” You know, I love you, right?? ” ; she asked. A statement asserting a question it was, the answer lied in itself, it encompassed my entire world perhaps. Not driven by anything physical or material it was, neither was it bound by the superficialities that had the world running. She was being she, subtly putting words in my mouth like she always did, here she was making my soul stir and churn, making me shoot out a question at her. “And, me?? “; I asked.

And, that used to be a part of our normal conversation, neither of us outrightly accepting anything, but laying out hearts open, making it visible to one another what it meant. The twinkle in her eyes, the thoughtful smile that lit up on her face, said it all. A soulmate beyond comprehension and comparison, a person who perhaps defined all that I had, in a nutshell : She was like no one else, beautiful and compassionate and special, most special. She still is, will forever be.

She was and is all that remains of me, a part that I shall never part with, within and without; the summation of my sanity and the quotient of my insanity.
I had grown up reading about her, day dreaming about her existence somewhere, perfect and imperfect and very rightly balanced. The characters I read, loved and adored, all the traits in them which pulled me seemed to have been absorbed by her. Eyes which cast a spell each time I looked at them, with me diving in them to find nothing and this pull was beyond magnetic.

Her questions like her weren’t balanced though, no statement of purpose in them, a plain thought often put forward with a question tag suffixed, and that was She.
The answer to all my questions, the answer to every question life posed. Complex, often uncertain but definite like life, infinite too She was, now She is as I think of her. Her thoughts making up all that I can think of minus the obligations I am left surrounded with, she never was one and I am glad she never will be, for it would be confining her to a space less denser than what She is supposed to occupy in my mind. A free thought perhaps, that is She; a sudden call of my mind, a question I pose myself every time I get slapped by the harsh realities that exist. What if She were here? The question shortens itself, reduces to She, the answer lying right there : She.

I never saw stars in her eyes, they held a galaxy cut off far away from where the alignment of stars and planets matter, She, herself was the very centre of it, She still is. I recall, and teleport myself into that realm each time I gaze up and look at the star lit skies, I see her right there and She poses a question at me. I got no comeback, I never had.
Ohh wait !!
” And, me?? “

The silence all around is deafening, the ticking of my pulses has the answer, and you know that, right??

Bespectacled, a football fan and would write a bit, also he drank like a fish. The perfect qualities one could have to lure me with their friendship. Moreover, when the first meeting happened at a place which was more of a home; I knew it would be for something good, would be something special.

He was a friend of my colleague, someone who has been more of a younger brother to me (more about him in some other blog), but the guy turned out to be the first friend I made in Guwahati, someone from Guwahati, a local lora as they say in Axomiya. My colleague wasn’t my friend, he won’t be, he looked up to me like an elder brother, I have my affection towards him, all my care and that is why, maybe we couldn’t be like normal friends. But, that again makes our relation special.

Coming to the guy in the picture, curly haired he was and at times had this air of arrogance about him. First impression perhaps, and when he turned out to be a Manchester United fan, I knew his arrogance wasn’t his fault actually. Some clubs put this notion in the heads of their supporters that they are above everyone else, he was no different, still living in the summer of 1999 and singing songs about the class of ’92. He was born that year maybe, not his fault either.

I had come across many a social media fanatic in my life, his enthusiasm about his social media image was beyond ordinary, unmatched actually. I guess, I didn’t have one-tenth of his reach on social media, he knew almost everyone in town. The girls specially, he knew a lot of them. That didn’t make him lucky though, you know how friendzoned people often make the best company, but I take nothing away from him. He was amazing, a charmer with his words, knew his football well and could dance to any tune that would play. Plus, he had a wacky sense of humor too. His luck was a joke too, I often said that on his face, lady luck? Some other time, maybe. Also, the red chequered shirt he wore brought him no luck.

We bonded over the love of football and alcohol, he would once in a while visit me at my place and we would get high on rum and Jayanta Hazarika, he would explain to me the lyrics of the songs we listened to. I had seen the best and worst of him, his times maybe. I wasn’t that close perhaps, but I knew him to an extent and the kind of fuck ups he was prone to. He knew me too, he helped me with whatever support he could when I was jobless, be it arranging for comedy gigs or getting me part time jobs that paid me reasonably, good enough to manage my cab fare and daily allowance. I had seen him jobless and broke too, saw him after an accident and also an incident that changed him for the better.

To me, he will remain the obnoxious Man United fan who ended up becoming a dear friend for life, I had once promised that I would write about him someday, and what better time than now to frame him in words when my club is sitting at the top of the table, you need to be in a good frame of mind to praise a United fan, for now as the league stands, make hay while the sun shines.

P.S: June the 28th will always remain something deeply attached to me, thanks for existing. I didn’t tell you then, thanks for inviting me to the party.

“Shit, Shit, Shit !! Your glasses”; remarked She, as I went partially blind, the lights fading as I blinked, it took a couple of minutes for my eyes to get used to the light around me. Not a thing someone would attempt while taking a ride on an electric rickshaw, to this day I don’t remember as to why She even tried pulling me towards her. The result: my glasses were now gone, the temple broken to pieces, and beyond repair.

It was her plan to take a rickshaw ride to her then favourite ethnic restaurant, a plan that wasn’t part of the original plan we had, but then who ever knew or could guess her plans, that was her beauty. The bumpy ride and the stormy weather weren’t conditions that were to be taken for granted, but She wanted a rickshaw ride, other plans could wait.

The dinner plan now gone to the bin, all that we had to do was to somehow get a new pair of glasses, I couldn’t see anything beyond 10feet. All things now blurred, apart from her. She was still looking like a dream, I could see with my now naked eyes.
A walk to remember it was: towards the optician’s store, lightning and thunder and flashes of her by my side, I wish I could hold on to the moment, and freeze it forever. The Rain Gods weren’t too pleased with our outing, a slight bit of drizzle to make it worse for her. She never liked the rains, I loved it, and with her walking besides me, I now loved it a little more.
I tried covering her head with my palm, a stupid idea but nonetheless She found it cute, brownie points for me then, but, to have her walking by my side, in the rain; wearing a shade of white and her untied hairs: if I were an artist, a portrait of this would have been my masterpiece.

The walk to the optician turned out to be futile, I didn’t mind it, all that I awaited was not for my normal vision but the rain to not stop, to not be heavy with pride but carry on the way it was: I would have traded five more pairs of glasses for the same. The heavens did listen to my plea, the walk back was equally enthralling. I, to this day wonder what made her take that walk despite hating the rains.

With the question still lurking in my mind: Why did She pull me in the first place? I took that walk towards her restaurant now, She laughing as if She were possessed all the while. I couldn’t take my eyes off, there have been extremely rare occasions when my heart must have a skipped a beat, the walk in the rain perhaps was one such experience. Never had I felt captivated by anyone, and to this extent.
I hadn’t seen anyone laugh that much, that bad, all eyes were on me as mine were stuck on her, She would look up, look at me and laugh. “Don’t look at me like this”; She would say and laugh again, how could I not? For, I hadn’t seen anything as pleasing to my vision despite the loss of my glasses, She shining bright, dazzling me with her light. I could sit, look at her and spend a lifetime not moving an inch, not bat an eyelid for real.

The walk, the rain and my racing heart; all seemed to have found their point of intersection in her. Why did She pull me close btw??

The affinity towards anything tragic has been inbred, the hardship the mind faces while estimating the consequences of letting go something that seems far more important than anything or perhaps everything; is no ordinary battle that lurks within: day in and day out. And, the battle in itself is a relief, a relief from indulging in those superficial moments that life is made up of. There is this melancholy and it seems blissful; just the right dose of sedation a hyperactive mind would otherwise seek. The mind lost in fabricating stuff, creating utopian wonders and in posing the if(s) and but(s); the cause and the consequence however remain the same: to love and to let go; to let go and to love.

Depressing thoughts that had evaded the mind for some time; now seem to seep in through the cracks; the cracks emerging out of all the collisions that has been rumbling in the mind; numbing it, making it futile for any reasoning to now make sense. There is nothing but a relief coupled with some amount of remorse, and that in all likelihood will stay, the rambling of the heart shall cease as the cause and now the consequence seem to converge : To let go !!

The mind had never estimated the repercussions, for it believed in none; with everything now bound to fade; fade into that zone of nothingness I had long surrendered myself to. It has been a toil, life which back then seemed nothing short of a Shakespearean tragedy had evolved into something hopeful, dreams had sprouted all by themselves in the backyard of a barren soul; made fertile by the presence of someone who tilled and planted the seeds of hope within me. To live, to love and now to let go; all but bears of the same tree.

All that I hope for now, is hope – against hope; the hope that a ray of light will make it’s way through and set the darkness free, the darkness was a hope too, still is. And, as confusion prevails; the ray of hope emerges. This is what I live for, and I will; that fine balance between the gloom and cheer; the ray of hope playing peekaboo; transfixing my mind by juxtaposing illusions of a gateway and an enclosure.

The will to hold on often surpasses the force with which you are being pulled down, destiny playing the victim and the culprit; life and luck taking turns in whipping the morale out of you, and out of nowhere: through the fissures of abandoned hope seeps in light; a frail trail of belief that it isn’t over until it’s really over. While the wounded soul licks the wounds of denial; maggots bleeding out of the rot of the past seem multiplying themselves. No it ain’t over, the struggle to hold on to the frail hope shall now define the battle; a resurgence of the will that seemed lacking it’s lustre, is now battle ready, to defy and to deny the forces of fate and destiny. Fate it was, when stars collided; the planets aligned and will it is now, to hold onto the fragments of the big bang, destiny it would be to hold onto whatever remains, to keep the flame sparkling and to cast the wonder in words.

“Promise me, you shall write” she had said; and, relief it is; to once surrender myself to that call again; with her words resonating in my ears as if drowning out everything else that exists. She’s here and so is the ray of light; setting my darkness free and as the confusion still prevails, I now know: To live, to love and to let go; are bears of the same tree.

And, my phone beeped twice in succession, it was him; my friend who had confided in me well over a year ago. With the Supreme Court decriminalizing Article 377, there was finally hope for him. He seemed overwhelmed by the kind of support that had poured in. However, it isn’t the end of it all he felt, the judgment is just but a legal validation; what about the society that had shunned him and those like him for years?? Would they now accept him like one of it’s own? Would it open up enough to embrace the change that now lingers in the air and also in the doubtful minds of many? Would there be a backlash of ideas and outdated ideals? And, above all else; would his family be ready to stomach the fact that he is just as normal as anyone else?

Love has been set free, but real freedom is yet to come by; it’ll take some more time for everyone to accept love with all it’s orientations as just love. We as a society have been living under a rock, it wasn’t them; to imagine the kind of treatment that has been meted out to people who we felt were different sends a chill down my spine. I have been lucky to have known a few of them who have struggled for long, battled an identity crisis and lived their lives in isolation; fearing what the outcome would be. Now that the entire country is busy celebrating love, would it necessarily transform the outlook and minds of the people?

We have often glorified the tales of love and the struggles that come along with it, we have often sympathized with runaway couples who were victimized by family and the community; but do we have it in us for real to accept someone who isn’t genetically any different but with a different orientation? Will landlords open their doors? Will places of worship not discriminate citing some passages from their holy books? And, will self-proclaimed experts of genetic engineering still believe that this is nothing but a disease that can be cured? With doubts looming large over his head, I had no other option but to pacify him. I knew his doubts were valid, they weren’t just ordinary questions that his mind was posing. After years of seclusion, having himself ridiculed and questioned; these harsh truths were bound to cloud up the already doubtful mind of his.

Growing up, it was in us to tag someone as ‘homosexual’ or ‘gay’; perhaps that is when the seeds of homophobia had started to germinate; without knowing how or why. Without questioning the very basis of it, in fact there is no basis to love, self-doubt again? No, not this time; I have matured enough to realize the fact that there will be tags, people would be labelled but it is upon me to decide what I choose to be, certainly not a Bigot anymore.

The past cannot be corrected, but a precedent can be set; I for one will do my bit. Inclusion isn’t just a constitutional obligation, it is a duty and now it is upon me to hold my friend’s hand as he moves forward. The society will change, if not with the judgment but by education, and I am at it. The change has begun, at my place, at my home. Maa, understands now that homosexuals are normal; she knows that penguins can be homosexuals too and if there’s more to explain: I’ll do that too.

And, for my mate: I’ll call you back. For now; look up, there’s a rainbow up there, brightening up the skies with all it’s pride!!

The nation is celebrating it’s teachers today, students across the country sending their greetings to those who have been their guiding lights. Teachers: they are the torch bearers of change and nation building.

I for myself have been a student, I am still learning; while I graduated from college a good 14 years back, I am yet to graduate from the University of Life!! Life, in itself has been a teacher to me, constantly teaching me a thing or two, putting me through tests, and more often than not; I end up failing. The lessons, nonetheless stay. I have been taught all through my life by people who made it up, made it possible for me to be the one that I am today. I am indebted, remain immensely grateful to the ones who were by any means just no ordinary teacher.

Life blessed me with my first set of teachers on the day I was conceived, my parents inculcated a sense of morality in me, which I believe I have been able to live upto. The very first step I took holding my father’s hand to the first word I spoke in response to my mother’s gesture, these were my very first lessons in life. To judge the right from the wrong, to understand the importance of moral values and virtues and to stay inquisitive: these were a few life lessons I learnt. A big thank you to Maa, for also teaching me the art of cooking rice and daal quite early in life, this helped me all through my college life.

School wasn’t that boring, was blessed with the best set of teachers one could have asked for, my literature teacher from high school however, left an indelible mark on my life. It was she who introduced me to the world of English literature: from Dickens to Tolstoy and from Arnold Toynbee to Franz Kafka, she helped me in discovering the love and joy of reading.

Love happened in real too, a lopsided affair of sorts; it taught me what it took to be in love. Perhaps, the person in question is just a figment of my memory now, I shall still be eternally grateful to her for walking past me, I hadn’t experienced that bliss ever since. She had been my teacher too, for she taught me that unrequited love is a bliss indeed.

My time in college was me idling away, fiddling with nothing and just writing exams. No professor I had inspired me enough; except for the Dean, who suspended me citing disciplinary issues. I thank him for doing that to me, I had the best time then. My teachers from college included my roommates: who taught me how rolling a joint was a pleasure in itself. I thank NPTEL and YouTube for being my saviors, I wouldn’t have been half the engineer that I am if not for the tutorial videos I downloaded from the sites; India was indeed going Digital then, and my laptop, dongle and a BSNL sim card were the only virtual teachers I looked upto.

The only good thing that happened during my time in college was me passing out, a piece of paper which certified that I was finally: partially employable. Employment did happen, and I found myself in the midst of my bosses who would go on to teach me as to how to stay employable. From negotiating to playing the diplomacy card, from office politics to working on excel sheets, I learnt lessons that weren’t covered by my academic curriculum. It was only a karmic conspiracy that I chose to resign from my job on a teacher’s day: I had learnt the most valuable lesson of my life then: Self-Respect!! A mere combination of two words, in which all the education of life must culminate into.

Life hasn’t stopped teaching, the lessons will go on: I have come across many a teacher, people who have inspired me in their own way. A special thanks to that one person who taught me the art of keeping calm, the one who inspired me write; I thank her for being my teacher, for being the source of all the words that come to me through her.

P.S: A shout out to all the other teachers I have had:

Steve Waugh and Steven Gerrard – I am the man manager that I am because of them, “A captain is always as good as his team”, a mantra I learnt from these legends.

Marshall Bruce Mathers III (Eminem) – for inspiring me with his rap, for teaching me that there is more to life than all the crap that flies around.

And, she was a self-proclaimed
foodie, for she loved to eat; and loved instagramming the pictures of whatever was served on the platter. I would be bewildered at her choices at times, but more often than not; I would give in. She had this peculiar trait of rubbing her palms every time a meal was served, as if indicating that she would devour all of it at one go. But, behold!! She perhaps ate with her eyes, to her eyes content, a serving was all that it took to satisfy the hunger of her taste buds. And, then the cribbing would begin; comparisons would be drawn, the connoisseur in her would take over the hungry soul who had occupied the seat next to mine just an hour ago.

It was never about a fancy restaurant or a dining place, she didn’t mind savoring a thali at some roadside dhaba too. She wasn’t picky, not too choosy; she just wanted her plate full, and it needn’t had to be appealing; it had to be served hot, except for the desserts!! Having a meal for her wasn’t just another exercise to satisfy the hunger of her tummy, the process- the build up- and the experience in totality was all that mattered.

She would find amazement in food, so much so that I would often take notes in my head, as to what cuisine was to be tried next. There were little surprises in store, me being an observer who would keenly notice the subtle changes in her facial expressions each time we would plan a meal together. She would make elaborate plans, decide on the starters and the main course; and it would be done well in advance, I would sense the excitement in her voice, as if she were ready to bring the restaurant and the it’s menu down.

She would scan through the menu; order, and then wait impatiently; often telling me tales of her fooding escapades. I, on the other hand preferred to stay mum. Food, for me had never been something I was passionate about. I ate to live, and that was it. I was never concerned about what went into a plate of pasta, the red and the white sauce both tasted the same. And, I for one never knew that the aroma played a vital role in titillating the taste buds. And, here I was sitting next to someone who found her solace in food.

She had this penchant for trying out new stuff and new places; all I could do was follow lead. My choices were limited to a pint of beer and some roasted peanuts, she would suggest me to couple up my booze with pasta, at times with a plate of pork knuckle too. Growing up in the hills, I had never tasted pork with anything apart from bamboo shoot, and here she was making me feast upon something that seemed not just alien in it’s name but in taste too. She had this knack ordering portions that she herself couldn’t finish off, she knew it well. But, she never cared!! I cared neither, for I would hold myself back and look at her in sheer astonishment. Her eyes would light up as the platter arrived, she would look at her meal as if it were her last supper. Pure Love, it was!! And, pure love it was for me too; sitting across, wondering what on earth her obsession with food was.

She would chuckle and smile, clap her hands with delight. And, she was a delight too!! Insanely in love with food, I was never a foodie, perhaps shall never be one. But in her, I found the food for my soul.

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

 
The above lines are from a masterpiece, an all-time favorite; little did I know that I would someday think of someone while flipping through the pages of the book.

She had tiptoed into the corridors of my heart, spreading her fragrance; wild it was and so abstract, much like her. She had drawn me into her spell of not giving away, and there lied the catch; I had to; probably I shall have to. But, for a moment; let me just pause and reflect. I will then have her, at least within the corridors which once used to be her playground. She wasn’t aware of the magic that she had weaved, I for once had no idea of it too; all along I had just known: and I had surrendered.

To me she seemed unparalleled, beyond anything and she made up almost everything that then existed, she still does. At least for now my thoughts draw their life blood from her presence that isn’t restricted just to the corridors, she occupies the infinite within me. I seek, she turns up and the words flow, from her onto her. A saving grace she had been, will be; my elixir.

She had maneuvered her way into my thoughts and nestled there; and somewhere in her presence I found the light I was looking for; her absence though slightly dim; the glow hasn’t diminished. She makes it up, often evoking laughter on my lips or as her memories form a few pearls on my eyes. She isn’t the one to be relinquished, she won’t be the one to be given up on; not the least in my thoughts. The thoughts though wouldn’t be insipid, for she would add her charm to the mind’s churning. The boat and the oar are all her’s, taking me across; an adventure awaits; awaits her and awaits me

The cruelty of life and fate often closes a few chapters; in her I found a new beginning to the end, a whole new dimension to add to her glory and my misery. Misery it is and it will be; for anything devoid of her is nothing short of it; but then again: she runs all through – in the vein and in my pain. A pain that just isn’t ordinary, for it reminds me of her and the spell she cast. She now flows within and without, carving her way through the words she carries underneath her wings, spreading them on the barren land of my mind and much like her fragrance: it is wild and abstract.

They say letting go is hard, in her I found liberation; the free will to cast her in her own words, to shape the wild untamable spirit that she used to be, holding on to her isn’t destined but enthralling my mind with her magic shall forever be. Forever shall I seek and find her in the corridors she once occupied, now locked and sealed: lest she would flee. Forever will she knock on the doors of my mind and spread her glitter the way it used to be. The sun would shine bright and bring her to me with it’s rays, the rains shall rain her down upon me, the wind would carry her scent all along and the earth would now make up the elements she held within her core. I would seek and I shall receive, this blessing shall forever be, if not in form; formless it will be.

P.S: The curtain shall never fall, as the mind now echoes; seeking to set her in words. The spell she cast in Marquez’s words: I’ll dare not destroy it.

Back to the place where it all started, the quest to absorb divinity; to let go an unknown burden which has been haunting my night’s sleep for quite some time now. False distractions, superficialities and sudden collisions of opposing ideas and ideals; which were running havoc in the mind, controlling every urge of mine that withheld me from breaking the shackles of my own self imposed restrictions. A prisoner I had become; caged within the four walls of my inhibitions. The surge of unfathomable emotions coupled with the desire of flowing with it, was rather choking me; I wished to swim and stay afloat, perhaps I had underestimated the prowess of my emotions, drowned I was; and here I am, victimized by my own self.

 

The never ending tussle within me; the right versus the right, the wrongs not anywhere in the picture, and it is bleak. Hard it is to pick and choose, to cast away a part of me that seemed so dear; to live; to laugh; to love and just as another notion strikes: to simply survive; seems hard. Dark thoughts cloud up the mind, no sign of the rain, and stay right up there; playing ball with the vulnerability that has now made way.

 

The cracks have to be plastered and coated yet again; the soul needs no veil, no more; just the ability to withstand the tremors of the transient thoughts. The becoming – unbecoming of all things temporary, the emotions which roam scot free and can’t be tamed, all such self-eroding practices the mind involves itself in, leading to the corruption of thoughts and onset of misery: there has to be an end to it. The apathy that has taken over every bit of me, aiding the reluctance in me; of giving it all up: there has to be an end to it.

The passivity I’ve lost out; the propensity to love without any attachment involved; and the proneness to all emotions negative: this has to be set in order. The mind knows: there’s no back to default option, yet the prayer of setting it right: let this be heard.

The wandering soul for now seeks rest and refuge; for it has grown tired of itself. The defiance will cease perhaps, the walls will collapse as I confide in me. There’s no consequence greater and of greater good than me surrendering to myself, merging the known with the unknown; setting sight onto something that will take form, formless it might be for now; but it will be liberating to let go. As I let myself go, let every ounce of emotion dissipate; this struggle of holding on will not forever be; I am here now; and I shall surrender, like I had the last time when I was here. Under His siege, I will witness the unison of what is to be, and what isn’t and will never be. There will be a way out of this, His light paving the way. The mortar of belief and the bricks of my emotions will be set in place, the Mason will create the base; if need be.

 

The Azhan is heard, resonating deep within my ears; as if cleansing me of the rot that had layered up on my soul. The moment of reckoning is here, and as the quail grows within, the Qawwali; playing in the neighborhood is calming me down; as if mellowing down the frenzy that had made my mind it’s eternal home. This will take time, this for now: feels like therapy; me and my moment of truth; face to face, His Divine light flushing out the remains of what I had done to myself.

 

Free me from my own falsehood.

These illusions of my mind.

These superficialities of my actions.

 

 

या निज़ामुद्दीन औलिया,

या निज़ामुद्दीन सलक़ा II

 

 

And, I made a pact: with myself, that I would write, and I would write about her; as long as I could; as long as I did. Perhaps, I could find nothing more inspiring and intriguing than her; not just a means to an end of my writing she had become; she for now was everything that I could visualize and put down in words.
 
She could; and she would inspire me; to write; to laugh and to live, the words which seemed lost found their way back into the conveyor of my mind; the knots unknotting themselves; the feeling to have finally found something I could write about, seamlessly and unceasingly: it was a joy indeed. Never before had I experienced this surreal bliss of translating what I had within so effortlessly. She was She, and she was magic indeed.
 
“Everyone has an emotional side, you know; we are emotional beings”; she said; well, that might have been just another statement; but it wasn’t anything just ordinary; for it did take me back in time. A couple of summers ago, I was left stranded by a person whom I considered to be someone I couldn’t do without. “You’re too emotional”, I was told; while the person wasn’t. Flashback!! Flashback!! Life has it’s torrid ways of proving you right all the time; more often than not it is accompanied by change; a change in perspective and; at times a change in your circle.

She did me a favor, she proved me to be right; well in the mind, I was; for now. I could see sense in me being the emotional fool I always knew I was. Cut to the present, I realized the baggage no longer existed, for all I could see were her eyes lighting up against the backdrop of the lights that dimly illuminated the newly whitewashed walls of the cafeteria where we were seated. Her eyes shining bright as her voice cracked and choked, she gathered herself well and managed to do what she did best: she gave away nothing at all, she was all fine. She had this knack of rubbing off something onto me, lessons they were; sometimes an insight on; as to I could deal with certain issues; though she might have not realized; but I looked forward to such meetings with her; it did enrich my mind; everything she did or said: had something in it; layered and hidden; often it would subtly equip me with a mastery of myself over me; and my emotions. I learnt dealing with myself better in her company; impulsive I may have been, but the stimuli never felt so channelized.
 
The many shades of her, the way she went about at times displaying the multitudinous facets of hers; her stoic sense of self-denial; something that overpowered and steered her through the moments of madness when thoughts went berserk; her ideals which made her ideal. I had to write; and so will I, and with her as the source and the end of it all, the words seem to have found their nesting place. Her emotions: the raging tempest or the chilled tranquil she held in her eyes; they now seem to emit enough radiance that lighten up the walls of my mind.
 
I often had to take a cue from the words she said, she would abruptly begin or end a conversation; I would happily concede too; learning curve it was for me. The curve that formed on her lips then, while she gasped and heaved and the smile that would take shape and vanish into the realms of her nothingness was astounding. Every bit of her was awe inspiring, every bit of her set the jig of my mind in motion. She did, the same then as I looked at her again, I could see her casting that spell on me again, words being teleported to my mind through her eyes.
P.S: Inspired again, the words shall now find their course…

** Title in Latin