation to summon up all her gumption, in a relatively foreign conditions (for her), and go to the control room and seek help.

Later, I came to know that in the pushing and shoving of the station throng, she had lost her mobile phone. But I had no qualms about that. I had my most precious thing with me and at that day I came to know what a platinum day of love is called. It was that day for me.

 I found my love that day: Platinum and Pristine.

I thanked Godess  Kali for my wife’s safe return to me and took a taxi direct to the Dakshineshwar Temple. For the rest of the day, I held her hand like a child who clings to his/her doll even while sleeping.

After return from the temple, I went with my wife to a jewelry shop and bought for her a gleaming Platinum Ring to etch that day indelibly on the timeline of our lives as a day of love!

P.S: This is a fictional account for a contest being held at www.indiblogger.in under title Platinum Day of Love.

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Air and Hair!

I have experienced some amazing and beautiful moments of human hair. Being air works to my benefit to know about the characters of a host of hairs to a tee.

When I breeze through the hair of a child, it makes me pure and innocent as well as the child itself. I get lost in the silky smoothness of cherubic hair. When I find myself unable to control my anger (that gets manifested in shape of storms on occasions), it is the innocence of these hairs that help me calm down.

When I breeze through the hair of teenagers, I get shiver. They have a tense hair. Tension of exams and their Ex-es is always entangled in those hairs. But you know what these hairs also swing with the dreams of future! I love the complex beauty of such hairs.

The hairs are at their raunchiest when their owner is in love.  They are, round the clock, in a trance that is away from any realization of time or space. To be part of such hairs is about losing one’s existence and becoming a part of the emotion-- called love-- that humankind has understood less but claims the opposite. Every curl and every swirl is smeared with fragrance of that person who has conquered the heart.

The hairs of parents, who are busy completing every ritual religiously of their daughter’s marriage, are quite an emotional one. Despite a dream getting shaped, the hairs are as much restless as the heart is. They have an amalgam of emotions entailing simultaneous grief and glee.

The grey hairs have twilight of time splattered over them. These hairs are embodiment of experience, struggle, and achievement: experience of the life, struggle of the world and achievement of the efforts. These hairs have a foresight that sees the end that is eternal yet inspiring to live on.

Love your hair because it expresses you in return. And its expression is its love for you. Indeed love is a two way street.

P.S: This article is a part of competition being held by Dove titled: Love is a two way street, love your hair and it loves you back.

I love to love you

Image Courtesy: savingmyrelationship.org

My life was full of questions when I happened to find you. Your warmth, smile, and care touched me and absolved me of the pesky questions of life. You personified all the answers that I needed.

My life was full of confusion when I happened to meet you. Your reason, clarity, and vision helped me see through the clutter of confusion. You embodied all the intelligence that I needed.

My life was full of dejection when I happened to find you. Your magical words and gestures fashioned a pristine smile for my lips and dejection got into smithereens. You testified for all the hope that I needed.

My life was full of void when I happened to meet you.  Your presence and your essence filled that void and made me a person imbued with life. You rectified all errors in me and made me right.

My life was full of noise when I happened to find you. The tranquility of your eyes vanquished the noise of my life and weaved an utter calmness for my soul. You pacified all commotion by giving me your every emotion.

My life was full of sorrow when I happened to meet you. The bliss of your belief in life defeated the sorrow of my life. You showed that there is always a tomorrow that will expunge the sorrow. You painted a future for me that was full of rapture.

Can I do anything less than trying to love you? I love to live you, I love to love you.

No, I don’t want to fly!

Image Courtesy : Google Images

Sailing with you on the translucent face of river and floating with the desire of the current to an unknown destination is my dream. The unfettered wind directing fragrance of your hair on my face is what I pine for. The scene of fishes adorning the riverbed with their rhythmic somersaults to celebrate our rendezvous is what I long for.

I want to be with you when pieces of cloud tear away and drench the soil. I want to enjoy the drizzle with you and be soaked up with blessings of nature in the form of raindrops.

I want to experience nights with you at the top of a mountain that is bathed in the moonlight. At the acme of the mountain, I want to fall in your heart and remain there forever.

I want to be with you amid the cherubic chortles of children and innocent giggle of kids. I want to be with you amid the petals of blooms and leaves of trees.

I want to walk with you the craggy roads and thorny paths. With you beside me I can tame any adversity and defeat any challenges.

I want to be with you on days, when I see my world in your eyes and that is why I say that I don’t want to fly, because I want to drown in your eyes that has unfathomable love and unremitting care!

Your Memories in My Piggy Bank

Whenever, I think of you, the cool breeze of moonlight caresses my cheeks as if you have kissed me. I lose myself in the clutch of the moment. I don’t know why I feel this way for you, but what I know is that I feel a sense of utter bliss when I feel like this.

I fail to baptize our relationship, but still I fail to deny the relationship as well. Yes, we have a relationship with its all warmth and coziness. So what… if we can’t call it by a name? As long as there is breath in the relationship, it is meaningful for me.

I don’t want to let you go out of my life, but my situation is such that you can’t remain in my life either. What a quandary!

I know we will have to part ways but before our severance, I want to scribble every page of these times with your presence and drench every moment of this experience with your existence.

I know it is not practical to love you but at the same time it is not sin to feel this way for you. The realm of heart knows no rules. When it throbs it breaks the shackles of all reasoning and incarcerates me in your awesome charm. I forget everything when I remember you. I cry within when I imagine you moving away from my life. I try hard to imagine a life without you, but I fail to stop tears taking shape of storm in my eyes.

I understand the inevitability of the night after a bright sunny day, but still I want you to be the moon and stars of the night of my life. Even if, you are not present physically in my future, but sometimes, I would love you to rain in my life in the shape of clouds full of your memories.

I am collecting every moment drenched with your presence in my piggy bank. And when I open this piggy bank in future, I would love your memories to remind me that even if it was for a small time, I was part of an inexplicable happiness, and however beyond-reasoning our relationship was, it was a reality!

I desire you!

When you were not there, things were bleak and bland around me, life had everything but the chirpiness of your voice and sweetness of your presence. I don’t know when the God decided to relent and to gift you in my bag of destiny. But what I know is that now you are in my life, and my life has colors of rainbow and fragrance of flowers.

I consider myself lucky that in the crowd of myriad people, the universe chose me to be a part of your life. You are the music of naughty cascade, notes of carefree rivers, and sounds of serene sea in my life.

Perfect is nothing! But you are the synonym of perfection for me. With you, this word becomes sensible, adorable, and palpable for me.

Nights used to have stars but for me the sheen in them came only after experiencing your smile. The Moon had its beauty but for me it became beautiful only after seeing your face. The Sun had its blinding radiance but for me it got its meaning only after seeing the soothing glint in your eyes. Nightingales used to be melodious but for me their voice became mellifluous only after hearing you.

A day is only of twenty-four hours, and now I curse those who kept it so short. Can’t there be a day that is sans the calculations of seconds and minutes? I wish to be with you in a time that is timeless. I wish an evening with you when Sun is ruddy but never sets and soft fingers of winds play with your hair and I enjoy this moment without a wink. Can’t there be a moment that is infinite? I want such a moment with you. In the infinity of that moment, I would like to make my affection for you deep and quiet.

My craving for you is as pure as a child has for her mother, my doting for you is as sure as for a child by her father. But still I wonder, am I right in feeling this way? I don’t know. Perhaps in this not knowing is ensconced an enigma that keeps me with you even in those times when I am without you.

For You…

When it is ‘for you’ it has to be special; when it is ‘for you’ it has to be extraordinary; and when it is ‘for you’ it has to be inimitable. Hasn’t it? Such is human tendency. We always want the best for ‘Yous’ in our lives.

Why is it so?

Because when we want to give, we want to offer the best. The emotion of ‘giving’ is in its purest form when it etches lines of smile on the face. In this already selfish world, smile as an offering is precious. So, always try to ensure that your ‘you’ is never bereft of a giggle. It will cement the relationship in a beamy way.

And when smile is there, happiness will get scattered in life. Every ounce of life will get soaked with energetic aura of hope. Things will start falling in place and prosperity will rain to drench you to a tee.

Fashion dreams for your ‘you’ that is sans adversity and life-full of strength. Carve chapters that give confidence of a life that has characteristics of a river-flow and tranquility of a sea. Fill your  you’s eyes with sparkle of gems and radiance of galaxy.

When it comes to ‘for you’, you won’t like to give her/him anything that is less than the soar of an eagle’s wings and purchase of a banyan tree. So, that even if your ‘you’ flies away in the skies, he/ she has a strong rapport with the aroma of your breath. And this way your ‘you’ will always come back to you.

Embellish your  you’s life with dulcet sounds of a flute and mellifluous chanting of morning prayers. Gift your ‘you’ the serenity of pristine dew and eternity of flowers with every hue!

Valentine’s Day: When love sings and heart dances

Love: a sacrosanct emotion that fuels purity and responsibility in life. When devotion becomes divine, love becomes sublime. When every vein of heart becomes strings, and every heartbeat; notes, it means that love has vanquished you and someone has won you.

When roses become more important than rouge and hours get converted into moments, love is ruling the roost. And Valentine’s Day is an occasion to let the emotions unleash and acknowledge a beautiful event in your life. As a day, it summarizes eons that have been drenched with the emotion called love.

The day is not about being shallow like a brook but deep like a sea. Show your emotions for someone in a way that respects yardsticks of morals and values. Any vigorous but vile expression of love is not love but manifestation of satanic aspects of a human.

Cards, gifts, flowers: all try to make the day unforgettable. But then, can these materialistic and ephemeral things match the holiness of unqualified feelings of care and affection?  Surely not! But again, we, as humans, want to cherish moments. And what better than a bud of rose or a gleaming ring, that translates your emotions in all possible artistic manner in absence of your artistic quotient?

Indian and foreign cultures are replete with love stories that are awe-inspiring and sheer platonic in nature. Today’s materialistic world, that respects flesh more than it respects the emotions, needs to take a cue from Radha –Krishna, Romeo- Juliet, and Laila- Majnu. Only then in real terms the word ‘love’ can be defined by them. Otherwise it will remain hollow and superficial.

So, on the Valentine’s Day, weave a dream for your beloved that is dreamy than the word dream itself and wreath beads of stars that is starry than the stars themselves. All in all, make every effort to preserve the warmth, cloyingness and accountability breathing within the word called: LOVE.