The Look of Love
Sitting on a park bench at 2 in the night, without any comforter, embracing the winter chill, sleep betrays me.
Cacophony of the marketplace, bargaining matches between the vendor/vegetable seller and buyer, hustling amongst men and women for the auto line, Hindi songs playing at a barber shop. I can hear it all at 2 in the night. I can see it all at 2 in the night.
Shooting right across the park bench is a pond, overlooking which there is a streetlight - my only source of warmth, it everglows. Bees, moths, insects all making a nursery beneath the light - the sun for them - mere creation for us, thank you Edison. My mind is in a haze after looking at the light continuously, foxed. There's an opening, my chance to sneak in, in the rays. It is nothing but a Time Machine, no fancy tech needed at all, or a secret chamber. Transporting me 16/17 years back to the love of my life. The look of love in my 'Hit me'.
'Where are you at, today?', I wonder.
I wake up a Sunday morning, late, smelling Jalebis. My sisters, mother surround me. They are smiling. Father has brought me a little chair. It will be my own personal chair.
I sit. Its my throne, I am the king of the world. All these years, sat on so many chairs, none gave me so much love.
And yet, fools taught me about the living and the non-living.
At my study, fidgeting with my hairs. Mom has strictly told me to read a certain topic. She will ask me questions. Am busy looking outside the window.
Papa comes.
My eyes are filled with delight, I wait for him every night. He enters the hallway. Papa is hitting our wooden door with something. It catches my attention. I run to him. Leap into his arms. Here's my first cricket bat. I sleep with it for the next few days.
And yet, fools taught me that lovemaking was possible only with the living.
Come back to now. Present.
Let's blame some. Let's kill some. For there is nothing left to do. But we have become wise. Let's read history for we are grown ups. History will teach - Man's the only creature that kills to kill - To hate. And we will live up to the expectation.
It's morning, dawn, time to pray. Bring faith into play. Let's kill some, for we are crusaders. Let's rape some, for we are men and want to plant a seed. Not of trees and greenery. But of desert and the doom.
The streetlight is losing its importance gradually as the day approaches. Now, time to go home. Streets will become empty, they will fall silent. Silent to peace, harmony, love. Chaos will reign in.
It's afternoon. Time to play hide and seek. Tulsi plant is in my home. Birds play in it. They have gradually gotten hold of me. We have introduced ourselves. And when I watch them at play, closely, they do not shoo me away. They have rather grown fond of me. I cannot recall their names. All of them are birds, simple birds! Two eyes and a beak! They work pretty well, together.
I guess, you and me were taught, that Wo/men are all different. Two eyes. Two ears. A nose. A mouth. Red blood. One pairs of hands and legs. So instead of being called men or humans we have been given names. Cause we speak - not to bridge the gap nay, - to divide! Divide by name, divide by religion, divide by colour, divide by caste and divide by creed.
So, let's keep it up with the fight. To achieve inequality from equality.
Let's kill in the name of love, love for the words spoken by a prophet and peace. To achieve supremacy. For that's the look of love, isn't it?
Cacophony of the marketplace, bargaining matches between the vendor/vegetable seller and buyer, hustling amongst men and women for the auto line, Hindi songs playing at a barber shop. I can hear it all at 2 in the night. I can see it all at 2 in the night.
Shooting right across the park bench is a pond, overlooking which there is a streetlight - my only source of warmth, it everglows. Bees, moths, insects all making a nursery beneath the light - the sun for them - mere creation for us, thank you Edison. My mind is in a haze after looking at the light continuously, foxed. There's an opening, my chance to sneak in, in the rays. It is nothing but a Time Machine, no fancy tech needed at all, or a secret chamber. Transporting me 16/17 years back to the love of my life. The look of love in my 'Hit me'.
'Where are you at, today?', I wonder.
I wake up a Sunday morning, late, smelling Jalebis. My sisters, mother surround me. They are smiling. Father has brought me a little chair. It will be my own personal chair.
I sit. Its my throne, I am the king of the world. All these years, sat on so many chairs, none gave me so much love.
And yet, fools taught me about the living and the non-living.
At my study, fidgeting with my hairs. Mom has strictly told me to read a certain topic. She will ask me questions. Am busy looking outside the window.
Papa comes.
My eyes are filled with delight, I wait for him every night. He enters the hallway. Papa is hitting our wooden door with something. It catches my attention. I run to him. Leap into his arms. Here's my first cricket bat. I sleep with it for the next few days.
And yet, fools taught me that lovemaking was possible only with the living.
Come back to now. Present.
Let's blame some. Let's kill some. For there is nothing left to do. But we have become wise. Let's read history for we are grown ups. History will teach - Man's the only creature that kills to kill - To hate. And we will live up to the expectation.
It's morning, dawn, time to pray. Bring faith into play. Let's kill some, for we are crusaders. Let's rape some, for we are men and want to plant a seed. Not of trees and greenery. But of desert and the doom.
The streetlight is losing its importance gradually as the day approaches. Now, time to go home. Streets will become empty, they will fall silent. Silent to peace, harmony, love. Chaos will reign in.
It's afternoon. Time to play hide and seek. Tulsi plant is in my home. Birds play in it. They have gradually gotten hold of me. We have introduced ourselves. And when I watch them at play, closely, they do not shoo me away. They have rather grown fond of me. I cannot recall their names. All of them are birds, simple birds! Two eyes and a beak! They work pretty well, together.
I guess, you and me were taught, that Wo/men are all different. Two eyes. Two ears. A nose. A mouth. Red blood. One pairs of hands and legs. So instead of being called men or humans we have been given names. Cause we speak - not to bridge the gap nay, - to divide! Divide by name, divide by religion, divide by colour, divide by caste and divide by creed.
So, let's keep it up with the fight. To achieve inequality from equality.
Let's kill in the name of love, love for the words spoken by a prophet and peace. To achieve supremacy. For that's the look of love, isn't it?
And I was taught to never love that which can't love you back !
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