Perhaps, forever!

Words that have made me smile..

Words that have calmed the turbulence..

Words that have glittered like stars on a moonless night..

Words that have caressed me while I was sinking deeper into sadness..

Words that have comforted me when I was hurt..

Words that have brimmed my eyes with tears..

Words that have strengthened my hopes while I was falling weak..

Words that have lingered in my heart for longer than I remember..

Words that have bridged distances and fathomed oceans..

Words that still echo in my ears..

Words I could never say..

©Shweta Vora

I soak these words in the dark blue ink of my pen,

 And gently place them over the pale yellow pages. 

Where they lie trapped. 

Perhaps, forever..

Companions, are we?

"I don’t mind when our conversations get a little bit boring
 and we run out of things to say,

Just having you is enough to make me happy!"

The cursor blinks incessantly on the screen as I think of the appropriate words to describe this wonderful Sunday morning. At his aunt’s place in Pune, I sat beside him on the black leather couch in the living room, relishing the instrumental melodies the Bose System poured out. Every piece of furniture glittered with sunlight. He longs to be in Mumbai, the helplessness evident in his words tell me. Mumbai, the city that has been his home all this while. He fondly recalled incidents from his childhood, of how certain houses he’d lived held a special corner in his heart and how some of the cars he owned were more special than others. In a fortnight, his family would shift to his new residence in Chinchwad, Pune.

We first met each other during our train journey to Mumbai. He was returning home with the unforgettable memories of his excursion to Delhi and Dehradun, I was visiting the city to attend a cousin’s wedding ceremony. We exchanged contact numbers as the thought of parting ways dawned upon us. The train had reached its destination, we still had a long way to go. He helped me put my luggage off the train and in a blink of an eye we lost each other in the crowd. Or had we found each other?

At about half past ten, we walked down his apartment and stepped into his car. I went wherever he took me. He drove past the rather empty lanes of Pune while I sat next to him assiduously listening to everything he said, occasionally uttering a word or two. An uncomfortable silence would replace his words when he’d be deeply engrossed in shifting gears and accelerating the car, leaving me with no options but to patiently wait for him to speak again. Sometimes he’d express his disgust as he’d realized the traffic ahead was moving slowly or sometimes he’d simply indulge in describing how he met the girl whose vibrant personality was so enticing that he cannot take her thoughts off his mind.

Before he’d left for Pune he paid me a surprise visit in Mumbai. Barely fifteen minutes of seeing him, but good enough a memory to be cherished. It was the first time we were seeing each other in person after the train journey. Unlike my other friends who’d just find it impossible to find time to see me, he’d come. He’d come all the way to see me.

The only unusual aspect of the Sunday morning was that only he was in Pune and I was in Mumbai. So what if we weren’t present with each other physically? And that the conversation happened over an instant messenger? Instant messengers might be categorized as a virtual social networking platform but the vivid recollection of this glorious morning is no less than a reality. Around a hundred and fifty kilometers of the vast land separates us while the world wide web brings us together. It is hard to believe that we exist in two different cities all together. Every night, we both go for a long walk into the depths of our beings, discovering ourselves; we indulge in intimate conversations. And the emptiness that envelops me constantly, starts melting.

©Shweta Vora

Sometimes, he strains his sleepy eyes staring at the phone’s screen while I talk relentlessly of all the rather trivial things in this world. Sometimes, I bear the brunt of his disappointing day. Sometimes, he makes me laugh uncontrollably. Sometimes, he tells me how the girl he admires made his day simply by forwarding him a quote. Sometimes, he dozes off while I await a response. Sometimes he holds my hand and takes me into his thoughts and shares his experiences. I go wherever he takes me!

Such an efficient waste!

"Do you run through each day on the fly? 

When you ask: How are you? Do you hear a reply? 

When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? 

You'd better slow down. 

Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last." 

- Anonymous 

While I was nostalgically pondering over the memories of my childhood, of the summers that I spent at my grandparents’ place far away from the confinements of Delhi, the thought struck me. These fond memories always manage to emerge without notice and then even going by the rest of the day seems difficult. Looking back at those days, surprisingly, I cannot recall any of those monotonously and ceaselessly performed routine tasks. Instead, what remains etched into my conscience is completely different. I don't remember if my Uncle’s car was washed and cleaned and if it had those stainless seat covers but I still remember the weekend escapades to the nearby hill station. I don’t remember if my Aunt dyed those grey strands of her hair but I can still feel the warmth of the hug that she’d embrace me with every time I’d visit her. I don’t remember if the backyard had those dried leaves scattered all over but the memories of running round the backyard chasing my brother on a hot summery afternoon is something I am going to cherish for the rest of my life. 

Why do we then wish to waste our lives emphasizing on things that don’t make a difference? Why are we so adamantly trying to pour ourselves into molds when all we need is to break free and follow our intuitions? Why have we coiled ourselves with irrelevant things while we whiz past our lives harboring feelings that are simply meant to flow? Why do we perform our routine jobs so relentlessly and assign such a great deal of significance when they don’t even make way to our memories? Why do we bother so much about folding our clothes in to neat piles when our lives perpetually remain in an utter chaos? Why do we bother so much about fixing up an appropriate place to meet those special people in our lives when all that we are going to remember is the conversation, the way we expressed in words what we feel? What holds us back when we simply want to contain our loved ones in our arms and tell them what they mean to us? Why do we think so much before visiting a friend who’s unwell and not simply drive to see him/her? Why are we virtually only a message/call away and yet emotionally so far apart? Why are we waiting for a terminal illness to remind us of the eventuality and inevitability of our lives, of our encroaching death? What will it take for us to realize that we are born to live not merely exist?

©Shweta Vora

May be we should decide for ourselves what really matters and what is an efficient wastage of time. What we comfortably condone is probably where the true essence of our life lies. For we may not remember if the cushion contrasted the color of the couch's tapestry, but we might never forget sharing a cup of coffee and how the heartfelt emotions were weaved into words..