An ode to the love letter…

For a long time people have resorted to writing letters when expressing feelings. This would be logically contradictory, because one would assume that in expression of feelings, a face to face delivery would prove to be of great advantage since one can use facial and hand gestures and expressions to better “express” things. But I guess the problem with a face to face rendezvous is the fact that you can’t undo anything. If you say something stupid or show how nervous you really are, it becomes difficult to take it back or change what has happened. But then, one can argue that this problem is equally present for written letters – in fact in this case the writer doesn’t even have the advantage of being able to see the reactions of the recipient and change a sentence midway. Thus we come to the momentously tricky question of why have love letters been so popular a means for expression for so long.

In the earlier times one could understand that lack of means of communication as well as logistical constraints would have favoured the written letters as the latter can be written at one’s leisure and transported through a multitude of ever-willing messengers. Another major advantage of the written letter was that it allowed young men, in the pre-Google days, to rely on well-intentioned friends or acquantainces to compensate for one’s lack of knowledge about market practices – especially successful ones – in conquests of such delicate nature. Of course, one could also subscribe to the rather dramatic usage of ink-substitutes like blood etc. to put one’s case across in stronger terms.

Cut to the present day, the written word affords more benefits. A guy who may be petrified at the idea of going and pouring his heart out to his female object of affection may write a two-bit love note and find himself suddenly being described as being “cute” or “sweet” by the same lady for the same. Not that it is necessarily a good thing to happen for the young man – as that reaction may mean absolutely anything at all – some of them even complete literal opposites of the words. 

It may simply mean that the lady has concluded that the guy is a completely harmless creature and is actively now considering getting herself a pet whose behavior matches that of the guy in question. 

It may also indicate that the guy is categorized as a boy rather than a man, and his status is very similar to that of the little sparrow which comes to her balcony every day morning and makes likeable noises. Her impression in this case may be that he wouldn’t know what to do if he is told that her parents are out for the weekend; even after underlining the fact that she was alone.

Alternatively, it may have been a result of something as innocuous as the pink spotted socks he was wearing when last seen by the lady in question, and may therefore be only a function of the colour and pattern of what he has literally landed in.

But we digress from the main question at hand.

One ends this little note by presenting a set of collated statistics on the subject and leave the subject open for debate and application.

•  More than 82% of relationship proposals in the US and about 73% of those in India are initiated by the male gender.
• The success hit ratio of relationship proposals in the BRIC countries is estimated to be averaged around 1 : 17.3
• The hit ratio seems to be strongly correlated to the language used – those in English have less than half the probability of success than those in any other language. ( This may be partially because a lot of other languages – Hindi for example, doesn’t have direct equivalents of “cute/sweet”.  It may be worthy to note here that Bengalis fare quite similar to those who have used English – again probably because Bengali language has something called “a shona”)
• 43% of females, on receiving a love note on a mobile accept that their first notion was that it is a forwarded joke. 37% of them also accept that they forwarded it to their friend list as well before later realizing that it was a private communication.
• 89% of males in India who had rejected a proposal admit that they were still friends with the female who had proposed, and spent an average of 1.8 hours a week in talking to her with content categorized under “providing emotional support”.
• 69% females admit that they made a mistake in rejecting an erstwhile proposal because they were waiting for their prince on a white horse. ( Come on man – I mean how many people own a horse in the first place nowadays ? )
• Only 8% males believe that they made a mistake in rejecting an erstwhile proposal. More than 66% of the males who rejected one believe that the female who had proposed was an ever bigger b**ch that what they believed at the time they made the decision. ( A related statistic may be that about 86% of the males between the age group of 40 and 50 who believe in the presence of God say that their belief really got strong during the period when they were 25 to 30 )
• 84% of the recipients of love letters or notes as one may be inclined to describe sometimes say that it was written in the form of poetry. 47% report that a line or two from a famous movie was used, and about 77% report that the proposer had claimed that he/she would find it impossible to continue to live if the proposal was rejected.
• Lastly, the author of this piece has used the written form for 50% of the 2 proposals he has made in life, and is still perennially mulling over the effect of his success at the same.

Moment of truth – Eternal wait…

He waits for her,

Patiently at times, impatiently at others,

Not knowing what to expect, not being able to stop hoping and planning,

Ambitious by nature - aggressive by instinct,

Not wanting to own for once, but certainly desiring some moments of own;

Seeking passion and peace at once, madness and sanity in co-existence…

The build-up necessarily difficult, 
Operational problems necessarily persistent,

How can it be worthwhile without the fight,

How can there be an easy solution in sight,

When the premise is complex, but the corollary simple,

The feet are heavy but the heart so nimble…

The pain so refreshing, the loneliness so amusing,

With clarity so dangerous that it calls to leave everything aside,

With a voice so definitive that it takes him on a crazy ride,

Decisions to be taken that may lead to an earthquake or two,

But without which he feels pitifully being caged in a zoo;

To leave everything and be or to have everything and not to be,

That, for him, is the tradeoff which has come to be…

It is as if his entire life has led to this one moment of risk,

All the poison concentrated in this one look of that hidden basilisk;

But funnily it is not doing anything that feels dangerous,

It is not making any sound that seems the most sonorous,

For life is calling while death wails,

Sometimes over chats and sometimes over mails…

Gumsum si aankhon ne ik din ek khwab sa dekha tha,

Aaeene mein usne apne andar jhankna jaise seekha tha…

Nadaan sa balak tha wo, par kab tak nadaan reh paata ?

Sochta tha dharti par hi kahin ek swarg hai,

Par aakhir kahan tak dhoondh paata ?

Kisi ne kahaa tha us se ki door kahin pariyon ka des hai..

Wahan rehti hain shwet sundar saloni pariyan..

Mamta ki deviyan, karuna ki moortiyan..

Chal pada ik din wo us des ki talaash mein,

Paar karta gaya nadi, naale aur parbat un pariyon ki dhun mein..

Jab bhi thak padta, tanik ruk jaata woh ,

Khwabon mein un pariyon se ik baar mil leta woh…

Aur phir chal padta us ansuni aawaaz ki or,

Jo khinche ja rahi thi use, jaise koi kacchhi dor…

Na paanv ke chhalon ki thi use parwaah,

Na thi badan ki choton ki koi darkaar…

Bas dradh lakshya tha uske saamne,

Hawa, Paani, Dhoop sabne koshish kar li thi rokne ki…

Ab sab jaante the, chala hai wo na thamne..

Aur upar badalon mein kisi ne ik thandi saans li..

Pareshan ho gayee thi kucch shaktiyan…

Uski chaal se dagmagaa gayee thi kucch kursiyaan…

Use na pataa tha, wo to chala jaa rahaa tha apni masti mein,

Kya farq padta tha use, dar to tha hi nahin uski hasti mein…

Jaanta tha wo ik din manzil milegi to sahin,

Raasta na tha to kya, vishwas ki kami to nahin..

Phir ik din ik jangal mein wo pahuncha,

Hare hare ped jaise gaa rahe the wahan,

Panchhi jaise khushi ke maare chahak rahe the..

Na jaane kyun laga use jaise use hi wo bula rahe the..

Phir dekhi usne ik nadi,

Chhal-chhal behti, ithlaati nadi,

Hansti khilkhilaati, Sangeet sunaati nadi..

Moti jaise paani ke boondon waali nadi…

Na jaane kyun mehsoos hue use achaanak,

Jaise yeh nadi aa rahi ho wahin se..

Jahan thi uski manzil…

Jaise ye nadi ho uski humsafar,

Par jhijhaka wo, socha, nadi se hi kyun na poochh le..

Manzil aur raasta, dono hi ki kyun na sudh le ?

Phir socha usne, gar hai yeh usi des se aa rahi,

To phir kyun kar hai yeh kahin aur jaa rahi ?

Ghabda sa gaya woh, ab kya karta ?

Kya nadi se sach jaan kar laut padta,

Ya phir nadi ko bhi ik paath pada jaata …

Bataata use, is baar who bhi galat thi,

Usne bhi auron ki tarah dil ki na suni thi…

Baahav mein duniya ke woh bhi bas beh chali thi,

Phir bhi reh na paaya woh, puchh hi liya nadi se…

Kahan se ho tum aayee, kahan ko ho chali ..

Kyun ho uchhalti yun, kyun itna ho itraati,

Tum pe dayaa nahin, hansi mujhe hai aati…

Itna sun ke nadi chaunk gayee ik pal ko,

Phir jo khilkhilaa ke hansi, aur chal di apni raah ko…

Sochta hi reh gaya woh ki aakhir ho kya gaya,

Ik ajeeb si asmanjas mein ab tha bechaara pad gaya..

Na dikha jab koi raasta, na koi roshni chamki,

Kuchh gussa sa aaya use,

Kuchh sansani si machi uske dil mein..

Par is baar bhauhen tan gayee uski,

Daant bhinch kar, mutthiyan bandh kar chal diya phir..

Nadi ke kinaare chala jaa raha tha..

Par na dekhta tha us dusht triya ki or..

Aasman mein suraj jaise use dekhte dekhte thak sa gaya tha,

Phusphusa ke chanda se bola suraj – Ab mein chalta hoon,

Is pagle raahi pe nazar rakhne ka kaam tumpe chhodta hoon…

Chanda bujh na paaya, kehne lagaa – kyun kar uska hi dhyaan rakha jai ?

Aise to sainkdon hain, phir is chhote se alhad par kyun yeh karam kiya jai ?

Suraj mand mand muskaaya, bola arrey naadan, ye hi to hai wo kiran,

Wo kiran jo hum dono ko chamkaati hai,

Wo kiran jo saare jag ko roshni se nehlaati hai..

Dekh kaise jaa rahaa hai madmast..

Kaun kar sakta hai iske hausle ko past ?

Itne sunne par chanda ne jo ik nazar dekhi wo chaal,

Kayal ho gaya wo bhi us shakti ka, gayab ho gaye uske saare sawal…

Aur wo masoom kayaa thi, jo is sab se anjaan thi,

Wo to bas ik nazar, ik nischay se chale jaa rahi thi..

Pariyon ke us des tak ik din uska pahunchna tha tay,

Saari shristi yahi chahti thi ki uska wo milan ho mangalmay…

Phir kya hua ? Kya woh safal hua ? Kya use mili apni manzil ?

Yeh to pata nahin, par kehte hain wo ik taara ban gaya..

Apni roshni se kitne hi sansaron ka sahaara ban gaya…

Raat ko gar kaale aasman mein dekhoge uttar ki or,

Paaoge use wahin sada, yuhin muskate, yuhin sharmate,

Par sada yuhin drudh, kabhi na digne waala..

Yahi thi us taare ki kahaani, yehi thi uski gaatha…

Use jo chahe kahen, mujhe to ab bhi wahi puraana balak dikhta hai,

Jab bhi dekhta hoon use, wahi anand sada milta hai…

Kyunki wo hai ab ik taara,

Aur yaad mujhe sada dilaata hai,

Ki abhi nahin, abhi nahin hoon main haara…

At first...

It was a slow realization at first. He had spent the last 10 minutes in a daze. Everything seemed to be happening in the proverbial slow motion. For no reason, he suddenly remembered an idiotic TV ad about a hair oil which was showing a 10% extra promo. Switching back to the present with an effort, he saw her move as if to get up and leave. He panicked. Suddenly he didn’t know what to do. He must prevent her from leaving. And he knew that all he had to do was ask. But he couldn’t. She was smiling. Her face was smiling as well. He couldn’t see her face right now, but he couldn’t be surer of her expression. She didn’t know he was in here as well.

It had all started an hour back when he had walked into this restaurant with a colleague for a late lunch. It was when he was on his way back from the washroom that he had noticed her. She was three tables away, with a friend of hers. Nothing surprising – after all it was her favourite joint.

She looked radiant and fresh - clearly enjoying herself. She laughed suddenly about something in their conversation – throwing her head back, convulsing uncontrollably, almost on the verge of falling off from her chair. Free flowing innocence garnished with unbridled passion. His heart skipped a beat. And then she curled her little finger around the lone strand curving strategically from the left end of her left brow, bouncing off her left cheek and stopping just above her upper lip. But what really did him was the eyes. Big eyes, innocent and childlike – sparkling like the drops of water they show in mineral water ads, yet carrying that unmistakable calm of sensitivity and sensibility.

His colleague had left in a hurry after a phone call, and he had been left staring at her. Her face seemed so clear – as if he was watching through a telescope. She had a way of talking to the waiters that you could immediately see them almost worshipping her. She clearly was aware of being treated as a goddess and was quite nonchalant about it. Obviously it was a regular happening. Then it struck him that after all it was her favourite place and it was very likely that the staff knew her.

She was listening to her friend relate something, and was paying careful attention. He could see the glint of intelligence as she clearly grasped all that was being said to her immediately. He felt himself being drawn irresistably to her – almost a force dragging him physically. It was déjà vu. 5 years down the line after having fallen in love once, it was happening to him again. Stupid as it was, 10 minutes after having seen her first, he was absolutely sure about this. This was stronger than the last time. Some rational voice tried talking to him inside his head, but there was no point. The last time, 5 years back, it had been a blurred sequence of events. This time was no different. Nothing had changed. Not even the girl.

Large shiny black eyes, beautiful thick brows,

Thin mouth set firmly, as if everything she knows,

Silken flowing black hair, falling on arms slightly bent,

Fists tightly closed, as if on a mission she had been sent,

A mission that maybe she had never liked at all,

Against which her heart had given a passionate call…

Oft when in the morning the mirror she saw,

Wondered she – with her face what was the flaw ?

Whence came the fear she saw in so many eyes,

Could no one even hope that she might be nice ?

For they hated her even before seeing her once,

Her fear was passed away from fathers to sons,

So less were those that had seen her face full,

They loved her beauty, said they – of grace she was so full…

And they said her eyes were full of love and pity,

Find they could not why others thought she was all cruelty,

Had she not ended so many unending sufferings ?

Had she not gone to those who had called out her name,

In moments of hopelessness, who had gone by her fame,

Thinking that to all their problems she would be the solution,

Though never did she know how they got this notion …

For only she knew what it was to face the mother of the son she went to,

To look into the eyes of so many others he had been known to,

To each of whose hearts were tied strings he had pulled,

They all blamed her, not seeing the tears she had in her eyes,

So she had learnt to smile, not waiting any longer for her prize…

For such was her task, such was her existence,

But I bow to her, for I have heard my sentence,

Hear me, I look forward to meet thee,

And I can hardly stop feeling all glee,

I shall love you forever, till time doth stoppeth,

None can take you away from me, my dear Death !

A walk in the rain...

For the last two days I was constantly peeping out of my office window, waiting for and ardently wishing the guy at the top to cry and wet the warm earth with his flood of tears. There were clouds, and there was wind; trees were swaying nervously, leaves rustling in excitement; a pregnant pause in the scheme of things. I left early from office – she was waiting – and the weather was demanding.

25 minutes, a quick shower, and a sandwich later, we were ready to go out – for our daily long walk. Not one day in the last three years had we missed it, especially in such weather.  Both of us enjoyed our walk immensely, which was most often punctuated by long periods of silence – a kind of calm, yet strong silence that can only be between people who have been in love for 3-4 years.

It has grown dark, and the highway was quiet today. Every 5-7 minutes a truck or car would zoom past^, reminding us that it was a highway. And then it started to rain – huge drops they were as well. Within 5 minutes both of us were drenched, and ofcourse we were loving it. Enjoying the bliss together in this heavenly quiet, walking together endlessly on this black strip of winding road, lost in each other and in the rain.

Wind had picked up and rivulets had started flowing heavily all along the sides of the road. Avoiding little puddles, and splashing into slightly bigger ones, we were both like two happy children on a rare picnic. It completely slipped out of my mind as to what the time was, or where it was going.

Giggling happily, she was running ahead and I was chasing her, when she froze suddenly. I couldn’t see her face but instinctively I felt that she was horrified. I ran towards her, and straightaway saw the reason of her horror there in front of me on the road – A corpse of a dog – rather 2 parts of a dog’s corpse lying about 6 metres from us. Three ribs, broken at the edges, were clearly jutting out vulgarly, the other conspicuous by their absence.

The two back feet had been severed from the trunk and were lying separately a little way from the body. I was numbed for a moment, and then I saw the face – a sharp chill ran down my spine – the eyeballs had popped out of the socket, and a stream of water was running down the middle of the nose and disappearing at the end of his neck. But the eyes were alive – looking clearly at us, with a strange patronizing look, captivating and horrifying at the same time.

It was only now that I felt her staring me, not the corpse, and almost forced myself to look at her. I will never forget that look in her eyes – it haunts me in my dreams ever since – she was clearly and completely accusing me – it couldn’t have been more intense had I been responsible for the incident in front of us.

I recoiled, and started to explain, but her look made me swallow my words, and then I understood – for the first time in 3 years of living together – today it mattered that I was a human, and she, a dog.

The scuffle

A wind has picked up outside suddenly. The vulgar noises of cars and horns and bikes are laced with the soothing undercurrent of the wind flapping against his ears; hair - uncut and untidy – now reminding him of their existence as the wind hits them. Everything seems slower, significantly slower.

He is filled with an overpowering urge to look behind and see who is standing; knowing fully well that there possibly can’t be anyone. He feels like he is one of those honest cops in a 70s bollywood flick, who is invariably the hero’s dad, being framed by the villian’s right hand man by clicking his snap while the vamp has attached herself to his grasp with a blatantly lascivious look. It is an alien feeling, but one which he has been having increasingly frequently nowadays. He is yet to understand what it really is, but it is choking and frustrating him endlessly.

He knows he has to deal with it, but behaving uncharacteristically, he wants to delay that as long as possible.

He intently opens up the laptop, looking to add a few intense songs to the playlist and spend the next 20-25 minutes with the entire world blocked out. The songs on the list, he plugs in the earphones and closes his eyes. Allowing each note and emotion in the voice to sink in, he feels the deep fury and frustration in the singer’s voice. With a sudden chill, he opens his eyes, only to find them wet. A stream has started flowing, unreasonable and unstoppable.

It is a relief, not without a sharp angst; he hates the feeling of pity for himself, and has gone to great lengths to never succumb to it. With a sudden feeling that he has to move, or he may never be able to do so, he gets to his feet in a jerk.

The horizon changes.

In size, in shape, in colour and even in smell.

All around now there are lights - as if he is in the middle of a badly managed laser show.

The fact that he was on the terrace of the tallest building in a mile around meant that there was a 360 degree view for him. Exerting all his willpower to focus his sight on the details on a grey winding road in the distance, he can see a deluge of cars. It is striking as to how many of them are white. It is summer season, so white would be the colour – he reasons. Immediately he is laughing out loud at his own stupidity – all those cars are probably air-conditioned; Also, he had forgotten that he was thinking of cars, not clothes.

The people in the cars seem unreasonably and irrationally happy, though not one face is visible. He feels a strong pang of jealousy, as he sees a sedan in where there are just 2 people in the front seats. It is clear that they are deliberately driving slowly, trying to extend the moment.

Another day, another time, another place – all come flooding back. He can see himself clearly – 10 year old, standing on top of an extended branch of a particularly tall neem tree. It was a selected vintage spot, about 25 feet from the ground, showing the farthest fields in the line of sight. That day he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but it had seemed to him that he was.

He can still remember the instant at which he had seen it. A 8 feet long dark brown viper with beautiful black scales. Initially he couldn’t make out whether it was climbing up the tree or down. Then he saw the tail, and it was clear, the movement was upwards. It was on the trunk, about 40 feet from where he was standing, and there were all the chances that it would make its way to some other branch. That would make sense, especially as almost all nests were on the thicker branch on the opposite side. So if the viper had any sense, that’s where it would head.

But the creature was taking its own time.

It seemed indecisive – even turned around as if to climb down – only to circle the trunk and emerge again; this time a single eye shining more than it should. Then it started climbing, ever so slowly this time. The movement was now sharp and decisive, as if it was purposely slow to allow the time for him to panic. As it reached the V where the 2 branches started, the viper straightaway took the one with him without even stopping to think.

Instinctively, he snapped a branch and held it towards the general direction of the creature. It would be tricky to try and push it off the branch as if had coiled itself around the branch.

He looked down. A straight jump of 25 feet – on hard ground with baval thorns spread all across. It was more than twice what he was used to. He knew he had about half a minute to decide.

He took a moment to look at the snake clearly. He had read somewhere that more than 2000 people died in India every year after having bitten by a non-poisonous snake – not knowing that it was so, and panicking therefore. It’s scales and movement were unmistakable. It was a viper alright. He had seen 4 vipers before this one, and this one almost seemed like the one that had appeared in his neighbor Raju’s garden – only that was a smaller one – just about 4 feet. But there was no doubt about this one left.

He looked down again. In case he jumped and broke his leg, he would have to limp his way  back across the 2 fields separating him from his home. Vipers were not known to pursue, and most likely he would be left alone.

Something inside him wanted to chase it off – it didn’t seem fair – he had been on the branch first. Why should he be chased off ? But it was clear that things would be more under control after he jumped.

So he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, looking at a particular spot on the ground and thinking of it as the target. And then he jumped.

It took almost an eternity this time to reach the ground. And his last thought was that of a fierce pride - he was definitely going to hit the targeted spot.

Surprisingly, no one had seen him, and it was half an hour before someone noticed. An ambulance was called and someone rushed to wake up the sleepy family members. Both the legs had been completely shattered by the 10-storey 135 feet fall. But on his face there was an expression of freedom and victory – now the emotionless viper that was choking him from the last few days would no longer chase him.

He was free.