The damned little cheat (Part 3 of 3)

(Continued from Part 1 and Part 2)

“What about her husband? I thought you said she married for love?”, I said.

“Well, I guess they had changed by then. Grown just so slightly apart. Or maybe grown too comfortable with each other. As they say, familiarity breeds contempt.” There, MY theory. I see it all the time, in every marriage. I don’t know why it is not obvious to people somehow.

“Anyway”, she continued, “she could not bear to remain without telling him. But, if she could tell, what would she say? ‘Hi, I am married, but I like you’? What would he think about her? What if he said- no, he didn’t want to ruin her marriage? How would she ever be able to work with him again? And what if he didn’t? Would she continue to love a man who was ok with cheating on someone? And what if it magically worked out? Wouldn’t it hurt her reputation?

Even if he understood, what would everyone else think? And how would that ruin the careful image of dignity and respect she had created around herself through these many years? It was not just the question of a woman who ended her marriage. It was the question of the manager who was most probable to become the VP in the next 5 years who would fall in the eyes of her colleagues to the level of a cheating woman. An adulteress. Or if all went well, a divorcee. Was she even ready for that possibility?

She didn’t know. But whenever she saw him, she forgot all her doubts. When he joked and she saw that smile, her brain seemed to melt. And all she ever wanted was to tell him. Nothing more. Just tell him. And hear him say he loves her too.

And then it happened. Yesterday, he told her he likes her, and would she join him for dinner?”

“What? He knew she was married and still wanted to see her?”

“Oh, I don’t think he knows. She has this thing that wedding rings and other such symbols are signs of bondage of the woman to the man. It’s an idea I also agree with. Why should women display prehistoric symbols of their slavery to their husbands? And why should women announce to the world they are married? It’s a personal thing.”

“But husbands wear their wedding rings too...”

“Not in all cultures. Anyway, I agree with her idea. Though, of course, at this point you might think it was just to make her situation convenient. It wasn’t.” 
And as if she realized she was speaking irrationally, she moved on quickly. 

“Anyway, I guess he didn’t know. And she told him that this was a tricky situation and she needs time to think it over. So what do you think she should do? Remember she loves him deeply. And he loves her too.”

“I still stick to my answer”

She looked up at me, “You know where this story is going, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. That woman is not someone else, right? It is your own story and you didn’t want to say it in first person. But I repeat- she should refuse”

“You are right about it being my story. But don’t you have any pity for someone in my position? Don’t you think I deserve to live with the man I truly love?”

Now I had to tell her my reason. It was going to be weird, but still.

“In fact, for the very fact that you love him so much you shouldn’t break your marriage to be with him. You shouldn’t let a love like that come to the sorry end that it definitely will, once you get married to this new guy, if it even lasts that long."I paused and looked up to see her reaction. Not much surprise.
"Besides, you might have noticed it is unfair to the husband?”, I said still looking at her.

Yes, her- the woman opposite my table. The woman I have been married to for the last five years, and have been cheating on for the last two, but never once thought of breaking the marriage.

It WAS unfair to the husband...

__THE_END__

The damned little cheat (Part 2 of 3)

(I know I said I will put this up in 2 days, but I got busy over the weekend so could put it up only now. Sorry about that! The concluding part will be up on Wednesday for sure. :)
Continued from Part 1.. )

“I mean you can tell me whatever it is. I won’t use it.”

“So tell me one thing- have you ever been in intense passionate love?”

I tried to play safe here- “Of course, lady. With a woman who to me is the most beautiful on Earth. But go on”.

“No, what if you found the love of your life, your soul-mate now? And you know you are committed to someone else?”

Ha, that one’s a toughie. Saying I would go after my love would put me in bad light. Saying I wouldn't was plain untrue and she would probably realize it. Stick to generalizations, I told myself. “That’s easy.  Well, I think of it as a contract I made. I might hate it, but I gotta stick with it.”

That was partly true, by the way. Underneath all my cynicism and general negativity, I had some old-fashioned ideas about sticking around even if you hate it. Though my reason was different. I believe that the legitimacy of something kills its pleasure. You see those young couples madly in love? See them after 20 years of living with each other. A sulking couple worrying about their children’s college tuition. You see, the charm of intense love always dies in a marriage. The passion gets lost in the grocery lists and sorting the laundry. It rusts and cobwebs grow over it- and the love dies so slowly you don’t know until it’s too late. So late that it doesn't even get the burial it so deserved. My take is: if you ever find the love of your life and want to keep it alive, don’t marry the person. The distance nourishes the tree of love and lets it grow.

Of course, I wasn't going to tell her that. That would have been very weird.

“Ah well. You are playing it safe, aren't you? So be it. Let me tell you a story...

There is this woman I know. She is about my age and is a project manager like me. One of the youngest managers. And you know how much that says for a woman. Very smart, works very hard. Tries her best not to let men misunderstand her.  And I can tell you how tricky THAT is. Oh, and she is married too. Just like me. She fell in love with this man- a very nice man he is, and they got married five years ago. So far so good.

About 2 months earlier, this young analyst joined her team as a new team manager. Smart guy, lots of fun to be with, very witty, very ethical. Extremely talented too. And single. I think he looks ok, but you know how people start looking good to you the more you know them. As you might guess, she started liking him.

It started as a simple appreciation of him as a person, but then it grew with every minute of his presence around her. And of course, as her direct report, he had to spend a good amount of time around her, alone. With his every smile, every word, the air between them became more electric. She started spending hours waiting for the minutes when she would meet him. She spent whole evenings just imagining that somehow things would work between them. She started trying to find excuses to talk to him. Her whole life began to revolve around his every action. There were times when she thought her heart would explode with the amount of passion she was feeling. And yet, she couldn't tell him.

She didn't know if he felt anything for her. Of course, he respected her and liked her. They got along pretty well and hung out many times as co-workers. Their chemistry was very good, but it was just a work chemistry. There was a line which both of them were afraid to cross. Sometimes, though, she thought he liked her. You know how some actions can acquire meaning depending on how you look at them.. A simple compliment can seem like a sudden outburst of his love which he dare not express, when it might really only be a simple compliment. When he didn't say much, she would think he was aloof and trying to avoid her because he couldn't stop himself from liking her. And then again, she would think ‘what if he really wants to avoid me?’

I don’t know if you have ever felt that kind of love, most people haven’t. But she was really going crazy about him.”

In her own words, 'It is a feeling whose magnitude can not be fettered by the shackles of a mere word- feeling. The phrase 'driving one crazy' makes so much sense now. Because I AM going crazy. It was like being permanently drunk. Except that I haven't even touched alcohol. I want to tell someone, anyone about it, and yet I can't. Nobody would understand. And worse still, they would think badly of me.'"

I was getting bored of this description. What the hell, I thought. She was in love. Period.

(To be concluded..)

The damned little cheat (Part 1 of 3)

(Starting another story in 3 parts. Will publish each part 2 days after the previous.)

The coffee was bitter. Yes, I know all coffee is bitter, but I had never noticed that before. That misty morning, I was sitting outside the coffee house in the cold breeze, newspaper in my left hand, the coffee on the table. I was swirling the coffee in my mouth, like wine tasters do wine.  Somehow it was as if everything in the world had added up to that moment- the breeze, the newspaper, the wine tasters in my imagination- adding up to that moment when I actually felt the bitterness of my coffee.

Well, well. I know I am rambling. I always do when I can’t find a story idea. You see, I work for the NY Times. Ya, I know. Prestigious newspaper and all that shit. I had to work my ass off before I got there. And it hasn't gotten any better- now I am working more and not even making too much. I am just one of those low ranked filler journalists- you know, the ones who work in departments that never hit the front page- but need to write so we can fill the space. Everybody here is so well-known already that even a good ex-journalist like me only gets filler jobs at first. I used to write education pieces in my previous job. My editor used to squash main pieces to give mine space. Well, at least he did that twice. But not at the NYT. No sir- I am a nobody here. To be swept onto the dustpan with all the junk. And to write dingy filler columns on Fall leaves and stray pups.

My job is really the opposite of my relationship. All prestige, no love. My girlfriend is no trophy woman but for the first time in my life I have known true love. Even though she is not even pretty- she is just beautiful in a quaint sort-of way. And that’s such a contrast to my first marriage- my wife was drop-dead gorgeous, came with a pile of inheritance money and was cold. But now I am in roses and candles love. I would say I am a has-been, but you can’t say that when you work for the NYT and have a girlfriend you truly love.

And still no ideas.

I was just looking around- trying to squeeze one tiny idea from my head. Zilch. I had got two leads this week- and both led to nothing. One was about some professor who had published a paper on Tarantino movies. I had almost done that piece when my editor decided the movies expert would do a better job covering it. And the other one was about a man who could swallow 170 serrano peppers without having anything else in between. I went to his place and found out he would only do that with peppers grown in his own home and that sounded a little fishy to me. Turns out he is growing some new hybrid variety of pepper. So that was dead. Anyway I still had to find something. Something that was important and true. But not so important that one of the front pages would snatch the piece from me.

I looked up from the newspaper- wait, what do I see? This woman sitting opposite me- so so pretty. At least SOME silver lining this morning, I thought, noticing she didn't have a ring on her finger.

“Hi” I smiled.

“Hi” She smiled back. “You don’t mind me sitting here, do you? I could leave if you want a table to yourself- sometimes people do. But I am very tired from my walk and the place is full.”

“Of course not.”

I didn't know what to say next so I started sipping my coffee and thinking of ideas for my piece. Maybe I would call up Sonia. She might have some spare pieces- she reads a lot of online material, so there might be some “most popular in social media this week” thing there.

“What’s up?”, I heard a sweet voice. Had her voice been this sweet throughout? Not that I remember. Maybe it was like the bitterness of coffee- had always been there but took so long for my brain to get it.

“Oh, you know... I am just another journalist trying to think of story ideas” I said.

And thus began our casual conversation. We went on talking randomly- flitting from one topic to another like butterflies on spring flowers. But trying to avoid the serious ones. She was surprisingly interesting (yet another dawned-on-me-suddenly type discovery) and anyway I had nothing to do but wait till 11 when Sonia gets to work. So I chatted away happily.

Until she said it- “If you don’t mind, I want to talk about something that’s been disturbing me for some time now. It’s a little weird, so I hope you won’t judge me on it. I just needed to talk about it to someone when I walked in here, hadn't thought of whom to. But now that we are talking, I thought I might tell you. I hope you won’t use it for some newspaper article.”

“Of course not”, I said, while thinking to myself- ‘It depends on what your story is!’ Actually I didn't mind her saying it was weird. If it was good, I could definitely use it somewhere. Besides I was observing how perfectly beautiful she was- especially with her super sweet voice.

(To be continued...)

Honesty

I am sharing what 'I Saw and I Learnt' at BlogAdda.com in association with DoRight.in.
This is my entry for the "I saw I learnt" contest. I'm not much of a contest writer, and this is probably not the winning entry types. However, I loved the topic and thought it was something worth writing about...
---
Prologue: 
Some would say that I have been lucky- I have many role models around me (including my father and grandfather) from whom I learnt many values: honesty, perseverance, optimism and everything else that management gurus claim to be the recipe for success. And some might say, I just try to learn what I can from everyone. Whichever may be the case, there is one incident that taught me an invaluable lesson...
*****
The Logue??! :P
It was one of those hot Chennai evenings, when you want the breeze but when you get it, the wind blowing is too hot and you want it to stop. I was in my 4th or 5th grade then and I had run down to the small provision-cum-stationery store to get India and world maps for school and bread and bananas. We never had the concept of pocket money in my family, so my mother had given me the exact change required for getting everything. I was in a hurry to get everything so I could leave them back at home and go play with my friends. Besides, I had quietly slipped in a 1 Re extra from my piggybank savings with which I hoped to get an Eclairs toffee, but I wanted to do it quickly because I was scared of getting caught.
You might think that getting a toffee for 1Re is no crime at all, especially when it's from your own savings, but at that time, I felt very dishonest doing it because I hadn't asked my mother's permission. From my point of view it was a huge moral crisis. Anyway, I just wanted to get it over with real quick.

The shopkeeper was a very nice helpful old man who was quietly enthusiastic about everything. I just told him the list of things I needed and he put everything in a plastic cover and gave me. The total must have been about 20-25Rs. Since my mother had given me the right change I just handed him the folded notes and coins (along with my 1 Re) and turned to run back home. I must have taken only a step or two when the old man called me.

I wanted to die that minute. Or vanish out of existence. I thought he had surely found out I was cheating my mom. 'He knows that I didn't get permission. Now he is going to tell mom the next time she comes and she is not going to ever let me buy anything. Or worse, she might go complain to my teacher like she always threatened and the teacher would tell everyone that I was a bad kid. I was the kid who bought chocolate with stolen money.' "Thief! Thief!" I could hear everyone laughing at me.

Before my reverie got any more torturous, however, I had turned and the old man was handing me a 100Rs note. "I think you put it there by mistake, little girl", he said with a smile, "You should be VERY careful with money!"

Yes, HE was returning ME money that my mother had forgetfully placed between the folded 1Re and 5Rs notes! I unthinkingly spluttered "But you didn't have to call me to return it. If you had kept it with yourself, nobody would have known!"

"Of course noone would have known, paapa (Tamil for baby/small girl)! But what's the use of being honest only when everyone is watching? There is no honesty in not stealing when you are being watched- that is just plain cunning. Honesty is when you know nobody will ever find out and you might even be punished for your actions but you still decide to do the right thing."

I returned the Eclairs. I didn't want it anymore. 
**********
Epilogue
It was one of those mild Santa Clara evenings when the breeze hugs you with love. I was browsing while taking a break from work and I had just seen a contest on BlogAdda- "I saw, I learnt". I tried to think of one real life incident that had an impact on me; other than the stories of various people in my family who had struggled their way up, other than the wonderful lessons that they had taught me- not through single discernible actions, but through a way of life. I could not think of any one incident- well, I could just make one up!
 
So, I thought of the one life lesson I had learned and then created an incident out of my imagination to communicate the lesson. The lesson was that you are truly honest only when you did something right though nobody would have found out. After all, I knew there was no way for anyone to verify what I wrote.
And then, I suddenly realized- so I decided to add the epilogue.
-----

Some would say I have still not learned the lesson if I wrote the story at all. And some might say I needn't have admitted it- simply because it was a very nice story. Whichever may be the case, I had to do this because I really believe in that kind of honesty.

And of course, because I like recursion.

Laura- Part 3 of 3

(Continued from Part 1 and Part 2. And part of the one-month challenge.)

Maybe it had been too good to be true and that's why Laura stopped turning up for tennis. The first few times, I waited for an hour. Then I stopped waiting. I tried to reach her, but she wouldn't respond on phone/email/nothing. I asked someone I knew in architecture and he said she was attending classes though she did miss one or two. “She does look a little pale”, he added.

I was very angry with her. What did she mean by not responding? Maybe she got tired of me. Maybe she got busy with Mike. Did he say pale? Maybe, maybe… I didn't let myself think about that.  Maybe it was just a game she was playing- to see if I would talk to her on my own. Sometimes she did crazy cute things like that. Well, if it was a game, I wasn't giving in. I wasn't going to ask her.

But maybe I should have gone then. 

******************
I stood there, shell-shocked.

“How did it happen?”

“It looks like she slashed her wrists”

“Do they know why she did that?”

“Nobody knows. Some say it’s because the guy she loved rejected her. Some say she had been looking dull for a few weeks now. Sad and lonely. Seems she spoke to many people but wasn't close to anyone. Except one guy. Maybe he’d know.”

I could feel something tugging at my heart, Something knotting in my stomach.

“Didn't she leave a note or anything?”

“Most kids who commit suicide do, but she didn't. No message to the world. Not a single word.”

“So it could have been…” I didn't finish my question.

“No the evidence is quite clear. She slashed her own wrists. Period. It’s sad. Such a beautiful girl. And so young too.”

That day, I didn't think whether I could have done something to prevent it. I didn't wonder whether I had guessed wrongly about Mike- maybe it was me. Or whether her decision was even prompted by love.* I wasn't filled with regret about not having seen her in the last few days, nor any burden that I let someone’s life slip through my fingers. I didn't think that God was punishing me by taking her away. 
I thought these things a million times many days later. Over and over again, my mind going through every possibility, with no trace, no hope of an answer. 

But that day, I didn't think anything- my mind was numb and frozen. I couldn't stand there any longer. 

I just walked away.

__END__

*Edit 1: Added this line because it was part of what I had thought from the protagonist's perspective, but somehow missed conveying. Thanks to my friend whose question indirectly prompted it... 

Laura - Part 2 of 3

(Continued from Part 1. Part of the one-month challenge.)

Just when my mind began to build villas in the air (I never liked castles), I realized Mike was sitting right behind me. Mike is a very cool chap from the physics department- very smart, tall, wears glasses and still manages to look cool, not nerdy! He plays for the best rock band on campus, is considered to be the most popular man on campus, and though no one would say no to him, he is single. Some say it’s because he doesn't find anyone to be good enough for him. Anyway, I saw her and then him again. And that was when the whole point of sitting opposite me struck my slow, stupid head! I just turned to see Mike. He was buried in his book. Well, suffice it to say that her sitting there like a dumb doll without batting an eyelid really got on my nerves and I decided to leave.

***********
I was walking with her to the tennis court. A few days after the library incident, I had run into her again while playing tennis. She had been watching the game (and Mike wasn't around) and it looked like she was waiting for her game partner who hadn't turned up. So, when my partner decided to leave, she asked if she could play with me instead of him. No, I  don’t think she liked me or anything. She just badly wanted to play. And by god, she played well! It was an awesome game. At the end of it, we decided to play more often. Now we play 2 or 3 times a week, and even if she weren't the drop dead beauty that she is in tennis clothes, I’d love playing with her- she’s darn good!

After the game, we have coffee together. And she talks. When Seo-yun talks, I get bored and my mind drifts away. Or I end up watching her more than listening. It is tiresome to hear girls talk. And they talk endlessly. But somehow, when she talks I am all ears. (Oh, I forgot to mention- I asked her name the first time we played tennis. Laura.) I also observe her a lot more than I do Seo-yun. I notice every tiny movement of her fingertip, every little shadow that falls on her, and drink in every inch of her beautiful face. Yet, I also listen to every word she says and it’s as if my mind’s capacities have doubled.

But even after all the listening and observing, I can't figure her out. Sometimes, she is like a tomboy- waiting for adventure, jumping over fences, thinking up pranks. And sometimes, she is just a girl who is animatedly talking but is prettier than any painting. Sometimes, she is the demure shy woman, and sometimes she is a small child who I must protect from the big bad world. Sometimes she is a nerd who knows too much and is too good at her work. But sometimes she is just a good friend who will stand by me, come what may. She is like a mystery that changes every minute- a book whose pages I can keep turning for eternity.

Does she love me? I don’t think so. I think she is still in love with Mike. But I don’t know for sure. She talks a lot but never once lets me ask her very personal questions. She doesn't avoid them- she just makes me forget that any question ever existed. It is as if there is a line around her that you don’t cross, and yet it isn't she who drew the line. But I can’t say that there isn't a tinge of hope in the corner of my heart.

Do I love her? I have no idea. There are times when I feel I am head over heels in love with her. And there are times when I think that I am just overcome by attraction. At other times, I feel an overwhelming affection - if it were the end of the world, I'd still want to spend the last minute with her and protect her from the coming end.

Wasn't I dating Seo-yun, you might ask. Seo-yun is my real life love. She is a reflection of me. She looks pretty, but is not particularly ethereal. Laura is a dream- her reality is too magical for me. If you dream of a perfect woman for years and then you see her, you badly want to live with her but you can't. Laura is that kind of a dream. Too real and too pretty to be mine. She can be wanted, but not had.

Anyway, I was happy with the way things were. Of all the guys who would love to talk to her, I was the one who did. In fact, I am sure she has a long list of friends, and it's good enough that I even get the amount of time that I do. This was probably the best it could have been. In fact, it was almost too good to be true...*

(To be completed...)

*Edit 2: Again, something I thought I had conveyed, but looks like I didn't. Edit 1 is in Part 3 by the way!

Laura (Part 1 of 3)

Today's is the 27th post of the one-month challenge. As the finale, I thought I will write a short story in 3 parts. This is based on a real-life story I heard from one of my former colleagues. The characters and incidents are partly fictitious, but the main incident is real. I had started this very long ago, but as I wrote the last few parts yesterday, I was also inspired by this video for some of the description.
***************

I don’t really have a very clear memory of the first time I saw her. Not a photographic memory, at least. But I can still remember her aura (or whatever you call it) and the general feeling she evoked in me. She was jumping over a fence actually, and it was a little too high even for her long legs. That was Prof. Sharma’s’ garden, a shortcut from the cafeteria to our classes, which we didn't use because, as I said, it was Sharma’s garden, and you don’t meddle around with Sharma! She was wearing some kind of denim shorts, and a pale green T-shirt I think. Pale green or pale blue? Or was it light chocolate? I don’t remember that very well- I told you I only have a vague memory. But I remember I could smell a faint whiff of perfume from where I stood. And that I was standing across the street wearing my jacket over some blackish shirt, and dark grey jeans and sneakers, holding a few books. Not a great chap to look at. But passable, I hoped.

I didn't have so much of a crush on her, or anything like that, but I just... well, I wouldn't mind it at all if she would notice me. Also, I kind of liked her energy. You just had to glance at her, and you would feel a lot better. You know... cheerful, bubbly and all that. She wasn't smiling really, but it was as if the whole air around her was singing with joy. She looked like she was waiting to discover some new adventure lurking around the corner; like she thought reality had no room for sorrow! Well, while I was thinking thus, she had jumped and walked across and vanished in no time, (not remained frozen in the air like in the movies) and I was still standing there, a little awestruck. Or bowled over. And my mind full of the memory of the perfume, I walked away.

It was just that day. After a few days, she was out of my mind, and I was dating Seo-yun anyway. I think someone mentioned her name as something or the other, but I always remembered her only by her perfume. And that feeling she evoked. In any case, I heard she was doing architecture and that she was very good at it. If only she weren't that bubbly, she would have been a nerd. In any case, that’s all I found about her, my circles being vastly different from hers (I was always with the electrical engineering guys, and literature girls- because Seo-yun was doing French literature). Besides, we had tests, exams, Seo-yun’s PMS and ensuing fights, Saturday nights, alcohol, movies, and soccer-- enough to keep a man’s mind busy.
***************

I was supposed to be deciding my research area, and was trying to decide between cognitive radios and transistor-lasers. Both were pet topics of mine, but in quite different domains, and I didn't know which to pursue. So I was spending a lot of time in the library reading, in the hope that somehow the odds would suddenly tip in favor of one of the topics.

On one such day, while I was reading some radio routing book, I noticed a sudden vibration in the atmosphere. (OK. I admit that’s an exaggeration!) No points for guessing who had just moved to the chair right opposite me! I continued to look into my book as if nothing had happened. Though I did steal a few quick glances. Nice pink T shirt, denim shorts again- those cute, really short ones. And awesome skin, a touch of pale pinkish lipstick, and... well, let’s just say she was stunning. It was hard for me to turn to page 453.

It was an hour maybe, and after a lot more glances and nsfw observations. I was trying to solve some equation of sorts, and of course, that was difficult with her around. I just wanted to talk to her. Nothing else, mind you. Anyway, I looked up to catch her staring at me. I was a little embarrassed. Or maybe, a little surprised. Her cheeks were just a shade too pink. The bubbly aura was gone and replaced by a demureness, almost an innocence, which strangely gave her an angelic beauty. And she was looking at ME!

(To be continued...)

The colorful symphony (a short story)

He

The cold water caressed my skin. Eyes closed, I let it wash me blue, like a long slow song. I opened my eyes and saw her- a wallflower among the pretty roses. 

She was not particularly beautiful, 'passable' was almost a kind adjective for her. And no, she didn't have any peculiar charm. She was just another girl. I could see even from a distance she was a little headstrong compared to the other pretty, cute women. A headstrong wallflower- she was an oxymoron. A little like me. For some reason, I liked her.

I had met her only a few days ago, in an artists' convention. She talked with conviction, pride shivering in her voice. She didn't seem to care that nobody else cared as much about what she said. About new techniques for using new tools. About meaning in art. I confess I wasn't listening too well either. Her voice was sweeping me in an ocean of colors- hazel, peach, calm sky blue.

There definitely was something about her!

I went back to my spot on the shore and picked my paintbrush. I was going to compose a melody in color. A slow song, filled with love, calling out to that lady. The first few notes close to each other, just the same notes playing with each other. Then slowly rising, slowly with the chords still on the lower scales. And then the violinists taking over- higher, higher. And finally, back to the melody. The painting was of the sky and the waves, with just a hint of a woman in the distance..

I wanted so badly to run to her and tell her that she had changed my life. She had made the invisible thrushes sing and the spring flowers bloom in winter. Well, for all the poetic dreaming I could go on with- I was scared.She was too smart for me. Too bold. She would definitely slap me. Or say, "I am disappointed with you!". So, I stopped myself and focused on the colors with the song in my head.

Maybe all that love was meant to be converted into musical paintings... And besides, ......

**************************************

She

I moved the umbrella to my side because I hate the sun shining in my eyes. The sea was beautiful. Vast. Silent. I love silence. Which is the only reason I come to the beach. I don't have a beach body. I hate getting into the water and feeling inadequate in front of everyone. But just watching the plain sea and no people- bliss!

I was at the beach that day because of a guy. He was an artist too, like me. And he seemed to understand what I was saying- at least some times! He wasn't great looking, though he looked good enough to me. But was he witty! Just thinking of him made me smile- me, who had forgotten to smile in years of struggle with my condition. My mind kept jumping to all the funny things he said, as if it was a separate entity out of my control. Well, well. I guess I am an idiot too- like everyone else.

Maybe I should go talk to him. He cannot possibly be rude to a woman. But then again, nobody likes women who pursue too much. Maybe I should let him be. I know too well no one likes women who argue, think, rebel and generally behave like men do. And he was just a normal guy. 

He walked out of the water and took his easel. I could see the colors clearly- he wasn't too far. As he painted, I could hear a song in my head. It was a romantic song, but sort of a symphony too. Somewhere it seemed to be calling out to a woman. Oh, well. He was probably calling out to one of those pretty blondes hanging there. One of them always hangs out with him. Maybe his girlfriend. Or maybe he just secretly likes her.

No, I wasn't jealous. So what if she had the perfect tan and body like a sculpture? So what if her blue eyes were the dream of every man around? To hell with men, anyway. I went back to listening to the song (in my head, of course. He wasn't singing- it was just the way his colors sounded in my mind!). 

I guess I got enough of him from his art anyway. Besides....

********************************

He and She

Besides, which normal person would love ME after they knew I had synesthesia?

__END__

(Note: Synesthesia is a rare mental condition where different senses are sort of cross-wired in the brain. Synesthetics can hear colors, smell sounds etc. I am not sure if there is a color->sound synesthesia though there is definitely a sound-> color one. So, this story might not be strictly scientific. Artistic license I guess. Hope you liked it! :) )

El Dorado-Part 2

(Contd from Part-1: http://suchithraravi.blogspot.com/2008/05/suggest-title-for-this-
part-1.html )

'There', I tot, 'go my dreams of a coffee day treat', for I was sure that in the best case, he would only let us share the money.... N a fifty is never as good as a hundred, u kno... I jus gave him a vacant stare...

"Look, there comes my friend.." And sure enough, there was another middle aged man on a bike comin in our direction... And in one of those rapid turn of events, b4 i could realise, my neighbour vanished on the bike along wid his frnd!!!

I would ve danced on the road, had i known how to. But im one of those souls wid two (or probably more than two!) left feet. N besides im a normal gal, or at least aspiring to tat title, so I jus smiled to myself...

N now, back to "Mission Im-sure-its-possible"... I looked right n den left. (No! No sentiments here.. I jus happend to look right first!!), my eyes scanning every square inch in sight. Convinced that there was no human soul around, I decided to bend down n pick it up b4 i lost it to some other cruel villian! N den somehow the tot struck me tat mayb i shud think twice abt my decision. I could hear my primary school moral science teacher say "Haste makes waste"!

Wat if someone saw me jus wen i took the note?? Of course, I could pretend ntn had happend n continue as tho it ws my note. But wat if they knew? Wat would they think abt me?? I mean, imagine ur image crashin from a self respectin young girl who has been this perfect idea of the good-gal-next-door , performin excellently in school etc etc, to dis greedy lil creature that grabs onto that piece of currency that surely wasnt her own... a thief, to say the least??!!! Did that sound nice.?? - No, of course not!!

N worse still, imagine some neighbour of urs walkin into ur flat n tellin ur family- "u kno wat i saw ur daughter do yday...."; particulary in tat complaining (read poisoning) tone that middle aged Indian women have!

That landed me (as usual) into a short reverie on the norms of society that bind us. The pangs of living in a so-called civilised society whose rules condition all our actions... N we say we have freedom!! For a minute, i fell for that temptation of saying that all freedom was meaningless.. I mean, if i see a neat hundred bucks n cant walk straight n take it, wat is the point in my constitution granting me 7 fundamental rights?? (Of course, much later, on second thoughts, i realised that i was grossly mistaken, and freedom is not defined like tat etc. But we humans often lose our sense of morality and correctness in important situations, you kno..)

N wat if that note brought some sorta ill charm??? I mean, why would anyone so mercilessly leave a self-respecting hundred rupee note right in the middle of the road and walk away, if they hadn't had some problem wid it? Now, dont you imagine me to be a gullible gal who goes around believing superstitions n stuff. NO! Im jus not tat kinda person.. But somehow it dint quite seem plausible that someone wouldn't notice their money falling down while crossing the road. N obviously, it did not fall wen they were involved in some transaction. I cant imagine anyone paying/buyin in the middle of a road. (Life isnt one of those Indian movies, wher the cars n buses wait as the hero stands obstructing the traffic!) N maybe, it jus runs in the Indian blood (call it genes if u want!) to come up wid arbit sentiments at the spur of the moment.. I cant be blamed for wat runs along wid my erythrocytes, u kno.. :)

N then i thought... Wat if it was a counterfeit note? U kno, like in the Jeffrey Archer short stories, wat if i took the note n entered coffee day, n got caught for using fake money?? I dint even know the penalty for that... Was it jus a fine or a few months in jail?? I racked my brains for an answer. Obviously, i couldn find nethin. (GIGO, v call it...) But I knew tat gettn anywher close to the police wud ruin my reputation... N our family name n honor n such things.... Worse stil, for an Indian gal, the future mite be even more bleak.

N I had heard somewhere that these days counterfeit notes look very much like real ones. They call it some process, i don remembr the name, by which they copy all the motifs on real notes, so that only the machines can find the difference. I could almost see my future crashing down as they suspended me from college, n i wandered from company to company searchin for a job n i could hear prospective employers say "9 pointer wid a criminal record?! u mite be sriously dangerous to our company!! Try somewhere else..." What a comedown it would be, i thought..

N b4 i could come up wid a hundred more contentions, it happened rite b4 my eyes... No, nobody else walked away wid the note!! It was the breeze... And right b4 my eyes, it carried the note away to I-dunno-where!! U kno, the meteorological centre reports a maximum windspeed of 20kmph in Chennai this month!

I did not take the 6A tat day. I chose to walk to my destination!!!

(Concluded.)

El Dorado -Part 1

So, here I am.. puttin fingers to keyboard again! (Yuck! What a poor parody of "puttin pen to paper"!!) Anyway, this time, startin a set of pseudo-short stories... I ve always been scribblin stories behind classnotes (sometimes, even in between, like writin my first mystery under the title- 'advantages of dc motors'!!). So I tot- why not put them up for ppl to read..
N ya, i mostly write in first person, n some of the characters n situations may seem to be real. But pls be warned tat wat follows is only a figment of my imagination... or in a more formal manner.............................

....Disclaimer: All characters and incidents in the following post are fictitious and...... (c'mon! how many times have u read this! And u expect me to type the whole thing?!! :P )




It was a warm afternoon. Of course, warm is an understatement, considering that Chennai burns at 42+ celcius these days. N i was standing at the infamous Besant Nagar bus stop. (For those of u who are unfamiliar wid Besant Nagar, chuck the location. It hardly matters! :) ) I could feel the hot wind slapping (not beating on) my face every minute, n the bus was jus not arriving... I must tel you that the public transport of Chennai strictly obeys Murphy's law. In fact, many years ago, wen I stil dint know that Murphy wasn't Indian, I was under the impression that he propounded the theory while waitin for a bus! Neway, I was waiting for a 6A n every other bus (even ones that come hourly!) had arrived. The bus stop was deserted, since it was 2 in the afternoon- typically lunch time.. In fact, there were hardly 2-3 ppl on d road, n I dint even have anyone(or anythin) to watch. I jus kept staring at the house opposite the stop. No signs of the bus yet....

I would surely not have seen that, but fate, o fate, I did!! Now before u start gettn ideas of me rescuing someone from some grave danger (or the Indian version of the Mafia), or of falling in love wid the gr8est lookin guy or somethin of tat sort which always happens in novels, let me bring u back to good ole' Earth n tel u that wat I saw was a very common but quite a worthy object--- A hundred rupee note!!(Applause for those who guessed it rite!! :) ) There it was lying on the road, the colour of the note in horrendous contrast to the dirty black tar road background, sadly orphaned by its callous (careless?) owner! N I immiediately wanted to fling myself to its rescue n save it from its poor fate... After all, there it lay, about 2 feet and 5 inches away from my right foot. Of course i dint bend down n measure, but den, it helps a reader's imagination if i write some numerical values, however crazy they may be... N it is definitely better than sayin tat the note lay i-dunno-how-far-from-my-foot away!!!

It was a beautiful note. No, it was not a new one with shiny paper n the smell of ink still lingering on. It was slightly aged, wid the experience rendering it a slight sheen of beauty n tenderness tat youth never seem to possess!

Sorry for the digression.. As i was sayin, i almost bent to save the note n treat it wid the respect it deserved! However, jus wen I was about to bend, there came along in jolly fervour, who else but my dear sweet neighbour, waving the most friendly hi, as he crossed the road n walked to the bus stop, towards the place where i was standing!!

"Hullo, young lady!", he said.. (Some of these 'uncle's have the worst ways of addressing, n even tho quite respectable, i hate bein calld 'a young lady'!) "Vacation, eh?"

"Yes, uncle." i nodded. (Dude, if May isn't vac for us, wat d u think it d b??)

N he proceeded on with the routine pleasantries n questions on my future plans (GRE or CAT?) n den, of curse, the standard ones that parents of 12th goin kids(?)ask engg coll students (how did u prepare for entrances, do u think she shud take AIEEE coachin in d vac or will the IIT one suffice, n so on ad infinitum...) N there it was, my beautiful note, lying still on the road, innocent of the tortuous conversation I had to put up wid. I almost envied it for living in a world far far away from my dreary life, n was reminded of those lines from some crazy poem -"I am safe in non-understanding!!"

Neway, this man standing next to me showed no signs of leaving, n i was hopin he dint c the note too... I had read somewhere that God transmits to ppl's minds al those things v don want them to hear. (Another of those damned corollaries of Murphy's law?!!) I jus hoped he dint.
N when I was still hoping, my neighbour, squealed in excitement, "Hey, what's tat?!!"

(To be continued...)