Monday, March 31, 2008

My Religion.Your Anthem.

It is a beautiful thing. Between you and me. Between the distance. Beyond love. Beyond hate. Silence. Our language. Your anthem. When did it start? The language of silence. Between you and me. I fail to trace it back in time. Was it after the first smile? Was it after the last exchange of glances? Was it in the pathway? Was it in a dream? Silence. Your anthem.

I fear to sleep. Not that I will be hounded by nightmares. Not because I might skip a dream. I fear to sleep. Maybe because I might miss the silence. Maybe I would stop listening to your silence. But this journey goes on. Between you and me. On parallel lines. In silence. Your anthem.

When you walk down the lane. I see the charm you sprinkle all over. I hear the silence that you throw only at me. I search for your eyes. Hoping at least they will speak to me. Your eyes miss my existence. I stay there patient. In silence. Your anthem.

I'm sitting here. Under the scorching sun. Looking into the bright sky. Squinting my eyes. Wishing at the clear sky. For the rain. You love the rain. I could love it too. Just because you will smile when it rains. Just because you will smile at me.

Sometimes I wake up from my daze. Thinking you would have spoken a word or two. That I could overhear your voice. Just a bit. Just enough to cease the noise within me. With your silence. Your anthem.

Have you noticed that the best conversations that we have ever had was the silence that we share? Isn't it beautiful? I think so. Why is that I still love the silent conversation? Why is that I still love to catch you unawares when you look at me from a distant planet? That moment. Those fluttering eyes move away from me. Staring silence into my soul.

You stole my shadow. I'm here trying to steal your silence. I dreamt. Of a clear blue sky. A pristine beach. Untouched shells on the sand. You. Me. Us. I woke up. I still saw the clear blue sky. You. Me. And silence. Your anthem. These were times I wished I never woke up. Woke up to face the silence.

I look at the clock. Time flees. I stare at it in dismay. I pulled it out. Crashed it on the floor. I sit beside the shattered pieces. Time still kept ticking. Out of my life. Out of this story. Maybe I should break the silence. Maybe I should replace the clock. Maybe I need to replace my life. For all the silence shared. Silence. Your anthem.

I chase that tiny smile of yours. The curve on your lips. There too swings the culprit. Silence. I see it around you. Sad. That only I bear the brunt of your silence. Your anthem. I look at your anklet that you wear only on your left leg. A tiny bell clings to it. You walk by. I listen to that. At least it wouldn't shy away and throw silence on me. How blessed am I. The tinkles of your trinkets silence my moment. My dream. The loudness of your silence deafens my moment. My existence.

This silence. Sometimes is deafening. Sometimes gives me the high. Sometimes pokes me. Sometimes strengthens me. Most of the times it hurts me. But I know. This journey is long. I just will travel along with a song. A silent song.

Coffee in my hand. Search in my eyes. You stand beside me. I miss you so much. I see the beauty of how you stir your coffee. Hurriedly. How you stir me. Silently. I smile. You smile too. Silently. I wait for one single word. I get many instead. All in silence. I fail to decipher. I sit there stirring my coffee. While you walk away stirring my soul. In silence. Your anthem.

Will we break this silence? I hope not. Maybe I have started to like it this way. Maybe I feel this is the way of my life. Your life. Our life. In silence. One fine day. If the silence was ever to be broken. I would miss it. Those quick moments of silence brushing each other. Those long hours of conversations. Mere silence. Promise me. Just this. Just this time. That this silence will not be broken. It has become a habit. A daily affair. My religion. Your anthem.

-the girl.

Friday, March 28, 2008

moral of the story is..

A forward that i received today, and i really liked it..so just for a read, here:

My wife called, 'How long will you be with that newspaper? Will youcome here and make your darling daughter eat her food?

I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene.

My only daughter Sindu looked frightened; tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with curd rice. Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age.

I cleared my throat, and picked up the bowl. 'Sindu, darling, why don't youtake a few mouthful of this curd rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear.

Sindu softened a bit, and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. "Ok,Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this.

But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire curd Rice,will you give me whatever I ask for?

Promise '. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter withmine, and clinched the deal.

Now I became a bit anxious.

'Sindu dear, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad doesnot have that kind of money right now. Ok?'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, shefinished eating the whole quantity.

I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child to eat something that she detested.

After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide withexpectation. All our attention was on her.

'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand.

'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'A girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!' 'Never in our family!' My mother rasped.

'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'

'Sindu darling, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'

'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.

'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honor our promises no matterwhat?'

It was time for me to call the shots.

'Our promise must be kept.'

'Are you out your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.

'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honor her own.

Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'

With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big and beautiful.

On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom.

She turned around and waved.I waved back with a smile.

Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!'

What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.

'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!'

Without introducing herself,a lady got out of the car, and continued,' that boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from... leukemia.'

She paused to muffle her sobs.

'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates.
Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son!
Sir,you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'

I stood transfixed and then, I wept. 'My little Angel, you are teaching me how self-less real love is!'

The happiest people on this planet are not those who live on their own terms but are those who change their terms for the ones whom they love..
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i guess, forwards aren't that bad and boring a thing to receive and read through, right?

-the girl.