Just a fruit?

She looked at the fresh mangoes with unease. It had been 3 years- maybe she wasn't ready.
She picked an uncut piece and looked at it carefully.

You see, she had never known the names of the different varieties but she could tell them apart by their looks. This one's reddish tinge had not been native to that once-beloved-backyard.
So it seemed safe. Safe to have one that wouldn't ever taste like those did.
And that was fine.

Because they never will.

Return

I'm my past, present and future.I'm never only one but probably all at most times.

So my space was bound to get crowded. And it did.

But it's been tidied up again, the skeletons have been brushed back into the attic for closets are no longer private.

So I'm back.

An end to blogging

I won't be blogging for a while. Or orkutting . I can't say if I will reply to emails or comments right now but I will- eventually. I might be online on MSN but I can't guarantee there will be a conversation and I hope you'll understand, my friends.

This may last only a few days, but I can't say it won't be any more or less.

But for now, I'm just looking for some air, devoid of memories, wishes, hopes, life and me.

When Strangers Dance

Oh let's bow
a friendly stranger
'twas a delight

You and I

We floated on

Uncaring free kite

You and I

A light journey

We'd prophesied

Oh no we musn't

stagnate a second

Lest the flames alight

You and I

Know their eyes shall remain

jealousy-tinged

You and I

We've twirled back

back to a bend

Oh we'll meet

meet yet again

for such is this parting

You and I

We'll twinkle our eyes

We'll say a greeting

You and I

We'll forget names

despite cards we're exchanging

Oh it was to be

For such are

chance meetings

You and I

Our dance shall

Shall remain unbeaten

You and I

Our dance had to

Had to find this end

Who am I?

Adjectives surprise me.

Can a few alphabets summarize who we are? I don't think so.

So ticking those boxes in one of those personality tests/quizzes seems pointless. We want to know how to define ourself. Choose the precise words and yet.

Yet, we're all contradictions of ourselves at some point of time. And these adjectives are too small, too meagre to wrap our paradoxes within themselves. Adjectives are like black and white. Choose one. But we're grey, you and me.

Because none of us are any adjective in its absolute sense at all given times of our existence.

Edging towards the finish line

Her supply of paper is getting over. The ink has started to dry.
Soon her words will be empty impressions on paper. But she's not worried.

She had known the inevitable.

Trash can

She had been running out of diskspace and the RAM couldn't have supported her anymore at that rate.

"Sometimes we should also purge our unhappiness", she thought and hit "Delete" several times over the last hour.

Snipped

Snip Snip Snip
Our delicate red threads
They recklessly cut and pick
Like wrists without kalava*
Faith didn't cease
To tie us together
Cotton strings we didn't need
Said my mind
In my mistaken thought
Now you pass me by
Like strangers we always were
As They wanted us to be
But there was a time, loved one
When you and me
were more than just
forgotten blood


*kalava= thin red thread tied on the wrist of the right hand after the performance of a havan, prayers said beside a Hindu sacrificial fire, for all those present

Poem

She's neither

She knew that it didn't matter how many pages, drafts or posts she wrote, she could never be a memorable writer. Or even a writer.

But then again, she had never aspired to be either.

Like the consolation prizes given to the other children in the numerous talent contests where she had collected her trophies and ribbon wrapped first prizes.

But those trophies have been lost, misplaced or forgotten in some carton in the basement. A few sit dusty in a higher corner of her closet. And she'd done what she should have.

She had stepped down a few years ago, like an aged local beauty queen who knew it was time to hand over the crown.

And now she humbly stands in line to take away her consolation prize for her 'writing'.

A peace of mind.