Conditional Love

He broke me

Slowly killed me as I sat

When he confessed his love to me,

Albeit with a caveat

Oh! you are the sweet one

The one whom I fancy.

You are the prejudiced Elizabeth 

To my proud Mr. Darcy

You are never the stunner

Who can turn a man's head

You do however pique the interest 

Of a man's mind instead

You almost always speak well

Are thoughtful and articulate

But never the bombshell with whom

The male glance can relate

There, there, you aren't pretty.

Are not a work of art.

But when you open your mouth

You prove that you are smart

If you waddle into a bar one day

And have nothing at all to say

Trust me no one will spare

A second glance your way

But the moment you decide to speak

You more than hold your ground,

Most men (me included)

Are inexplicably drawn to that sound.

You are warm and gracious.

You know how to pull people close.

But then you know not to distinguish 

A prickly thorn from a rose

And while I may love you,

And fall for your homely charms.

But there are many others beside me

Wishing you were in their arms

So I do love you, my darling

Your sweetness draws me in

But I can find no warmth for you

Not a care for you within

I will let you go on my darling,

To be the soft, kindred soul

While you may be able to love me,

But I can never make you whole.

And that's how he broke me.

Slowly killed me as I sat.

He finally did confess his love

But it came with a caveat.

Creeper

Near my home is a building 

Unfinished. 

Slowly rotting , ruined.

An ugly sight, a reminder of dreams

Promised

Unhonoured. Never fulfilled.

We have covered it up with sheets

Neat. Perfect

Hidden from the eyes

We go about our lives. Leaving it

Unseen. Unloved.

Not caring that it grows wild

There is a creeper growing.

Zesty. Strong. 

It fears not for life or love

It keeps twisting around the ruin

Feeding. Growing

A beautiful messy wild shrub

The creeper is healthy, strong. 

Climbing

Wrapped over the ruins and more

It's climbing slow and steady 

With stealth

Towards chaos, furore

It's peeking over the covers now

Curious. Naughty

A life grown from the dead

Tired of being a part of the ruin

Hidden. Forgotten.

It's ready to be loved instead

Remembering Ms. Puri

When I was in grade 6, I was blessed to get Ms. Puri as my english teacher. The very first day Puri ma'am was horrified that my h and n and b and d and p and and q all had same tiny length of the standing line !!! Oh my ! How upset she was. I remember her threatening me with a 'lappad' if I did not make those standing lines longer and uniform. She was relentless in her pursuit to improve my English handwriting. Surprisingly, I didn't resent this meddling, in fact I started working towards improving my letters. She used to sit in the ground floor staff room beside the headmistress' room. Everytime I would visit the staffroom to drop some notebooks or pick up some, she would make it a point to ask me 'Piyu, how is the handwriting practice going?' She took individual interest in my mental health and well-being at a time when these words were not fancy social media terms.

In 1997, just about to pass out of school, one of my poems ' My dear old Lady Irwin' got published in the school magazine. That afternoon during break, I was on duty to send the middle schoolers back into their classrooms. As I was running around middle school, rounding up the kids, Ms. Puri came walking towards me with the copy of the school magazine open to the page with my poem. 

'Piyu, how are you my child ?' She had bent a little with age. I was taller than her now. ' I am doing fine ma'am' I replied with a smile. (I was still in awe of her.) 'So , how is the handwriting practice going?' She asked with a smile. ' Fine ma'am. Thanks to you'. 'You wrote a beautiful poem Piyu. I am so proud of you!' She said with her eyes moist. I touched her feet to say thanks. My eyes teared up too. 

That's the last time I met and spoke to Ms. Puri. Life got busy after school and I regret that I never took time out to meet ma'am. I have had a neat and beautiful handwriting ever since Ms Puri made me practice. Everytime I am praised for my lettering, I send out a thank you to the universe for bringing Ms. Puri into my life.

The Mood Algorithm

 The watch on my wrist

measures the heartrate

and stress. 

It calculates my mood

algorithmically.

The dial glows green today.

A smiley emoji,

'Low stress' it says.

It's a Monday

A new week dawns with

new possibilities.

The brain refuses the score.

Am I fine ? It asks

Where is the worry then?

and the whine ?

The constants have become

a part of normal score?

The heart smiles

This happy emoji, this low stress score

It's a fool's paradise.

But paradise none the less !

The Laughter Show

People are waiting for the laughter show to start

Edgy, impatient 

Looking at the closed doors of the auditorium

People are out here to laugh

Snort, Shake

Silently let out all anxieties in the funny forum

Yet they wait with eyes glued to screens

Frowning, silent

Waiting for a release which can come to them with ease

Wish people would look up and around

Smile, Slow down

It's easy as easy can be, to replace the frown :) 

That Afternoon

 

* Butterflies and bees buzzing somewhere.

* Faking the calm with nonchalance.

* Colours, and the audacity to carry them with style.

* Eyes disappearing with smiles.

* Long fingers which fold over the upper lip.

* Eyes poring, right into the soul

* A glass of water sipped slowly.

* Humour laced with depth

* Or sarcasm laced with humour.

* Words spoken and unspoken.

* Thoughts going deeper than surface.

* Knowing more than showing.

* A simple ‘I know’

* Afternoons warm yet chilly.

* Wanting to leave and wanting to stay.

* Block and unblock.

* Hold it in and then say it all.

* The helplessness, the hopefulness.

* The dejection, the anger, the gratitude, the heartbreak.

* Overwhelming guilt. Yours. Mine. 

* The pull, and sheer loss of control.

* Desperation on things out of control.

* Normal, going back to routine.

* A whirlpool hidden under thin ice.

 

Just one afternoon……….. a timeline full of emotions.

The nights have been freezing ever since *****

In Love with Love

I am in love with the idea of love

With all it's fuzz and mush

In love with your dreamy eyes

Staring without a rush

Of hands which touch so tender

And melt my heart within

Of kisses that curl my toes

And leave me with a grin

I am in love with pearly dreams

That becon me at daybreak

Lacing my half closed eyes 

With a fuzzy dreamy drape

The smile which plays on my lips

While twirling tendrils of hair

Darkening the tiny mole beside

My kohl softened stare

I am in love with the flitter-flutter

Of my skipped heartbeat

The softeness of lacy napkins

Left on-purpose by your seat

That zingy feel of skin on skin

When our fingers entwine

Steadying my deliberate stumble

With your hands holding mine

The soft sound of caught breath

Disguised quickly as a cough

The dance of sensual eyes

Hidden behind a shaky laugh

Oh, I am in love with the idea of love!

Poor you won't stand a chance

Unless you dream my dreams

And drown in my rosy romance !