Friday, March 21, 2014


'What is that something you like the most?' Someone asked him.

He, who was so far reclining on his chair, seemingly hanging, almost ready to slip and fall down any minute, came up and sat straight to this question. Almost as if he was waiting for it.

'I like to trust'. A short answer.

Seconds into his eyes you look and you know he really means it. He means business in everything that is not about business.

'Well... and what else do you like?'

Long silence. As if he went through some cycle. A journey. Nothing less than a bumpy road trip in his mind. 

'If someone can't trust me, I would prefer being misunderstood.'


If the strings that connect you to people around are loose, then you have less to lose. Or take a closer look, perhaps you have rather less to gain. There are nights, some starry somber nights, when I feel I would just drift away. Loose strings. I look around and I see myself trusting. I close my eyes and feel misunderstood. Both less to lose and less to gain. How am I going to make sense in future. Will the future make sense to me. 

'Why do you write gibberish when you can make so much sense, my love?' Her affectionate face looks even more concerned this very moment. A fleeting thought; perhaps only to make her less worried, I should actually begin to make more sense. 

'Writing gibberish is just less confusing, my love'.

My love. He doesn't take her name anymore. She is my love. And he is my love as well. But there are nights, some starry somber nights, when a strange fear takes over; he does not want to forget that they do have different names and identities. And my love in essence is not them but between them

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Navroz Mubarak!