The Silence of My Voice

The hard muscled shoulders were broad in keeping with his height, but it was more the overall virility of the man was so disturbing. And attractive. And definitely scary.  She tried to concentrate, she really did, but she was acutely aware of a hard male thigh against hers, the 5 o'clock stubble on his chin, which accentuated his brand of aggressive masculinity tenfold, and, not least, the bigness of him.  And she was startled back to reality as the conductor shouted out the next stop. Luck, it seemed, had never befriended her. *** It wasn't love that brought his entire brood rushing to his bedside. When his estranged wife, three sons - two legitimate, one bastard - and, yes, even his former daughter-in-law dropped everything at his beck and call, it was not out of devotion but rather sheer disbelief that the man who had launched a financial empire and sculpted their own lives might turn out to be a mere mortal like the rest of them. Time, was no more a friend of his....

Amidst the breathless blabber of shares and finances floating over the massive oak slab, blanketed shamelessly by a traffic of ceramics with mouthwatering, pocket-unfriendly food, he gawped powerlessly toward her face. She had a 50s hairstyle, with her hair mysteriously covering the left side of her face. The opaque ringlets of her frenetic tuft made the coiffure look almost uncouth. Only, it didn't look rude on her - somehow, the lush gloom flowing from her crown flattered the grainy freckles around her nose. He was certain, it was fishy the way she'd styled her hair. He watched her move, table to table, with an insouciance that wasn't, in the least, shoddy. She wasn't beautiful, or pretty; well, not in the literal sense of it. He wanted her to wait at his table, wanted to see her up close. He wanted to notice her freckles, if they crowded just her nose or were they lightly sprinkled all over her face. Unable to tame his resistance any further, he asked for a refill ...

It poured, that day, Not the kind that puncture, Your skin, slightly, Like the injuries, in the shower, You trace, after you make love. But, the ones that, Fall indolently, nonchalantly, Like a quick kiss, inaudible, Amidst the leaning teak high rising sills, The ones, in funny places, On your head, feel cooler. Wind blew that day, Not the kind that jumble, Your hair, wildly, Like a tree, in autumn, Dancing riotously, before its death. But, the ones that,  Whooshes blindly, drunkenly, Like that beautiful, you saw, On the grass that was rather yellower, Wallowing, laughingly, lazily, In the dress which shone brighter than her smile. He smiled that day, Not the kind that spin, Your head, magically, Like the tresses, under the sun, Of that woman, in the red dress. But, the one that, Was slight, and effortless, Like the way, you breathed, From across that table, When his eyes, from his coffee, Buoyed, wickedly, unknowingly, In the light which was c...

So. Much long gone. And so was April. More than a year since I last wrote her. Quite literally. And yes, Raj, you were right to point out April in my last post about all the special women in my life. April is definitely one of them. You can read the previous parts  here . Just scroll from the bottom up to read in order.  People set alarms on their phones. April's own body was like the bird that cuckooed every next hour. With the killer headache, she rose at four in the morning. Habits , she thought. Staring at the ceiling with a hangover that made her decide instantly in a matter of less than a second, that she'll never let alcohol in her vicinity, she felt a warmth beside her. An alien feeling clamped onto her heart. Last night's nuances played like a reel in her head. She'd allowed him access to something, she never had to any man before. Ever . And now, she had to play safe. She was much too aware of the condition she'd been kidnapped into. And much too awar...

"You inspire me, Akanksha. Your willpower is your greatest strength." "You always have the choice to make your call. Tolerate all this or walk away." "Babe, there's always a winner and a loser. You know, there's always a pit in which we want to see someone, and then it's you who gets trapped in the pit ultimately. AND, it's you who'll know the way out. So you'll always have to find a way to figure. Don't every be ashamed of falling in love with the wrong person. People aren't ever bad, they're just different." "I'm here. Always. And I'm not going to let you be miserable for anything. It's important for people to understand that you can need them more than they do." "Don't try too hard. It's not always necessary. It'll pass. Everything does." "Don't ever pity yourself. Smile, Pick up your baggage and keep walk...

Overly sweet coffee, and the underestimated bland tea, Broken spines of a book, and fallen leaves of the gingery tree, Boisterous silences, and the straining piano notes, Broken phone networks, and prudently hearted notes, Loquacious senses, and sardonic tongues, Unknown ignorances, and methodical glances, Stolen truths, and concealing lies, Surreptitious smiles, and reluctant cries, Starry nights, and tacitly retired drives, Solitary overhauls, and conjoined cautions, Supervised footsteps, and the agreeable wind chimes, Blistering softness, and the disquieting light, Fleeting sheets, and dented bolsters, Desiccated  throats, and clammily sultry bodies, Unkempt love, and the copious confessions, The incessant denials, and the fate's laughter in your face.  Oh, the inevitability of things. Reminiscent, Ak.  

How different were the two? Like the darkness of a liquor chocolate, Against the dewy cinnamon bagels? Or the roaring of the sea, Against the hidden hushes of an avalanche, How different were their voices? Like the inconsistency of your consistent black coffee, Against the bitter carnality of that cabernet? Or, the squelchy parcel from the rains, Against the velvety pats of snow against your face? How different were their eyes when they looked at you? Like the ones which gleam simply in desire, Against the one screaming out to you in need? Or the way a child clings to his toy, Against a weeping bride holding onto her father's shoulders? How different were their hands? Like the robust hand from the heist of a ravenous man, Against the hands that devour you under the sheets? Or the ones whose touch make you whinge, Against the ones which make you close your eyes in conviction? How different were their seasons? Like the sun's fervour fluxing your cream...

"But they never warned me", You retaliated, Your voices screeched, your heart breached, You wriggle and slither, Skulk and scuttle,  You prostrate yourself, just to hold on to it, Like a man edging on the valley,  Rasping, and scraping to live, With each hope fracturing, Every dream fragmented, You still endure to tussle and brawl, "Help me", you plead, "Save me", you weep, And she simply laughed, "Why, but?" Lightly seizing the end of her robe, From your those once strong hands, Now frantic, deplorable, wretched, You mislay her, And there he was,  Hiding under the heavy embroidery of the drapes, Smiling, laughing, reminiscing, Think of it, of the alerts, He did warn you, "I'm Greed, I'll take what I give." And he stood behind the curtain, still, Belting yet another name off the list. I just breathed. So long,  Ak.

I was standing in this book shop, peacefully trying to find something interesting to read, as everyone does. I mean what else do you go to a book shop for? And there he was, this annoying, bloody superlatively annoying kid,  disrupting the silence and shouting! It made me want to hit him so hard! Two kid-oriented annoyances in a day. Oh, the first one? It was at IHC where while interviewing the band L For Vendetta, we had kids around pricking balloons just for the sheer exasperating sound of that shit bursting, by what grace of God is enjoyable, only they know. Everyone had hilarious, different reactions to it [Read: Abhilasha]. And amidst the bothersome children going gaga (And LFV hates Lady Gaga, just by the way) over balloons, all I could see was how different and enticing each person in the band is. Y'all have known by now how unsociable I am at times, especially with strangers. And trust me, interviewing them for almost 4-5 hours was one of the best experiences I've ev...

Trying to make sense of it all, How really were eternities in a moment, Walking down the freezing night, Smelling December in the wind,  The fallen leaves ask, The dimming moon doubts, With everything around questionable, Yet unanswered, Fighting the cold,  Stuffing your hands in the years old jacket, Lathered in dust,  And that's how you've liked it, just because, You feel a crunch, You hold on tight to it, And tighter to your heart, Maybe, just maybe, you know what it is, You hope for it, You've been looking for it ever since, again just because, You take it out, glare at it, turn it around, And feel the familiarity of the words warming through you, And you crunch it along the same folds, And put it back, You know now, where your survival trick lies, You know now, felt it again, Eternities in a moment. By Tom French Blues, Ak.

And then from top of the Eiffel Tower, The Moon kept screaming, To never again, see the face of the day, To never share that nanosecond with the Sun, Where they could be one, Where they could see each other, eye to eye, Kept screeching, To never be selfless enough again, And hide in the stark clarity of the Sun, And the Moon called out to the sky, And said, Let's walk, let's hide, let's weep, let's sulk, let's everything. And then seldom were the moments, when, The Sun missed those moments, Redundant, superfluous,  For the Moon, the Sun thought, For there wasn't a set of eyes now, Which transfixed on her, as she danced out of bed, Never bothering of the pin-pricking brightness, And She wept, and swore, Never to shine again, and never to bring light again, And She ran and hid behind the clouds, Destructing everything in water, And said, Let's walk, let's hide, let's weep, let's sulk, let's ev...

Stale beers, never old, The brazen bitterness, never enough, The warmth of two sets of pearls against freezing cheeks, The slight torture in stepping down a large flight, The dusty sunlight, and the smell of cinnamon tea, The torn spine of that bulk of a book, The crossing of same face every morning, The time, Of lonesomeness, and then again, Warming up to a soul, The tinted nature against the dry coolness, And all you see is, The brightening and paling of patinas, When is it, will you understand, How colourful a death can seem? Until next time. .........., Ak

And then the window illuminated with goldenness, The curtain danced all shades of orange, Sometimes, changing the colour of my sheets, And at other times, the tint of my tresses, Sliding deeper in the quilt, But just enough to treat my eyes, With the love light made with my room,  Its warmth felling through under the window,  Spreading in the room, and me, Which tingles my toes,  And tickles my waist, Warming my hair,  Like the hands of a lover holding your head, Revel in it, soak in it, take it all in, Like a breath of you,  Under the brown autumn sky. The laziness to abandon the cosy crippling you, And the doorbells constantly ringing for milk, But lay there for another while, just, As I will, For how many mornings have you created, When you woke up for yourself, And took the sunrise in for yourself, For how many nights have you survived through, To sleep only to those few moments of dawn, Like a mother, sw...

A few innocent footings, When was it,  That you held grip of you? The you, which was merely ready, The you, which never knew the use of tongue, The you, still hiding behind your mother, Awaken hard by destiny,  You wept, and swept, and crippled,  But still went strong, Like an iron grip of a baby's hand,  On the slender fingers of her mother, Smiling, laughing,  The blows,  Working their way like potions, Raising her, bit by bit, Piece by piece, With each time her growing up,  It kept taking something from her, Sometimes, the strength, Sometimes, the courage,  Sometimes, the will, And here, I sit beseeching My hands folded in obligation to Thee   Take you may whatever, But do spare her, her heart, For it's only the heart, It's pristine goodness, and fondness, That had her from going. Buckets full of love. Always there, Ak.

Haunt me, Unlike the ways of spirits, Imprinting my soul by yours, Haunt me, Leaving your scent unto me, Like a room filled out by baked apples, Haunt me,  Until I start hallucinating, And haunt me, As if you truly follow me, Haunt me, By the sweet tones of your piano, Whereby I sat watching you play, Haunt me,  With the bitterness of the morning coffee, With the torn pages of the book, You could never read to me, Haunt me, again, With all the singularly eyed jokes, And the laughter that followed, Haunt me, still, Through the seconds, When you helped me replace my guitar strings, Haunt me,  Haunt me, till I hum the tunes you made, Haunt me, until the edge of madness, And haunt me,  Till I bleed of you. Been long gone, eh? Some inspiration it took, this one. Buzzed, Ak.