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To her from him | Life Blog
To her from him | Life Blog
Love in young days looks beautiful and when it is read years later, the language, the words and the mistakes make it look even better.
Some letters define us
The first message on Facebook was, as usual, first meeting through a friend was ordinary. The first talk on the phone, the first exchange of texts was casual. But it never remained the same way too long. The voice began to sound cute than normal. The laughter sounded like soft music than being absurd. The feel for you grew day by day at a rate higher than that at which our heartbeats. The urge to see as well as hear you increased with the passage of time.
I was in love with you, in a very short time. When I was at the peak of my emotions of dreaming a life with you; I suddenly fell down, hearing from you that we are about to become good friends. In seconds of time, my feelings were crushed; my world was devastated and I was left all alone in the entire world. As after a day, I became normal. I realized how I overreacted by ending my world; just in a relation which actually got the time of only 1 month to rise. I felt myself as dumb. But the silver lining in the chapter was you agreed that we became friends and those too Good Friends.
Our talks as friends enhanced and we became known to each other to a better extent. I constantly made efforts to know you more as that special feeling for you apart from being just friends were still there in me. I loved each part of my time which had the presence US instead of ME alone. The talking to you till late nights was one of them. We didn’t have much to talk but still the continuation of it till long hours, though rarely, made me feel good. Whenever you used to be Dull or out of the mood, I tried to make you happy and craved to see you smile.
Continue..
I was not paid for the job of making you happy; still am satisfied I received with the returns I get with your smile. In the test of the time apart from my work; which I rarely did, the best thing was to think about you, it gave me a sense of contentment filled with peace. I was happier to live in that dreamy world of ours which belonged to only me though. I didn’t know you in-depth even till then; but still, in my own world, you had the best qualities and you were the best person, I can ever imagine of. Still, in as per your thoughts, it was too early.
Time was going great with you in my life. We haven’t met each other that way since long; as you always had priorities for your best buddies and your old batch mates; and also you might not even that much interested in meeting me, but that didn’t bother me. I don’t want you to go away from the things you love and come to me; as that would be a compromise and, love is understanding not compromise. I neither thought to disturb you from your happily going life; as your actual presence didn’t matter to me by that time. It was your voice, your nature, your heart and more importantly your feelings that took the prior place. Still, in your view, it was too early.
Hope..
I was feeling more and more for you and you were just the same. With the passage of 2 years, we became known to each other a bit more. But still, in your words, I just knew you 60% of the total (but, who had actually known girls to 100 %, not even GOD) and you knew my whole. With all the fights, all the over-possessive attitude of mine, the least caring attitude of yours; all my days, when I actually irritated you and during all the time when you spent hours talking to me; and with all those break-ups of mine with you; even without having any relationship with you we actually got to know about each other’s life’s; daily activities, and all the things related to each other, in a better way and we became somewhat close friends.
At least a sort of bond you don’t share with people who know and people with whom you share are very few. But still, we were only Friends. Harsh but true. I got to learn a lot more good qualities from you; some from you and the others for you but still you weren’t able to learn Lover from me. With your neutral attitude towards Love and with a smile that still pleases me, I actually became a bit more patient. I realized that it’s still not the time to be a person who belongs to you. It’s still better to be a person by your side.
Conclusion..
True love may need a hand in hand to travel the journey of life together, but why to imprison the other person by holding her. A great love only needs a feel of love from love, to live the entire life with peace and happiness. I realized that it’s you that matters to me, it’s your feeling that makes me feel happy, it’s your innocence that makes me feel bliss.
Neither it was and nor it is a tag of relationship that will make a difference. The feel which I share for you is way ahead than any relation, it’s a state of comfort for me, to feel for you. You may exist with me or not, but your existence in me is already there. Still, it will be great to see you with me, together embraced in my arms, smiling at each other and having a life worthy with each other for the rest of the life together,
But I know
……. Still in your view it was too early
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Wine and You | Short story 9
Wine and You | Short story 9
Conclusion..
Her long hazel coloured nails tinkled, as her wrist softly moved, touching the wine glass. Her fingers made their way towards her fountain pen placed on the bunch of papers, with her eyes still looking on the screen. Rough sheets of papers lay scattered all over the table. The tinkling sound drew her attention away from her laptop towards her glass of wine. With a soft gracious smile on her face, she finally grabbed the glass. Meanwhile, she also picked the pen which was kept open on the last draft of her first poem for editing.
Reading the final draft and sipping the last drop of her wine made her realize that it was the 4th glass she had that evening and now she was not in a stage to have any more. In trying to make herself comfortable and focusing on the poem, she found yet another correction, and this was, as per her understanding, the last one. The comma got replaced by a semicolon. She edited the same on her laptop.
Somehow she was done with the poem. The poem was ready from her end and she wanted some of her close friends to read and review it. But as the night and the heaviness of the content demanded, she opted for the 5th glass of wine again. The solitude of being alone at home was pleasing her. She stood by the window and it was getting cold. The touch of the cold breeze was making her happy. The wine was kinking in. Suddenly the face went low, a few tears dropped and she started watching the stars.
Story behind
It was not only the wine that made her dull. It was Punit, in whose memories she was so absorbed that the tears came out. He came in her life as happiness to her existence. Her soul was at peace with her breaths, because of him. He made her look beautiful in her own eyes. He became her definition of love. But time and circumstances define the person you are and in no time, he left.
What went wrong or whose fault it was, were the questions that can be ignored when the end is not one she dreams off. He left, leaving her in search of the solitude she never wanted but is now all that she wants. She took to drinking. The girl whose love was defined by someone’s existence started living her life. Wine became a part of her. She had never drunk before Punit. Not even with her earlier boyfriends.
Slowly with wine came a time of self-realization. This lead to defining her in the smallest world of words. She started reading and playing with words.
Reliving the time with him, she tried to write. Pages after pages got lost in some corners of the room, making her realize how easy it was to live that life and how difficult it was getting to portray it on paper. Days passed and each rolled paper thrown in dustbin gave her a better meaning about herself.
The beginning..
Today, after filling the room with many such paper balls, she was finally with the draft of her first poem. The stars were now blinking at her, shinning and making her realize how beautiful she looks even without anyone praising her in the room. The darkness of night was no longer a sign of loneliness for her. It was peace and tranquillity now. The process of writing about her life made her a better woman. She understood those aspects of life, which she never felt while living them. Words made her a better person. They made her loving herself. Now, the 5th glass was supped. She smiled at the moon and thanked the stars for showing faith in her. She moved back to her laptop and titled her poem, “Wine and You” and sent to her friends.
That night she was in love with her existence even more, in relation to no one else. Moving back towards the bed, she slept with utmost peace. She got appreciated and published in International magazine and loved by all. Somehow, what the words in “Wine and you” did for her, was what the wine and the guy in her life were not able to do.
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Wine and You | Short story 9
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For more poetry, @ Ramta Jogi Poetry
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Abeda Tailors | Short story 8
Abeda Tailors | Short story 8
She was clad in burkha, but her eyes showed dreams, desires and aspirations. Abeda Husan was covered in that single piece but the way of walking showed the confidence. She continued to walk down the market place where each shop was owned by a male. But she was more worried about the food, she had cooked for her mother-in-law, getting cold. The neighbourhood eyes continued to watch her from both the sides as she made her way. Some well-wishers looked and smiled to her, inquired about her health; some perverts tried to have a glimpse of her body even in the fully clad attire from their side-eyes. She smiled at all and moved. Finally, the first turn to the right she took and saw the small ten by ten shop with a board hanging
“Abeda Tailors”.
She unwrapped her face, which was content at the sight of her shop. She opened the shutters and entered with four other men, her employees. The entire day passed in working on old orders and making new ones. It was Diwali so the rush continued till late. Her team was instructed to work till late as the entire neighbourhood was in an urgency regarding their orders. At 9 the shutters were down. She checked the phone and saw many messages and missed calls from her husband. She called him and informed him of the situation and made her way back to her home.
The mother-in-law was screaming in the background too and she understood that tonight as always will not be a good night. The door opened with her husband cursing her for the inappropriate timing of returning home giving the examples and teachings of community. She listened but focused on her way towards the kitchen as she knew that is what they have been waiting for. While cooking, she was subjected to the continuous taunts from her mother-in-law sitting in the hall. As soon as she cooked the food and gave it to them the banter discontinued.
Alas! She knew it will arise again the next evening. No one will ask her about her day, her struggles, her work or her happiness, what they will want is their satisfaction. The money she is earning is again spent in the same house only, but the aura and illusion of the society that the house is run by a man take over her hard work. Her husband works but earns less than her and still gets love and appreciation from all.
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It is 11:30 and she is thinking of waking at 6 the next morning to complete the daily chores and leave for work when her husband suddenly tugs her in the arm. She understands what is about to transpire and wants to signal her lack of interest but she knows a refusal at this moment will instigate his ego and create a scene again at late at night. She gives in. With no emotions, love, feelings at that moment, she surrenders her body to him. With her pain giving him pleasure, she accepts his arms.
It has been 20 minutes and undressed she is lying and he is on the other side sleeping in his own pleasure. She dresses, clears the teardrop from eyes and switches off her table light and sleeps.
Her surrounding, her husband, her mother-in-law or the society, none of it will matter tomorrow, when she opens her shop.
@ramtajogi
Abeda Tailors | Short story 8
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For more poetry, @ Ramta Jogi Poetry
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The smile that cried |Short story 7
The smile that cried | Short story 7
The flames got trapped in the enclosure at the crematorium. The body that went into the oval platform came out like a pot of ashes back to Arth’s father. All mourned and everyone cried even after the rituals got over. His mother was still squalling. The ladies gathered around her were trying to control her but somehow she had lost her senses that day. Arth’s uncles, his friends all lost their control and were bursting with tears. Each crying one was trying to console the other and failing at it.
It was 23 years old Arth Shrivastav who had lost his life. An accident took place the night before when a truck lost its control and hit the divider crossing to the wrong side, hitting a bike driven by Arth’s friend. Arth was on the back seat and to the harsh tragedy of life, the truck hit the backside of the bike, saving his friend and crushing both his legs. His head hit the ground hard which lead to his death on the spot. His family rushed to the hospital with hope, which got crushed the very moment they saw him. No one slept that night. By next morning all close relatives reached for the funeral rites.
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Now, they all are moving back to their own world. But Shrivastav family will no longer be able to live the same life again. Arth’s dad; Alok Shrivastav is standing outside the crematorium. He has remained silent since the night. As he saw the body of his child and went to a stage of numbness. He performed all the rituals without speaking a single word or giving out any emotions. Everyone has left now; the relatives are urging him to return home. He is taking small steps, slowly moving towards the car.
Millions of emotions are going on in his mind. He has lost his support, his successor, his dream, his pride, all in his son. He doesn’t know what he will do in that house, which was made home because of Arth. Also, he is not able to realise for whom he worked hard and earned all his life, for whose better future he saved. He is not able to believe what has happened.
In 24 hours he has actually lost his entire life. He feels like a living corpse. His power of thinking is destroyed. Somehow, Arth died taking both his parent’s souls. The car reaches back to their house and each step towards that place is making him think more. His wife’s tears are still not stopping. The door opened and as he moved inside, found a smiling photo of him playing with Arth, in the hall. Staring at the picture, he breaks down. He realised he lost himself in Arth.
What the flames and ashes could not do, was done by Arth’s smile.
@ramta jogi
The smile that cried | Short story 7
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The Unheard Voices | Short story 6
The Unheard Voices | Short story 6
Somewhere in the midst of the chaos what is missed, are the voices which smoothly flow down through our way without disturbing us or making their presence felt. The beauty of life is to live these unheard voices and feel that living. In this generation of ours, the feeling is what we crave for as that is the thing being missed from our lives. We are able to see, observe and understand what is shown to us and we conclude. We miss understanding the feeling of the unseen part, the unknown truth, and the unheard voices.
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The walk in the metro is clustered by the fights and laughter but what is seen yet ignored are the eyes of the guy sobbing for his lost job, the girl crying on the last seat for the fight she had with her boyfriend. The bargaining with the roadside vendors is something we notice but fail to observe the happiness in their eyes when they earn.
The glare of our parents is taken as a sign of their anger but what is missed are the tears in those eyes when we achieve something in life. The father who gifted his son a new bike on his birthday got his sons’ happiness but what the son failed to see was the money that he had to borrow from his neighbour for the bike. The schoolboy rejected the geometry box which his mother brought for his studies and asked her to replace it with the one his friend was carrying. What he failed to understand was the mother was suffering from asthma walked 2 km to get a new geometry box for her son and saved 5 Rupees of the rickshaw.
These voices are loud and more painful than laughter and fights. But they affect adversely. They impact deeply. They make us realize that apart from the thoughtless discussions, meaningless laughter and the aimless vision which we are chasing and going out for are not the only ones that define the living, the actual one lies in the unheard voices which we should look for but eventually fail to appreciate.
@ramta jogi
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For more poetry, @ Ramta Jogi Poetry
