The Storyteller Ring.

It was just another typical day for me. It began the usual way, but I shone a little less bright than every day. That was when I noticed him. He cupped his palms together, and rushed into the store, tugging his jacket closer to his body to keep himself warm. A look at him told me that he must have walked here in the brutal rain. He walked from one end of the store to the other, gasping and sighing in between. He took his own sweet time before he set his eyes on me. It was love at first sight. I could tell. He took me into his arms, caressed me softly, and said, “Pack this for me.” As he counted the notes of denominations 100, and few coins, I wanted to urge the manager to give a lavish discount on me, but I couldn't. A little later, he collected the amount. It looked like he could afford me. It looked like he saved up for me. I still remember the candid tone of his voice when he said, “I am going to propose to my girlfriend. This ring is perfect." I was the perfect ring. I loved that I was going to be a part of a journey which would begin with me. I walked out of the store snuggling in the cozy corner of his pocket. With a pride in his heart and a glint in his eye, he talked a great deal about me with his friends. A week later, he got down on his knees and proposed to her. I still remember the tears that trickled out of her eyes. I still remember how well I fit on her finger as if I was cut to beautify her finger. It was blissful. It was funny how the initial years passed in a fleeting moment. The nights they stayed up late sharing the deepest of the secrets, or the walks they took clasping each other's arms, and the mornings they spent making coffee together have soon become a part of my life. I began to take pride in the fact that I bound them together. Even in the moments of despair, she tugged me closer to her heart. Seldom I would lend her my ear, hearing a tale or two about her day. In due course, I realized things were changing. I realized I was held by fingers that weren't his. I realized I was inhaling the scent of a different man. I realized this man did not touch the contours of my body, neither did he kiss me when he kissed her. I realized I meant nothing to this man. I tugged even closer to her, trying to remind her of the moments she spent with him, trying hard to make her understand that she was meant to be with him. I tried, but everything went in vain. Every evening, as I returned home with her, I felt like a culprit. I felt like I was hiding a gory secret deep down my chest. One morning when she left me on his bedside table and walked out of the room leaving behind void and distress, I could not fathom how many days he and I spent in utter darkness wallowing ourselves in sorrow and loneliness. 12 monsoon seasons later, he walked into a store to pawn me for something useful. This store did not look as swanky as the one I was built in, it did not even feel as warm as the home I lived in, but it felt safe here. And as he walked out of the store, he set his eyes on me for one last time. I could tell, that he would never choose another ring over me.

A Table For One!

It is a common misconception that I am a people person. Maybe I am. Maybe I am not.

But if I am gifted the opportunity of choosing my solitude over the company of people for at least 10 days a month, I would gladly accept it, and quite graciously at that.

Of course, I love people, I love listening to their stories and to their tales on hope and endless possibilities of attaining something totally unattainable. But I also like to sit in peace, and read fascinating stories of the same people in the form of words and metaphors.

I guess I really like to oscillate between the two worlds - the one brimming with people, and the other filled with silence.

I would not call myself a recluse, but, there are moments when I prefer to do things alone - You know, like shopping, traveling, and eating out.

While one can do most of the things alone, the problem occurs only when you are trying to eat out alone.

This happens with me most of the times, and it is quite funny. I walk into a certain restaurant and ask for a table for one, and I find the waiter giving me a really sympathetic look, and much to my horror, I am given a table right in the center of the room.

I don’t know, does the waiter think I am all by myself (Read desperately alone) and hence, I need to sit in the middle of bantering people and chaos?

I am not sure.

Because when I ask for a corner table, the waiter gives me a once-over and asks, “Are you sure, ma’m?” And for reasons I cannot fathom, I earn the wrath of either a bad table or really pesky, overly helpful service.

You have no clue how many times I control my urge to tell them that I am here, only to enjoy good food while I am reading, and to remind them, that nothing is wrong with me.

There are a lot of people who ask if my solitude benefits me, and I tell them that it does in many million ways.

For one thing, it increases my productivity. The fact that I am able to read or write without any human contact, or my mobile phone constantly giving me constant notifications about mundane things is an achievement in its own league, if I might say.

A person who appreciates his solitude would appreciate the company of people even more. His attachment with nature and self increases leaps and bounds.

Okay, that was deep yet stupid stuff.

But let me admit, the whole point of writing this post is, this - dear waiters, let me devour my pasta in peace. No, I do not need sangria to wipe my tears away, and I definitely do not need several helpings of cheese to lead myself to the Prince Charming.

I am pretty complacent with whatever I have, and doing right now.

However, if there is something that I would really love, it is this - a corner table in a coffee shop adorned with fairy lights, a copy of Italo Calvino’s Difficult Loves, the aroma of coffee and a cup of coffee in my hand, good music playing rather faintly in the background, and people sitting in a distance talking about love and literature, and laughing at humourous things that tickle them.

Because that would be the perfect end to a solitary day at my table for one.

One Day.

One day, you will forget all his words and half broken promises,

You will forget how he failed to stand by your side when you needed him.

Maybe one day, you will forget the tingles his touch gave you,

You will also forget the aroma his warmth came along with.

But you will not forget how you felt when he first held your arm,

And you will not forget the butterflies and jitters that moment gave you.

Because mark my words.

No matter where you go and what you do, a piece of that moment will always travel with your body and soul.

Your Splendour And Uncertainties!

I've written you notes and letters,

On things that mattered, and things that did not.

I've scribbled on the pages of my journal,

With stories about you and your idiosyncrasies.

I was surprised to see how I fell in love with you.

Because I fell in love with you while running from silence to chaos,

Because I fell in love with you between your quirks and my mood swings,

Because I fell in love with you even when you were miles away from me.

But it did not matter at all.

Because I fell in love with your smile in the darkness,

Because I fell in love with you by looking at the contours of your face,

Because I fell in love with you between stealing glances at you and my phone,

But none of it really mattered.

Because I fell in love with you even when words ceased to matter,

And even when you were sipping your coffee or singing to yourself,

I fell in love with you even when you were doing just nothing.

I thought I knew it all. I thought nothing mattered at all.

Oblivious to the effect you had on me, I let you go.

But when you filled me with an intoxication and left scars at places I never knew existed,

I completely knew I was willing to drown myself in all your splendour and uncertainties.

You Are My Lost Story!

As I think of the day we spent together, I try to put them into words.

I am not living in the past, I assure you.

But I am still fascinated by the beauty of those moments.

I still remember that day.

When I was in pink, and you were in blue.

With your dimples and the hair not so tamed, I still managed to find you debonair.

With my haircut disaster and a grin too long, you still managed to find me beautiful.

The conversations we had over the breakfast turned out to be our inside secrets.

All the kisses and hugs just remained as scars on my body.

I am not living in the past, I assure you.

But I still remember that afternoon.

When I crashed by your side, while watching TV.

And I still remember that evening.

When you stood by my side, as I was tying my hair up.

I guess I still remember that night when you dropped me home.

And when you sent me a message, “It was an amazing day.”

I remember all of it. Bits and pieces. Tiny shreds.

But I am not living in the past, I assure you.

The beauty of that day is still fresh in my mind.

The charm of those moments is preserved in my heart.

And your smile haunted me for days and weeks.

Maybe your aroma still engulfs me sometimes.

I admit you will be remembered.

But let me also confess this.

Someday, you will just remain as a lost story.

In the torn pages of an old journal.

Just Saying Hello!

What is happening to all the time? Is it just flying past me?

That is a million dollar question that troubles my mind time and again.

I mean, seriously. The last time I checked, it was still the beginning of March, and the month has come to an end already.

A lot of things have been happening  lately. And some come along with a silver lining.

I think I have graduated to be a world class jerk for a few things that went out of my control. I shall reserve that story for some other day. 

I have started taking criticism from anonymous people in my own stride. It is absolutely ludicrous how people could be so rude to you, and what's more fascinating is the fact that there are a lot of people who come to your support when things like that happen to you.

For instance, this is my first article on Women's Web, and this is what happened: What happened?

Or when the same person (I assume) tried to do this on my blog: Dreaming Under The Starlit Sky!

Thank you. Things like this just keep me going forward. 

I have been to Deccan Trails along with my friends for my best friend's birthday, and had one of the most beautiful nights.

The long drive to Vikarabad was absolutely lovely. The conversations were totally humourous. The starlit sky was beyond beautiful.

Nights like these remind me that beauty lies in the little things. It lies in the spark of your friend's eye when she cuts the cake, in a certain friend's gibberish when he is high, in the talking minion of another friend (I almost stole it), in the short walks with your friend, in the meaningless conversations, and in the long drives with Eminem's music blaring out loud.

Apart from all the beauty I am surrounded with, a lot of things have been happening at my workplace too. 

The only thing I hear myself wondering (But not saying out loud) during my lunch break is, I am in the right place.

Who knew I would be able to have fun at work? 

I guess I will write a little more from now. If not here, at other places. 

By the way, hello! 

It was the Moon

He looked up at the sky,

Losing himself in the millions of illuminating
stars,

While he was bewitched by their beauty and

glory,

It was the Moon and its austerity that held his heart.

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Source of the picture: Star Girl Diaries