No Title Decided . . . !

In India—especially among Tamil Brahmins—weddings are often once-in-a-lifetime ceremonies meant to last. Arranged marriages, in particular, endure for many reasons: the sacred Sanskrit chants, the rituals performed before the fire god, the public commitment before friends and family, and the merging of two families rather than just two individuals. Of course, there are exceptions, but most couples find themselves too busy tending to responsibilities, finances, and parental demands to recognize how quickly time slips by. Only the truly mature realize they must create their own moments of laughter and warmth.

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That was indeed a small house, awaiting to turn into a sweet home. They stepped into that small house far away from their native lands and folks. They never knew that life would make them meet. 

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She and he had never imagined their paths would cross, yet they found themselves in a small house far from their native land. They first “met” electronically, after elders decided they should wed. The distance took its toll: she sensed he was strong and kind, yet guarded, while he remained an enigma to her. Undeterred, she built a world of dreams, filling a journal with fantasies from October to April.

When the wedding announcements came, so did family gatherings that often led to emotional rifts. Eager to fit in, she woke early, preparing meals and coffee while he scrolled his phone in quiet mornings. She yearned for goodbyes sealed with a hug or a kiss—gestures that never quite materialized. Her only solace was calling home, recounting tales of life in a foreign place: its bus drivers, neighbors, and quirky daily encounters.

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Flushing her thoughts, she woke up at dawn - say Six or even before. She refreshed herself, did some sacred things in the pooja rack which she never used to do earlier, and pushed herself into the kitchen. She moved all over the room like a top, managing the four burner stoves, having vessels on their firey mouths all at a time. She finished transforming the raw ingredients into edible - tasty as how his friends commented, food! Stuffed them into those glass boxed and snugged the box into a spongy bag. In the mean time, woke him up with a voice, brewed coffee was steaming hot in the cup. They both drank , mostly in silence or the john Oliver speaking through the iPhone 6S plus of his! After sending him to office, with a lost expectation of good bye hug or a good bye kiss that vanished in the faintest dreams of hers, she began clearing up the home. Calls to her homeland were the only moments that made her feel good. Her lost naughtiness, fun - tease - nonstopchatter - moments with her only friend, was what she looked for. Her talks were always about the new people in the foreign land, the climate, the bus driver, the lady with the dog, the never-smiling - opposite - house northie figure, culinary experiments and many more.

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Her friends were shocked at the nature of this “arranged” marriage. They knew her as a writer whose words had transformed their own relationships, and they expected a whirlwind romance filled with poetic declarations and social-media updates. Yet her own reality felt distant from those imaginings. Sometimes, she and her husband argued fiercely; other times, they simply avoided conversation altogether—he lost in his movies, she in her books. She had always dreamed of waking in his arms, exchanging secret smiles, or reading poems he would praise with genuine affection. Instead, she found herself forging an independent identity, shaped by past struggles and successes.

Whenever she tried sorting out their differences, it often spiraled into reminders of hidden truths or lingering resentments. She felt labeled as difficult or unyielding simply for standing by her parents. The handful of wedding photos on the wall were soon replaced by clocks, the once-decorated space now stripped of that newlywed glow.

Still, each day they strive to bridge the gap, believing they can untangle the knots in their relationship through patience and honest conversation. Life, after all, goes on—and they are determined to journey forward, hand in hand, even if the path seems uncertain.

Still, she and he battles every day, to understand their counterpart and make an heart to heart conversation! And, they believe, they can work upon the messes . . ! Life goes on . . !

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PS : This piece is a reflection of A Fictional Reality - (un) existing in the Society - Any resemblance to the situations/characters mentioned above is (im)Purely (un)Coincidental ! All the Pictures in the article are owned by WBK Photography - Cited with PERMISSIONS!

I to I - Conversation

From 

Me,

Past ,

Present !

To

Me.

Future.

Dear Me,

With no one else around to speak these truths, I write them to myself. I feel the weight of where I stand, realizing I’ve often let my own self down rather than saved my soul. I’ve been submerged in the deepest shades of black, holding on to the smallest ray of hope just for a breath of air. There’s no one to entrust these burdens to, no one to hold my hand in the dark. That is why I want to rise and declare I’m fine on my own.

When everything around me tempts me to sink deeper, I allow myself to break—feeling the fall, embracing the failure—then gather those lessons for a lifetime. Even so, a dark fear lingers: if I shatter completely, who will stay to piece me back together? Love feels like idle chatter. In life, only blood and self matter. So I choose to be healthy for me alone, to walk and run for my own spirit.

Yet, I struggle with the idea of self-happiness. I chase after those who once abandoned me; that is my weakness, and I must live with it. I won’t comfort myself with the notion that “everything happens for a reason”—not out loud, at least. One day, I may discover that reason for myself, when I see my scarred heart still beating, surviving despite every crack. Only then might I truly believe that everything happens for a reason.

Time has been long, and words from others have done nothing for me. They were thrown around to show off someone else’s greatness, never to show genuine love. So once again, I remind myself: love is chatter; in life, only blood and self truly matter.

I am me, and that must be enough.

— 

Me. Future.

That Magical Thing - Published in "March 2017 Infinithoughts, India"

Love is something that drives the world. The love of earth with the sun, the love of moon with the earth, the love of me with you and you with that of the other, love is seen anytime, anywhere, every time, every where. It is indeed bravura, the flair with an artistic touch shared between two souls that are special to each other. Every relationship in life starts with the crush, an impressive hello or what ever. And it finally builds up that unseen bond between the two souls, a bond that demands the feeling of completeness, a bond that gifts the feeling of cherished incubations, a sense of affirmations and a lot more.

Why are we not ready to accept the fact that every relationship has that sharing bond of love that may be derived of passion and interest or a common wound shared or any little thing which is equivalent to both! Every kin is a lover for that matter and unless they are playing it right royally fast and loose, a concept of Physical attraction or the sexual arousal does not come in. The cultural constraints make us deny our craving for them, keeping the cravings carved deep in the logs of your secret orchid, where you tend to walk alone just with the imagination or the memories of the contemporary past. And every single damn feeling of each others roam happily in the living room and even the prayer halls but falls short of the bedroom doors.

Stamp me as an iconoclast – never mind, but let me tell you, every emotion need to be vented out. Your emotions about the other, the pain that the soul feels in the absence of your beloved ones, the jump your heart dances in their proximity, the want of giving a tight hug, the urge of planting a passionate kiss on the fore head, the push for looking into the eyes telling or yelling, I just love you,   every small thing counts. For, the love is divine and does not have any gender discrimination to it to be erotic! The contemporary nonsense has brought something called the physical entity or the physical desire that stokes the fire between the genders, into picture. The bizarre fact is that “I love is you” is a statement and every one do expect an answer in return to a STATEMENT. Let me not talk about the erotic love, an affair that involves the electric impulse of the male and the female, stoking the fires and soothing their senses. However, a true romance, an erotic & a non platonic affair starts only at that point where the sensual fire lights up and more of your hormones gush pulling your gamete out of its place.

But, let me tell you all, you would not always run into people who remain in your heart and give you a flitting across life – feel, like that of a butterfly nectaring the flower! To some love is a verschlimmbesserung, because they feel they do not get it reciprocated. Some argue, in love I shall not expect any reciprocation but to whom should I look out for reciprocations other than my beloved? You need to get on the ball to understand what love is. It is more a feel than the fact of understanding. Some tell love can not be confined to one and you need to express it rather than thinking it to be a tea pot in the tempest.

Just share love that is unconditional. Do not constrain your feeling for the other. Mean what you say, Yes, I mean what you can not mean, When you say I love you; make sure you are not disappointing your beloved ones by any action of yours. The cutest part in love is, your beloved will accept you as you are but you must know to change yourself for your beloved one. Love is something that balances the life. It is more of an emotional feeling that should be unconditional without any constrains. Just Love, Love and Love only! Because, it is Love that makes Life Beautiful! J

PS: Love, in all most all the context above, refers to a Platonic Love! J