Pronouns: 5

Pronouns hide
What you mustn’t see.
I write about.
Her and me.

Plot holes aplenty,
Potholes rare.
If there is no 'I',
My story ain't there.

Strands of moments,
I pluck and twist.
Sleight of hands,
Turn of wrists.

The one Pronouns are for,
Doesn’t read them much.
My tragic comedy,
Is ironic as such.

They think I am glassy,
Brittle yet bright.
Say no, I would on loop
If they weren't so right.

Now you can laugh
All you want.
I know u wish to
But u shan't.

Coz yes you are lovely,
But not more than she:
My rock of strength
The one for me.

And it’s a secret,
I wouldn’t bare.
I thought it was easy
It isn’t, I swear.

I have been in,
And I have been out.
And this one time
I'm expecting a rout.

A rout not of nature
But of her force
Blindingly exquisite
Delicately coarse.

That, at the moment
Is all you need to know.
I'll leave you with that,
And now I will go

Go away to,
A lost paradise.
Where she is with me
And all else is nice.

Pronouns: 4

They hated each other. Sheer, dark, passionate hatred. The feeling was mutual. They were both popular, strong, aggressive. Many loved them, and many derived pleasure from the way they would always be at each other’s throats. The mere thought of them fighting it out in the open would make many shudder. Such was their impact. They were the most revered men out there.

They would be surrounded by women at all times. Neither paid much attention. They were too focused to let such things interfere.

They were friends when they were young. An incident as naïve as name calling had led to their first fight. There was blood; later tears. Never again were they seen together.
Fear motivated them. Fear of losing out. Competition brought out their best. They were addicted to each other. It would be impossible to imagine either of them working as hard as they normally would without a direct threat from the other. Their situation was tense, always on the edge. The “tipping point” was always around the corner. They were to erupt. They were to fight.

According to a Peruvian tradition, people go around punching one other on Christmas Morning in order to start the festivities on a fresh note, leaving all ill will behind.
They needed something similar. They had held their emotions within themselves for long enough. It was time to take it all out. They fixed up a meeting. The time had come.

Rumours spread like wildfire, they say. The truth spreads even quicker.
Soon, the town was buzzing with excitement. Its two most successful sons were about to sort out an issue that had exceeded its welcome.

They met at the city ground. It was crowded. The crowd had gone quiet.
Anticipation was uniform. Calmness rare.

The two men, tall and strongly built, were staring at each other. Staring hard.
They were amazed by how only a few knew the truth. They would later laugh at their ignorance. Assumptions were wrong. People doubted the truth; they trusted lies.

People expected them to fight. A few punches at least. That is how, they thought, emotions bottled up for decades emerge.

They incessantly stared at each other. One rolled up his sleeves, the other loosened his collar.
Then they moved towards each other and kissed.

They would fight this together.
#377

Pronouns: 3

He loved her. Yes he did. A part of him always knew that. A part of him wasn't ready to accept that he did.
He had been in denial for long enough. It was time. Yes, he loved her.

He would sit in a corner, looking at her from far. Their eyes would meet, his eyes would light up. He used to tell her how she would be the first to know if he ever fell in love. The time had come.

She loved him. Always had. Unlike him, there was no denial in her story. She had always been straight forward about her emotions. She knew she was in love, she was just waiting for the right time. The time had come.

Every meeting would cause her to grin endlessly, every touch would make her spine tingle. His raspy baritone would get her weak in the knees. She used to adore him. Worship him. Love him.

He meanwhile, was in awe of her. Her beauty was mesmerising. She was beautiful to him. It didn't matter what the others said about her "not being his type". If he ever had a type, it was her. Wit, edge, humour. She was a goddess to him. He loved her.

She was scared. Scared that he would turn her down. Scared that an emotional confrontation would pose a threat to their friendship. She was scared of losing him. She was scared of him leaving. Of things never being the same again. She pushed all these worries away when she met him that morning. The leap of faith was necessary. She was in love and nothing else mattered.

He had his own insecurities. He knew how people changed after they began dating. He loved her too much to risk losing her. He loved her as she was. He was scared she would change. Distances would creep in. He had convinced himself that she had no feelings for him. It wouldnt be a proposal; it would be a confession. That morning was to be big.

They met that day. Both hiding the same thing from the other. They looked at each other. They both had a feeling of loss. He was looking at her as if this was to be the last time he would see her. She returned the look with a tinge of pain in her eyes.
They knew that their worlds would change if the truth came out. They knew that what they would be risking was more than what they were to gain. Both wished to take the leap. Neither could.

The truth can wait, both thought. They smiled again, and walked away.

It was not to be.

Pronouns: 2

And then he stopped. Stopped mid-sentence. Something had hit him; he had no idea what. Or maybe he did.

These were recent occurences.
He felt for her. An unhappy childhood isnt easy. Being alone for years isnt easy. The ability to count your friends on the fingers of a hand isnt one to be proud of. They hated her. All of them.

He felt for her. He could do anything for her smile. He had done so for months. He thought he could go on forever. He was wrong.

Today when she shouted at him, he saw his patience run out. He had given up his all. He had nothing to speak of. He was spent. He was weary. He was tired. He was angry.

He realised that expectation was a monster in hiding. But he hadn't expected much, had he?

He had expressed extreme concern. He had been caring. He loved her. Almost.
He never asked for a reciprocative show of emotions. All he asked for was some respect. Some sensibility. Some sensitivity.

Sadly, she never felt that he deserved any of it.
He was nothing to him. She thought he was smitten. She felt he enjoyed her company. She never realised that it was he who made her time worthwhile. It was he who completed her.
Yes, realisation is rare.

He had loved and failed. But that never hurt him as much as this did.

He had lived for her and her alone. Her whims were his commands. He just wanted her happy. He could die for that smile.
He wasnt in love he said. He was wrong again.

She found him great. She found him fun. She found him soft. She found him easy. She never found what lay underneath those smiles, those blank eyes, that crazy exterior. She never cared to look for what was to be looked. She was wrong.

And then he stopped. Stopped mid-sentence. He knew what had hit him. He saw the nonchalance in her eyes. He saw carelessness. He felt disgusted. He felt hurt. He felt like slapping her. And he would have. But he was right and she was wrong. He would never let that change. He walked away. Never looked back.

She never heard from him again.

Pronouns..

Often looked at as an incomplete science, astrology has its takers in the modern world.

There are people who swear by their horoscopes. She most definitely wasn’t one of them. Rational, pragmatic and smart, she’d lived his life well. Much loved and with legions of friends, she was genuine fun. Horoscopes, though, meant nothing to her, being fun reads at most. She believed that astrology was for escapists who wished to blame all their misfortunes on their stars instead of growing a pair and taking it all chin up. Deep within, she longed for love. There had been relations galore, but none had made her feel the way she wanted to. She had never found love, but would keep telling herself how she hadn’t yet looked for it in the right place.

He was different. Silent and receptive, he had been a happy soul. Known for his sense of humor, he was the entertainer. But he had always lived a quiet life, laughing with abandon around the people he cared about, and amazingly awkward around everyone else.

While returning from college, he pulled out his cellphone, and searched for the character traits assigned to his zodiac sign. They read it together and had a good laugh. The zodiac said that the two were made for each other. He laughed it off and so did she, superficially. Within her, a storm was brewing. Tomorrow, it would be.

She had always felt for him. There was always that tug at her core she felt when he was near. He was a charmer, she’d told him, he had always shrugged the compliment off. She was hot property, with guys queueing up just to have a glance. She’d been asked out innumerably, but she hadn’t accepted any proposals since college had begun. She wasn’t sure, if she could commit to anyone but him. She thought she liked him, she thought she was crazy.

Her feelings weren’t periodic, as she would have imagined. There was no ebbing of tide. All that remained was a stable, static, positive feeling. She felt for him. She always wished to see if he would ever drop a hint.
He meanwhile, was oblivious of the world around him. He had always maintained a safe distance from what he called “The abyss of dating”. People thought he was scared. Scared of rejection, scared of heartbreak. Actually, he was too happy with his life to care.

They spent most of their time together. There were others of course. He loved them all equally, but she had always had this special place in her heart for him. She found it difficult to imagine how he hadn’t noticed it yet. She had always paid him more attention, always prioritizing according to his comfort. She could do anything to spend time with him, she had made that quite obvious. She was in awe of his wit and humour, of how good he was at heart. He found her incredibly sweet, period.

She had other men in her life, yes. But there was this resounding voice in her head that reminded her that dating any of them would mean that she would lose him forever. She knew, that he hardly felt the same way for her. She knew, he would never date her. But the thought of losing him for ever, was too much to take. No other guy held a candle to him. He wasn’t perfect, nobody is. But she felt that “they” would be.

He had always liked her. She was one of his closest friends, very pretty and an amazing person to be with. He knew that he was at his best when he was with her. She was awesome. She had been very supportive to him, and he acknowledged it all. But he had never thought of a romantic alliance.
The question was, what if he did?

She had never thought that things would reach a stage when she would face an urge to ask him out. She knew that this was what she had looked for, what she had been longing for. She had always dreamt of this being special. But in her heart she knew, that he was simple at heart and it was simplicity he would fall for. It was the timing of the move that she was concerned about. She realized that she was on the edge. Any closer to him, and she would fall over.

TOMORROW

She woke up that morning with a spring in her stride, jumping to the washroom and dressing up in her best. For the first time in her life, she read her horoscope with her fingers crossed. It said “A perfect day with your perfect one”. Her heart paced within her. She smiled the most charming of her smiles at the mirror, felt well about how she looked, and raced to meet him.
She could see him near the college gate, avidly waiting for her. Waiting to enter the college together, as always.
He noticed her from far, waved first, and then smiled. She returned both with fervor. She walked up to him, and gathering all her courage, told him how she felt for him, how she loved him, how she’d been in love with him ever since college started. She went on, passionately, looking into his eyes, searching for the tiniest bits of acceptance. She spoke from the heart, he noticed that with ease. But even when she was speaking, she couldn’t keep herself from noticing his all knowing smile, his perfect hair and those two eyes which meant everything to her. Her eyes caught every little movement his loose strands of hair were making. She was in love, finally.

She confessed her love, asked him out. She was rejected.
After all, astrology is an incomplete science.

Of Focus, and Journeys

It’s normal to assume that working individuals need a break. Irrespective of the type of “work”. But I wasn’t working. Ever since school has ended, I have been on an extended vacation. College began, the first semester is now over, but my break continues. All that I have done during this 6 month period is write a couple dozen poems, with a handful of good ones and the rest worthy of only the trash box. And some part of me knows how true this is, and I don’t feel too good about this.

It all began last July. By all I mean college. The one place which has become the focal point of all my activities. It suddenly feels like my life rotates around this one expanse we know as the University Campus. Not that it is a bad thing. Focusing one’s existence is necessary, but I fear that that isn’t what has happened here. I’m hardly drawn to the buildings, the fields, the admin blocks, the corridors, the classrooms. Somehow, despite all this being integral to me, they still feel empty at some level. I do realize what causes this emptiness, and how to fill in. Places are never memorable on their own; it’s the people who make places memorable. And the reason why I love college is that I love the people at college.

This could very well turn into those thankful endnotes at the conclusion of what people consider an era, filled with acknowledgments, apologies, words of appreciation and those of gratitude. But it would be silly to do so at this stage. Most feelings are immature, most understandings are conjecture and most conclusions are assumptions. To write about the people around me at this stage will be a sad attempt filled with illogical projections and subjective idiocy on my part, something I can totally do without.

So, all one can make out of this piece is:
1) I know I haven’t been writing for quite some time now and really wish to resume.
2) Life is based on campus. Campus is all about friends.
3) I’m not in a position to write about my friends.

So where does that leave me?
Back where I began. With the fire to write, the will to type down pages at end, to go on without stops, to do what I love. To write. But with nothing to write about.

Four hundred words on, I haven’t yet started.
This, I’d like to believe is a phase. A phase that is meant to pass over with time. But now, with time I have come to realize that this unproductive phase has become periodic in nature. It requires immense focus to recover from this crevice I find myself trapped in. Focus sadly, is nowhere in sight.
And that is where I’ll stop. I’ll stop because I can see that I have ceased to make sense. I’ll stop because I know something’s wrong, and unless I set that right, its pointless looking for the focus I keep talking of.
I can see now what people mean when they say that one has been circumlocuting for hours without reaching anywhere. I see myself, backing off and onto a journey looking for what I need, because I’m not sure that I know what that is.

Till then, keep faith.