Vyapti's Dreamland - Page 43

Kitnaa violent love story hai … aisa hota hai kya ?

Na...itna violent love story nehi hoti.

Par meri imagination violent hai. Poem hai na..is liye main reality ke baare mein nehi sochti.

The violence is not literal though, it is symbolic.

In this poem, desire is intense, love is furious, and even the pleading for surrender is frantic! Undercurrent, there is strength in surrender; it is an emotional outburst. A thought-provoking poem, it is Nibedita.

Thank you so much, dear Madhuri. ❤️

Being grateful to you

For everything?

No, I will not be

Grateful to you

Ever. Understand?

Kissing my forehead?

I just told you that

I will never be grateful to you.

Is there anyone more stupid

Than you?

I liked your surprise gift.

You came to know that

There would be

A ten-year-old girl's birthday celebration

At that restaurant, right?

You did not tell me anything.

You just said that

In the evening we would

Go to that supermarket

And have dinner

At a restaurant

That we would choose later.

And as we reached the supermarket,

I noticed the restaurant beside it

And wanted to have dinner there.

Earlier, we had never had dinner there.

You knew that if I reached that supermarket,

I would go and explore the restaurant

Beside it, no?

And the little girl—

I thought she was

Carrying a bag!

Little did I know that

It was a cake!

Only her family

And we two—

We rarely visit a restaurant

So late.

Her sister was holding her hand

From above

And she was whirling!

You know,

When I used to learn Kathak

At age seven,

It used to

Give me vertigo.

Her crown,

Her ghaghra choli—

They reminded me of...

Let it be.

"Maybe I too can throw a party here

When I turn forty.

I will tell the colleagues

That it is to celebrate

Me getting old,"

I began to imagine.

Then she cut the bag

After refusing for some time

And I realized that

It was not a bag.

"How old is she?

Eighteen? Sixteen?

And the graceful old man,

Whom she is feeding the cake—

He must be her father,"

I thought.

I remembered my school life.

Home was not peaceful,

And my friends—

They were so poor

That some of them were

Married off at fourteen.

Sometimes, we used to attend classes

Sitting on the ground

Under a tree.

Still, was there any dearth of happiness

At school?

In the summer mornings,

Collecting the stamens of

A copperpod tree,

The elder sisters

Used to make earrings.

"Two days ago

We were in class five;

Now we are in class seven!

After two days we will be in class nine;

After two more days we will

Give the board exam;

And after two more days—

Marriage," a friend had said.

As I watched the little girl,

I remembered those days.

What made me so happy then?

It was because back then

I could be happy

Just by seeing happiness.

I did not need to have happiness;

Happiness was in the

Air we breathed—

I just absorbed it.

The cruelties of life

Had almost killed all that.

But as I watched her,

I hoped, "Maybe I can

Have it again.

Sans the instabilities of childhood,

It will be much sweeter."

The little girl came

With cake on a plate

And gave it to us.

The cake was so good,

Wasn't it?

Sans the cream and all.

Frankly speaking,

The cream on cakes

Is only good

For putting on your cheeks,

For playing Holi.

And later,

The graceful old man came

And asked how the cake was.

It turned out that

He was the girl's grandfather.

The cake was not made at the restaurant

But by the girl's mother,

Who owns a cake shop.

In the supermarket,

You had bought a steel plate,

You, crooked man!

I thought the plate was for me.

Now, having nothing else,

We gifted the girl that plate.

She touched our feet.

Such a surprise, dear!

You are so...

I love you.

I love you.

I love you?

What did I just say?

Forgive me, dear.

I did not mean to lie.

What I have in my heart

Will definitely fail

The definition of love.

But at such overwhelming moments,

I end up saying,

"I love you."

I love you.