It’s Good to See You

‘We are done with the interview. Do you want to ask me anything?’ asked Ms. Shivangi, an interviewer with a pretty smile.

I applied for a job of creative writer at a leading viral content company. I took a deep breath and asked the question I wanted to ask so ardently, ‘Tell me something about yourself.’

She smiled amusingly and replied, ‘I am working as a senior editor for this firm from last six months. I graduated from New York University in MFA and returned to India. This is my first job after graduation.’

I nodded.

‘Anything else you want to know?’

‘No.’

‘Then we are done here. Thanks for coming, we will get back to you shortly.’

I expressed gratitude, stood up from chair, and stared blindly at desk.

‘Anything else?’ asked she.

‘Have you not been my interviewer, I would have said something to you what I am about to say now.’

She looked intently at me.

I continued, ‘I like your smile. It is the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. And I couldn’t help but notice, you don’t have a ring on your finger. So I just want to say, I love you, will you marry me?’

She frowned and said, ‘Yes.’

‘You just said yes?’ I asked, exalted.

‘Yeah, I said yes. Yes, you can leave now. Because, have you not been my interviewee, I would have said something to you what I am about to say now. Your writing is a piece of crap, your interview was waste of my time, and above all, your charm is ridiculous. And I couldn’t help but notice, this is the end of our discussion.’

We both were silent for a moment.

I smiled softly and said, ‘It’s good to see you.’

She appreciated with a brittle smile and a blink. A guilt radiated through her eyes.

The crazy fact, she was my ex-girlfriend who left me five years ago for NYU.

Broken Strings of Guitar

“Do they conduct guitar classes in here?” asked Pratiksha as Kaushal stepped out of a multi-facility hall.

“I don’t know that,” replied Kaushal. “But I know one thing, no guitarist can compose a tune as beautiful as you.”

She laughed. And he lost himself in her uninhibited laughter, just like he did when he used to stare her furtively in college and she laughed like there was no tomorrow.

“No, you’re wrong,” said she as she regained her gasp. “I know two guitarists who composed a tune as beautiful as me.”

“Ohh! You are right,” exclaimed he. “Your parents.”

“Yes.”

Both of them remained quiet for few moments, looked around nervously to avoid eye contact, and pretended everything was normal.

Finally, Pratiksha broke that awkward silence, “It’s good to see you, Kaushal. You are doing great. You have become a guitar teacher and a member of a band, which plays at Hard Rock Café every Tuesday.”

“What are you doing here?” retorted he.

“Do you mean, how are you? Good to see you too.”

He was quiet and staring at the ring in her finger. She left him without a goodbye after being in a relationship for six years.

“I want to talk to you,” said she.

“There is nothing to talk about,” said he, indifferently.

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“You don’t know what is happening to that tune now? And what that tune is going through?”

“I know one thing. Those two guitarists composed a beautiful tune and then broke the strings. The only difference was; those were the strings of two hearts. Those strings always played a melodious tunes of love. But social stigmas found those tunes discordant, so they broke it and thought one of those strings will compose a tune harmoniously with an unknown strings. And you followed them.”

“That’s not the whole symphony.”

“I don’t want to strike those cords now. I realized that some tunes, no matter how harmonious they sound, were not meant to be played together.”

“There is a reason why they were not forced to play together. And I’m here to tell that.”

“Then you have to keep that reason to yourself. Because I’m not mad at you for what you have done. You don’t have to clarify yourself. I’ve moved on. I also realized that destiny is a conductor in the orchestra and we are just musicians playing on its directions.”

I’m Not Accepting This Time

‘Do you remember the only time you opened up?’

‘You accepted.’

‘You think I’m going to accept this time?’

‘I know you have a kind heart.’

‘The kind heart didn’t deserve that.’

‘I know. But you also know I’m genuinely saying it.’

‘I know, but I’m not accepting this time.’

First time, he said ‘I love you’ and this time, he said, ‘I am sorry.’

‘Please? I need you.’

‘I’m not accepting, because when you opened up the first time, you loved a kind heart, and now you are opening up to make that kind heart an alternative to your loneliness.’

Just Be Here

She sat beside him and looked deeply into his eyes. Her eyes radiated an immense adoration for him.

‘What?’ said he as her gaze startled him.

‘Nothing,’ clarified she, endearingly.

‘Say it, nah!’

‘Nothing… Just be here.’

And she rested her head on his shoulder, held his hand, and closed her eyes.

The crazy fact is, someone’s mere presence is enough to fade away the feeling of loneliness.

You Were That Angel

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At that time, I was returning to my floor after dinner. I was checking my phone while climbing up stairs. And I accidentally collided to a girl. I apologized immediately. She accepted my apology gracefully. I glanced at her and noticed she was beautiful.

I gave her a compliment, ‘You are beautiful. Your eyes illuminate innocence.’

She said, ‘I said it’s fine, you don’t have to flatter me to convey it was a genuine mistake.’

‘No, I’m serious. An artist never lies.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I am a writer.’

‘So are you going to write a poem for me now?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I already have. I imagined an angel, wrote a poem on her beauty, and here you are… Yes, you were that angel I imagined.’


(Image Courtesy of Just2shutter at freedigitalphotos.net)

You Are A Quiet Guy

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You don’t talk much,
You are a quiet guy, they said.
Quite unaware of endless conversations,
I’m having in my head.

How Does The Time Lock?

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What is the matter with people?
Why can’t they keep everything simple?
The frustration outflowing my mind.
Do they enjoy complicating things?
I rushed out of BSNL office.

I always hated getting drenched in rain,
I didn’t carry raincoat while leaving home,
As there were no signs of rain.
But it was raining outside,
And I didn’t want to stay inside anymore.

The heavy rain added more frustration,
I waited for a moment, but couldn’t.
The anger inside me was raging,
Finally, I stepped outside office,
I strode toward my bike, enraged.

As I stepped outside the gate,
I saw a girl with an umbrella.
As she walked with an ethereal gait,
the poise in her body language,
Stuck me for a moment.

Her wavy hair, parted from left,
Resided back and trickled down,
On right side, from clavicle to waist.
And a black colored crossbody bag,
Settled on her slender waist.

Her finely carved eyebrows,
And glowing eyelashes,
Enhanced the beauty of eyes,
And Complimented her earnest gaze,
Which mesmerized me entirely.

Simplicity flaunted her personality.
Innocence flowed out of her eyes.
She made me forget the heavy rain,
Pouring down and drenching me thoroughly,
And the frustration that equipped my mind.

As she turned her tender gaze toward me,
A shiver ran down my spine,
I lost in her eyes, her thoughts,
I literally lost the track of time,
Oblivious of hatred I had for getting drenched.

The crazy fact,
A tender gaze,
A beauty in simplicity,
And an innocence in eyes,
have an enormous force,
That can lock the time.


(Image courtesy of PANPOTE at FreeDigitalPhotos.net)