It was heaven, full of promises and love
But I knew the truth of fate and so did she
The moments we spent felt like fantasy
Out of the world and reality
It made me strong and be myself
But the wound went unnoticed
And escaped so close from my mind
That I was only on my way of rediscovering it
The heartbeats were heavy but light I felt
Due to the softness of her words
I was so close to seeing light
After what felt like lives
Into the darkness I was pushed again!
Recovering from my wounds
I still wonder was it her who pushed me
Coming back into the world full of
Broken promises and forgotten love
Was it necessary
Even though the truth of fate were known to me and her? — by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous
P.S: I have not been able to put up posts for quite sometime, but i felt that this one had to be put and so it is up here.
Atlast what I feared happened. I got my hair cut. Now if I was back home or even any other place than this one, I wouldnt have worried so much. But I had no choice but to go to this infamous on-campus-complete-makeover-hair-stylist. Some might point out the insanely absurd choice of checking out someplace outside campus. Well if you are asking for a stereotype iitian to travel 2+kms by non-powered means (read cycling) in this *censored* weather for a haircut, then you are surely non compos mentis. That is unless he has a spons meeting or an interview or has a date. Being the eternal optimist that I am, I tried to tell myself that I was being paranoid and it might not turn out that bad. But this had little effect and so I pushed all these dark thoughts into a closet and decided to go and get over the ordeal once'n for all.
I reach the Crack of Doom and I let myself inside. There's one more bakara inwaiting ready to give his hair at the guillotine, and two more already on the hot seat. So I look around and find a Filmfare magazine with Priyanka Chopra as the cover girl. Now I told myself- "See it ain't so bad, is it, my precious?" I had not even turned a couple of pages, the minion of Thanatos (Greek god of death) calls whos next? And like a loyal servant my hand raises itself and betrays me to its diabolic master. Doomed to this fate but still trying to remain cheerful I climb the pedestal-chair and got covered with a sheet. Now that the minion has secured me to the fated seat, he goes about his chore of preparing his malevolent tools. Once he got ready, I see his reflection looking at me with a fiendish gleam in his eyes and I feel his foul breath on the back of my neck. The minion begins his work, a melancholious chop-chop, and the scissors sing a wordless dirge as I see myself being transformed- sorry disfigured to something else. At the end I'm stupefied, unable to believe that what I'm seeing is my own self. Now to avoid disgusting myself, I turn away from the mirror and get ready to pay for his 'service'. And the minion with a full wide display of his sadistic grin pockets my money. Content with his work, as I step out defaced, he moves on to his next prey.
And this is just the beginning of my tribulation. As I walk (not run, coz running gets you noticed) back to hide in my room, I find faces-friends, acquaintances and strangers all straining their memory, trying to remember if they had seen such a face in their life till date.
Of the innumerable times I have traveled from Chennai to Mysore and then back forth, this was by far the best. An amazing sense of rejuvenation in both body and mind. Now with a picturesque view from the window to clear the mind bringing lucidity, this was nothing but bound to happen. Slushy paddy fields teeming with light green sprouts dotted with the darker sugarcane fields and some occasional coconut farms painted a pulchritudinous picture for the eyes. An overcast sky crowded with cumulus clouds and a cool breeze that brings the monsoon to the face compels you to stick your neck out. And to top this off I have Frederick Forsyth describing the harsh Afghan climate and revealing to me the 'secrets' of the Taliban. Pity, I couldn't finish it.
