Window of past

She peeps through the window of past..

She lives into the moment that last...

That sight, that smell, that passion that excels.. 

That touch, those arms, those intimate  whisper that calms.. 

Into the heart that she hides..into her eyes that has cried... And into her whimsical world she has always visualised..

She cuddles through the window of past..

She craves for the comfort of the arms that last...

That kiss

That kiss.. 

When I melted into a teenage girl..

Where the sight of ur face was more delightful than the light of the night...

That silent moment where I could hear me breathing into you...

That kiss... which took me into a whimsical world of a princely charmer caressing me... Wanting me...

That kiss...where the lithe moves of my soul enhanced my sensuality...

The kiss that took my breath away and gave me the life to breath into the world of wonders...

That kiss where I witnessed the lifelessness of a living body.... And the life of a dead soul...

Shear memory of that kiss gives me the courage to fall in love again and to rise in you once again... Oh yeah that kiss... Yes yes it is your kiss.. Our kiss..

Night

There is “something” about this moment, which forced me to write at 4:25 am of the night, I will not want to call it an early morning for some strange reason. This “something” can be… mysterious, productive actually re-productive, creative, light, loving and very powerful. This is far from mediocrity but still not closer to excellence, closer to curiosity but far from confusion, some bit of ignorance and lots of optimism.

There is also a fear, a fear of losing this moment. There must be something very precious about this moment that fears even the rising of sun. I love the comfort this night offers, as if m on bed of cushions, cuddling the innocence of expression. Love is missing. Every positive emotion exist here where is this hidden love? Somewhere behind the stars of hope in the sky of acceptance, is love.

Night is that huge canvas where one can paint any emotions as many emotions. 

Night is also a blanket that protects & covers many stories.

Night is a blog that offers expression. 

My photographer shot me Dead

He clicked my sensuality. And froze my emotions into a moment, for eternity.

My photographer- my mirror, my dynamic reflection, a still from my imagination, a run-through of my wish-list and a human body to my soulful search.

It was the most beautiful dawn of the season, an evening of a photographic experimentation between two naïve artists that cannot be forgotten. He gave me utter comfort to be myself. I quite liked him for this. He was totally into me and I loved that. I realized that “beauty” is such an incomplete expression without “appreciation”. And I was “incomplete” untill he appreciated me in his own way through his instrument of communication/expression, His Camera, his view.

Of course his intimacy for his camera was a hindrance to ours and an inhibitor to the flow of connection building between us.  But I could still sense him as an extension of my visual fantasy; my hidden emotion and his ambush attention created great chemistry to keep us going for the photo session. I had no escape and he had left me free. 

Everything around us was so ticklish. Even the tinkle of the wind-chime was running from my ears through each cell of my body causing goose bumps, leaving an irresistibly naughty smile on my face.  I knew that he not only can see me but also can see through me. I was vulnerable and scared. He was protective and provocative. I was alert and playful. He was observant and witty. I was a kid and he was a gentleman.

He was sincere and involved in his work; standing up, sitting down, reaching corners to capture the picture perfect; when I observed an innocent imperfection in his attire. His white vintage waist belt; old, used, broken and a cherished one; wore on his denims. There was something about that white belt which made me have an instant connection with him. At that moment he was a sweet charmer, an ignorant one.

By that time I had no clue as to how and when was he clicking me. The beauty of that moment was the very comfortable silence around us. The silence that was getting magnified with the sound of his camera clicks. I surrendered. To him? To the universe? or To my own self ? Don’t know to whom, it’s still a mystery to me. May be everything else around me did surrender to the serene depth of my soul.

But had it not been him and his faith in me we wouldn’t have created a team to be lured and appreciated.  The pictures were a hit.  He was famous; it added another feather to his hat. I rushed into him, to congratulate him, to tell him how wonderful he is, to tell him what he means to me, to give him a "Gift" I bought only for him. And in my effort to surprise him I was shocked and taken aback.

He was so detached when I met him this time, as if he had been different person altogether. He showed me the pictures he liked the most, he was in awe of his work and the story coming out of each picture. He didn’t even attempt to acknowledge my presence in those pictures as if he clicked my clone. He thanked me and left. Left! Left me incomplete, again!

I understood he was an artist, all he wanted was those pictures, those pieces of art from the surreal senses behind it. He was the creator of those moments and I was living a dream, a moribund dream where he ignited me to capture the light I was illuminating and at the end I was left to ashes.  He had taken away a part of me, for his fame and may be for my name.

He pulled me up to a level, captured my shades (my body and my soul, my eyes and my sight, my smile and my story) and when I had grown fond of him he left me alone. He made me fall in love with myself and I ended up falling for this act of his.

My photographer gathered me and then scattered me.

I am still alive and incomplete like beauty, waiting to be appreciated again. So what if he shot me dead in those moments, I am an artist too, creator of many more living moments!

Zara...A redundant tabloid story

Women-to-women connection! Not the one you are thinking about, but it made me gay enough to leave a mark. I saw a spark in those watery eyes, through the smoke of her ciggrate. She sipped her beer from the bottle like a shy rustic girl and acknowledged my presence at Saleem’s party. Saleem? The name says it all. He is a filthy rich real estate developer, a millionaire at least; and a disciple of art “kala ka kadardan”. He gathers raw, talented artists and makes them perform in his evening parties. Don’t be scared! Entertainment has no definition.

So Saleem is a very good friend of mine. I was artist enough to grab his attention, intellectual enough to sustain our work relations and friendship is the sole manifestation of the contribution we bring to each other’s dreams.

That cosy party had a couple of interesting people chit chatting around. Zara broke the randomness of the room by her song. Her voice was a life saving poison. And a pain that can only leave you alive. I went into a trance and she was singing only for me. She even made me sing but I was not even remotely close to her, not technically atleast, but we were in awe of each other and others were admiring our musical interaction.

So let me give a face to this name Zara. She looks like a thin 17 yr old wheatish college girl with decently attractive features but sultry eyes. Music through such expressive eyes was sheer enigma. One would certainly want to demystify the intensity she transforms into her singing.

The party went on for a couple of hours. Music, Dance and Fun was all on the house from the philanthropic host Saleem. They all went for clubbing and I decided to come back as I had to bring in my friends b’day. The whole b’day party was a background score to Zara’s visual singing to me. Finally, I came back home with my trance hat gifted to me by Zara and got back to my work routine.

3 months later while I was jogging on carters the woman-to-woman spark was revived. I saw a group of people gathered around a bench to listen to my lovely lady. There was a young guitarist and an old uncle giving percussion. The public was thoroughly enjoying this impromptu symphony. I chuckled, Entertainment really has no definition. I was excited and gazed at her but she didn’t recognize me. She couldn’t. She was high, and was enjoying singing to public demand. I was blank. I wanted to be happy for her but how can she not recognize me?

Next day I was as blank and uneasy at my work in the Bank when I got call from Saleem. I asked him if he knows anything about Zara. He could only tell me that she stays in Mahim. I ran to her address. I will leave the description of her place to your imagination. Her home covered a 200 sqft of built-up area. She lives there alone.

Zara is a 23 yrs old married woman, who was brought up by her grandfather as her parents died at a very young age. She has a 5 yr old daughter whom she saw last time 3 yrs back at a railway station from where her husband had stolen (literally) her and vanished. She has stopped fighting for her case in the court to get her baby one year back when her own brother tried to rape her.

Zara is a drug addict now. She thinks it is important for her to stay drugged, as this lets her create her own world within and bring out the emotions she has lived and fought at such an early age. By being unconscious she can sing better and fetch more money. When overdosed she can’t recognize people she knows.

Zara is an exotic entertainer who ignites various emotions through her singing. When asked if she is happy with her life, she replied that she thoroughly enjoyed the chimerical world created within her unconscious space and tries to find her baby in this world. In her journey to panacea she ends up entertaining others.  Indeed “Entertainment has no definition”!

Love to Zara.


PS: I was told all this by a guy who is in immense love with Zara. He is a qualified lawyer and will be bringing Zara daughter back, before proposing her for marriage. 

A night of 9 years

Hope you enjoy reading this post as much as u enjoyed the first one.

Date: 5th feb'10

Blue falling boat neck, sleeveless, bootcut slited trouser, platform heels, open soft curls…all set to meet my inspiration…Sitting behind mom when she was driving Kinetic, needless to say at a speed that could never touch 40kmps. We landed to meet Mom's frnd's Son, I just hate this namste uncleji types gathering but modesty often leaves you with less options, In this case no option. She wanted me to meet him to take some gyaan to start preparing for MBA. What i witnessed was last thing expected.. Stylish angrezi acsent, 6 feet tall, broad shoulders, MBA, Army men was all just too impressive to be resisted by a gal from first year of college at the age of 16... Calling him "T***** bhaiya" was too brutal to my fantasies arousing...where i was completely lost(with blinking eyes), didn't even hear who's uttering what?

6 months...was time enough to make me live in his awe and then came 5th oct, my b'day..i never thought my interest for cooking will help making my dream come true...I met him at a coffee shop smth like a barista in-progress to offer self baked b'day cake..it was an eventful day started with a bunch of roses..ice tea..hell lot of nervousness (mainly because of my inability to deliver that angreji ascent and match his taste of music)...his comforting skills kept me engaged in d conversation nd convinced me enough to ditch my regular bummy chummy friends waiting in college to celebrate my b'day bash..3 hours with my ice tea got over with a proposal for long drive on CBZ...i was quite comfortable sitting behind him, started being chirpy, d usual me...clouds were chasing us..farms were following us...life could never be such perfect...we stopped at a hill, trekked over a lill... He looked straight into my eyes for a time period long enough to cause me goose bumps...nd asked me the colour of his eyes...by then I was anyways colour blind...

And d only thing that could broke my vision was that sound..."swati! i think I am falling in love with you"...........Yes! You read it right. My first crush..who was ruling Hrithik in my dreams since past 6 month "pppprrroposed" to me. How can I even be expected to stay in my senses? Ever heard of saansein tham gayi, pairo tale zameen nd stuff....And the kahani main twist was I quietly came back by telling him "i guess its just infatuation". Why? You mean...why the hell I did that?

Well I have no answer. Absolutely zilch. He went for another 6 months defence training and stuff. 2 sleepless nights gave me enough insight to rationalize my feelings..and the agenda for next 6 months was set..."Make myself deserving for him" that obviously meant... English ascent (its tough being an Indori), good music sense (I hope Nadeem shravan and Anu malik developed my aptitude enough), brand conscious (pocket money ki waatt)..all these so that thr is no embarrassment next time we meet. I started working on it as per plan..counting days and writing diary addressing him.... living each moment in conversation with him...

And thn came 6th march 2001, the much awaited date, not only for me but for all my close frnds who were excited to know the climax of this filmy story...everything was plan ke mutabik...My first Levis jeans (worth Rs 1600 don't even know how I cajoled my mom to purchase that), Pepe T's...3 inches high heels...all set with the number of gifts I purchased for him every month out of my pocket money...and a bunch of pink carnations...the day was running smooth after my initial heartbeat in my head reaction looking at him...and I came back to witness batteries of questions form all around...Swati, how was it?...uske honsh ude ke nahi?...wasn't he impressed?....And my answer was..

He already has a girlfrnd...obviosly, was I expecting that no gal will answer him the colour of his eyes in 6 months? ...but anyways did this ever stopped my frenzy for him.. na never...we used to keep chatting, atleast in my favrt “namaste uncleji gatherings”, even after his break-up (with a grinning smile).

Tonight, after 9 years, he is getting married. 9 yrs, time enough to mould me into the person I am (emotional & rational at d same time), time enough not to easily get impressed by dudes I keep coming across, time enough to do MBA (ha ha ha everythng started frm here), time enough to see him falling for me. Am in d train writing this, supposed to be in Indore as a special invitee but smhw i escaped.

I always knew this gonna happen..i thought m prepared for it…am I sad? Not exactly. Guess the feeling is just similar to the one I had when last time I purchased my Levis and on my way back home was confused if I made a mistake by not picking the one I left. Or may be little more intense. Anyways as I said modesty leaves you with less options, do I have any other option but to wish T****** A happy married life!


Cheers!

My first Marriage Encounter

Well, my 1st blog is the result of one of my random e-mail to few of my freinds. Sharing the same below. My sincere thanks to all of you who suggested me to publish this. ;)

Here is that e-mail....

Date: 17th Oct
Time: 3:30 pm

Hey Frndzz,

Hope you all r doing great and having absolute Fun.

If not much then try reading this mail and my first Marriage encounter. I am sharing this amazing feeling wid all of u.

Yes the arrival of so called ladke waale from our “samaaj”, at my place. Btw fyi, they are sitting downstairs nd am writing ths to all of u.

I was irritated as well as nervous since the time I got to knw bout ths guy engineer frm sm REC and wrkng in Dubai.. (yeah i can read that expression) ..is cmng to see me along with his family, I had never seen this guy before not even in photo. And stating the obvious, it was a typical mummy’s act whr all the sections/clauses were full of emotional attyachaar to coax one to utter nuthng less than a YES. And I did as required, by agreeing to her.

I was anyways nervous, on the top of it my 2-3 kaminey frnds including my younger brother were teasing me. At the elevnth hour...I was agitated, annoyed, frustrated, angry, bitchy... and tried to meet all ends to convince mom to plss plss postpone this. But mom is mom, The Invincible... then I finally decided that I have to steal the show.

I quickly entered into the character and got ready for this encounter. One nice chudidaar and tidy hair plates something similar to the heroines of 80’s anil kapoor ki movies …gharonda, sansaar, jamaai raja types...

Mom was at the top of the world and bro was rolling with laughter, fortunately dad was out of home, saved me frm further embarrassment. But guess by nw I was having fun. I went down and sat on the corner-most sofa with nazare neechie nd all that crap…nd thr was a complete silence of 3 minutes.” Beta kahaan kaam karti ho” uncle broke the silence. The moment I looked up I had seen this baldish dark, specky guys….with a pug nose and a face cut like “gundha huaa roti ka aata” I coud see his toungue falling down to his feets while he was starring me with his wanton eyes.

I spoke to uncle for 5-6 minutes about his work after retirement, decided not to give d guy any bhaav.. and then ran away before my mom cud stop me. My bro was laughing and at the same time was pitting the guy's family for whats gonna happen nxt. As by nw even mom understood that she made a mistake.


To keep my promise and to accompany mom I went thr again and sat at the same place. by nw I had quickly changed in my regular ultra low waist jeans, xstra small T’s, Bold belt and open hair (d unkempt look). Mom asked “tumhe email-id exchange karna hai?” I quickly said “nahi mom wo to milne se pehle ki baat thi” (gave the guy my final answer).

After another 4 mins of silence... Aunty(guys mom) said…”ab hum chalte hain”……. my dad arrived…. and I came here to share this unusual experience with u all.

By nw they r gone…m lill sad for them but can’t help it. Guess m not meant for this…nd it was required to protect myself frm mom’s next step towards my better future. ;P

Btw thanks for ur patience to read this mail…I had great time writing this.

Love!
Swati