Excuse me …

Rosaline has been sitting at the table with her friends for more than an hour now. Laughing and sharing stories with her friends. It was the birthday of Sarah, her best friend and this was her treat, despite the fact that Sarah had already thrown a party. This was how she was though. Segregation was her habit and she felt that it was necessary to classify her friends as well by giving her “friends” a party and her “special friends” a treat afterward the party in the café for a coffee. But to be honest, Rosaline was never like this.

For her things has always been simple. It’s either a friend or not. She was never one to judge others or even classify them as a “special friends” and “friends”. She always found joy in the simplicity of her relationships and cherished every person the same. That was how Rosaline was. Despite the fact that Sarah was so judgemental, Rosaline was still her friend and I guess that is what the old lore of “Opposites Attract” is all about.

Rosaline was sitting right next to her best friend, who so strikingly opposite to her that people often wondered how are they even friends. Sarah was plump and stout and Rosaline was tall and thin. Sarah was the strange one, with her baritone voice and all floral and bright clothing whereas Rosaline was the one with a feeble voice and darker clothing. They were the Laurel and Hardy of the school, just blown up to an excessively large level. And here they were. Sarah drinking her Americano and Rosaline already high and buzzing on her espresso.

Rosaline was lost in her laughter, induced by a joke a friend of Sarah cracked when she felt a tap on her shoulder. The group at once fell silent and when she recovered herself and recollected her senses, she saw that even the smirk of some of the people around the desk has been wiped off.

She turned to find a boy, maybe a little over her age with his hair a tad too long for him to carry properly, His hair seemed as if they had all the freedom in the world and yet like an undisciplined class trying to not make a sound at the arrival of a teacher, his hair seemed to be fixed in a hurry. His eyes were black and his blue jeans were dirty. He wore a black sweatshirt and matching canvas shoes.

“Excuse me,” he said to her and she could feel the tension rising in the air.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I did not mean to irrupt you and your friends here and I am really sorry for that but I just entered the cafe and I could not stop me from coming over here and telling you something which I think that you should be aware of and you clearly are not. You see I would not have disturbed you but I couldn’t help but notice that Julia Roberts looks exactly like you” he said in a single breath and acted as if nothing happened. He stood there and looked at her with an expectant expression but she did not know what he wanted. And in confusion and irritation, she turned to Sarah.

“Do I look anywhere near like Julia Roberts?” she asked but before Sarah could reply, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry but you look like yourself. She looks like you. People will always say to you the other way around but the truth, in fact, is what I just said. Can I have a cup of coffee with you?”

Sarah might have judged him. She might have shouted at him or ridiculed him. She might even have used her pepper spray or called the security. But there was something about that boy that made her feel, weird! Something peculiar. Something which was his own. Unique. Unprecedented. And while Sarah would not have gone for a coffee with him, she found herself collecting her things and leaving her things.

P.s. Happy Valentines Day.

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When They Met… (A.k.a. Your Christmas Present)

I am fashionably late, let me be clear of that first of all. I am late and I know it. I am late on purpose. I am deliberately late. Okay so maybe, just maybe, I am late by a day for your Christmas present, but hey, it’s all on purpose.

Here it finally is. The new chapter in our life. The new beginning that we all needed. A fresh start. The ReBirth of our journey is finally here. To begin with, I will first explain to you the purpose behind this idea and then I would tell you why I am going for this particular idea out of the arsenal of ideas that I have. And then I will finally tell you what all this is all about.

The Purpose: I could have continued with the blogs that I was blogging about already but after my decision to write professionally, I found that everything that I post on a blog will be considered published. Which makes my 600 stories posted here on the blog ineligible to be considered for publication. Thereby, I had to come up with a new format for the blog, so that it can be a win-win situation. You get your stories and I don’t have to feel bad about giving things away rather than having them published.

Why this idea?: It’s simple. Lately, I have been doing some market research and I found out about something called meet-cute. A meet-cute by definition is, a fictional scene, typically in film or television, in which a future romantic couple meets for the first time in a way that is considered adorable, entertaining, or amusing. And I cannot have more than one meet-cute in a story about a single couple right? So why don’t I use this idea?

The idea: I should stop acting as if I am writing an assignment for my English professor who places special emphasis on the importance of categorization and presentation. But either way, enough chit-chat. Here I present to you (pun intended) When They Met… Which is a collection of meet-cutes.

Now what should you expect here? You should expect meet-cutes. How often? Daily!

How often? Daily!

Can I suggest or request you a specific meet-cute? Surely!

Can I request or challenge you to use objects or situations in the meet-cute? Absolutely!

Can I write a guest post here? I do not see why not!

So here I declare that this blog begins it’s new journey today. Bon voyage! I am your captain and you are my passengers. Today the boat is in the dry docks and tomorrow, WE SHALL SAIL!

Welcome, to this blog version 2.0!

That’d Be Fun!

“And then the groom kisses the bride and the priest pronounces them husband and wife.”, I said to you as you put your head on my shoulder and we looked up at the night sky. Forming constellations which do not exist and aren’t real.

“But don’t you think it is boring?”, you said and I let out a slight giggle.

“I guess it is.”, I said. “You want to make it fun?”

“Yes. I want something which will be like our personal way of doing it. It’ll be special and it’ll be unique to us.”, you said and turned to your shoulder to look at me. “You’re the writer.”, you said excitedly. “You tell me something which is fun and unique.”

“I can kidnap you Angel.”, I said.

“No. That’s stereotypical. I will kidnap you.”, you said and we both shared a little laughter.

“As you say mademoiselle. Kidnap me in a bike with side car. That’s almost unheard of.”

“What about our apparel?”, you said and I let out a little hmm as I pretended to think.

“You come in your pyjamas. And with your bunny shaped slippers. I will come in tennis shorts and flip-flops.”, I said and we both roared to laughter.

When we settled ourselves down and looked into each others eyes, you leaned closer and asked, “What about our vows?”

I looked into your eyes and traced the back of my hand on your right shoulder and said, “Well, I will vow that forevermore and beyond I shall be your husband. Your words shall be my guide and you shall be my wife. Till the day God himself dies.”

“And my vows?”, you asked.

“Your vows…”, I said and pretended to think once again with my lips pressed together. You looked at me with an anxious look. “You just say that You Do.

I looked at you look at me and in that moment I felt that the day had seized. I knew that I was forever wed to this girl.

See You See Me

Work. Work. Work. Work.

WORK!

I should have known that what am I getting myself into when I signed up for this Master of Surgery program. There is hardly any time left and all I can see around by me is just more and more work load and more and more projects, assignments, vivas! Load. Overloaded with work.

Coffee! I need a cold coffee. I look up above my papers and find a glass of chilled coffee, precipitating but thankfully kept on a coaster to keep my papers dry. I took a sip from it and let the caffeine wash over me. If someone was to say to me a few years ago that I will be drinking coffee at 3 a.m. I would probably behind the bars. And yet, here I am doing what I am doing.

Sometimes I just want to pick this book up and throw it on the floor with all my might. But it’s all for the cute and adorable boy who happens to be my boyfriend that I go through this torment of burden of surgery. Silly Al dreams of me performing an open heart surgery!

AL!

O no I totally forgot! Al! We were to eat dinner at 12! I got so engrossed in my study that I missed out on food!

I look frantically here and there and find Al in a position that just melt my heart makes me blush as deep a crimson as beetroot. Al sat on a chair opposite to me. The back of the chair was towards me and so was his face. He had crossed his arms and rested his cheek on it in such a manner that his head was tilted parallel to the Earth. His eyes transfixed on me. Admiring me as if he got the chance to see Sistine Chapel being painted live.

“I love the way you work!”, silly Al says in a raspy voice which makes him appear even more adorable.

My Al. He and his fanatics, both beyond this world.

I’m Sorry Angel

“I’m sorry Angel”, I whispered into your ear and leaned me forehead against your temple. “I won’t be able to do it.”

To be fair to you, this was pretty random. This indeed was very random. It was so random that at one moment my lips were at your nape and the next moment my lips were at your ear saying that I won’t be able to do it. As a sane person should, you too looked at me with concern in your eyes and looked at me with a bewildered look.

“What you won’t be able to do, my dear Al? As long as I have known you, there has been practically nothing which you have not said that you cannot do or you have not done. What is it Al?”, you said and tried to look into my eyes.

“I know Angel. But… this is different. This is something that I honestly cannot do. This is something that I can really not do.”, I said and my voice became raspy. And tiny little tears welled up in my eyes.

You saw me and knew that this thing was really really bothering me. That thing was more than being just another thing and was a lot more than being just another thing. It was something which resided in my soul and was something which I really really feared was something which I cannot do. Perplexed, amused and bemused you held me tightly in an embrace.

“Whatsoever it is or it was, I am sure that now you can do it and Al you always have me with you.”, you said and I hugged you back tightly and hid my head in your neck and underneath your hair. They tickled and trickled at my nape but I didn’t mind.

“Tell me what happened. We will fix it together, I assure you.”, you said and I loosened my grip on you and looked into your eyes.

“I saw a little girl the other day outside your medical college.”, I said and you shook your head affirmatively. “She had an injury and because of that she was crying and crying and crying continuously!”

You gave my head an affectionate pat and listened to me patiently.

“I just cannot drop our daughter to school for her first day! Shy will cry and cry and cry and cry and ask me to take her back home and I won’t be able to see that.”, I said.

“Al”

“No Angel. You take leave and you drop her.”

“Al.”

“Angel I don’t know. If I go, I know that I will not be able to drop her and bring her back home. Wipe her tears on the way and give her ice-cream to lighten her mood.”

“AL!”, you raised you voice a bit to silence me which strangely is very effective. “We’re 20 Al. We have at least 5 years till we get a baby! Silly boy.”

“O”, I said. “But I am then too not going to drop her.”

“Al you talk of all these silly stuff and make me shy.”, you say slowly slowly blushing to a deep beetroot red. While I sit, unable to contemplate what made you shy.

No amount of asking drew the answer out of you though. I wonder why…?

The Blank Page

I sit here and stare at the blank page. I may be his arch enemy who he has to face everyday as I am the person who is consistently after his existence. As soon as I lay my hands on one of them, I make them not so blank anymore.

But sitting here i front of the blank page right now just gives me a thought. What if he was a real person? Taking the limits of grammar beyond the capabilities it has, I think that the blank paper is something I would love to personify. Quite, literally.

He’s the quietest person you’ll ever met and adapt everything you are and incorporate his existence into the work you’re doing. The blank page is the mute commuter who says nothing but still is so visibly understanding that his silence  becomes his answer.

The blank page is divine! The poor little creature stay behind me, beneath me, around  me and about me. Not just me. Us. Everywhere around us. I am decimating 13 of his kind everyday. If I sit down to write my draft, it would increase in exponential of 1000s. And still here it sits in front of me. Staring me in the eye and challenging me to a duel.

“Let’s see who is the stronger, keener and faster. My existence or your creativity?”

Everyday I draw my guns out and destroy his existence and still the divine white paper, comes up in front of me defiantly and challenges.

Hail him.

Dream

It is a dream. It’s always been a dream.

It’s a secret my heart tells me when I am asleep. He is a little kid, my heart. He behaves like a child and is very shy. My heart stays away from my body with someone beyond my reach. Just, so, close! I can reach up to it and scrape my fingers at it but I cannot get the grip as of now. Tired, grasping and out of breath when I lay on the stone just below my stone, me heart crawls up to me and whispers in my ear a secret.

He is a little shy, my heart. Afraid to voice out his words. Scared that someone may overhear and laugh.Scared that someone will overhear. Scared. He is a lot scared, my heart. Afraid to voice himself out. Afraid for me. Afraid for my rock.

He creeps down the rock and scuttles towards me in his tiny feet and whispers in my ear and runs back. He doesn’t like to leave my rock alone, my heart. Desires unspoken in the public, he gives them a form. Fears unheard of he says with a shivering voice, only when I am asleep.

He did a prophecy, my heart. His whispers are words which come to life. To create is to animate. Give birth to a thought. His thoughts are so cute and so macabre, it’s ridiculous they exist. He’s a bit foolish, my heart. Speaks in a language none understand and is still afraid to speak out loud.

He whispers so little, it’s hardly a sentence. Two syllable. Two sentences.

Two emotions.

He whispered your name. My rock. My rock on whom I will build my church. A dream I have with my. On whom my fingers scrape but I cannot get a grip as of yet. He whispers “Sorrow” and indeed the worst of this breed comes to greet me.

I am an honest and sincere host though. I welcome them both. My rock and sorrow. Embrace them both. My rock and sorrow. I do all the preparations for both my rock and sorrow. I come, and make my move. Between the two I sit and groove. I don’t want them to meet and greet. They’re not a team, I’d like to see.

My rocks weeps. Asks for me to grip and I will. It seems too sorrowful and disheartening.

But he doesn’t know me my heart. He is afraid I will collapse apart. Give up and let go and depart.

He’s naive my heart.

 

One day I will indeed get a grip on my rock. And then I will build my church. The deity: my rock.

Love

Get drunk on words,
Drown in eyes.
Cafuné.

Talk silently.
Read her lips.

Trace the back of her palm with your fingers.
Kiss her chin.

Talk to her after she sleeps.
That’s what love is after all.