Skip to main content

Uncovering whispers

Isn't it strange how love binds people who are polar opposites! I have always believed love to be a faith which grows deeper each day as it is based on trust and the ability to hold on just like the waves hold on to the sea.

The story is about two love birds who got caught in the web of love. He resembles the morning sunshine, shy yet bold enough to fight past the night's gloom. A deafening silence engulfing his soul. She is a tempest who gave his silence a shattering jolt. And just when the word impossible could have defined the bond they likely could have shared, the word split itself into " I am possible!" and a possibly, "I am possible" love story took birth.

What interests me is the way they stand together,  I have seen them fight, seen them suffer but that suffering has it's beauty of it's own where one cries and the other feels the pain (Okay, that was a cliche!)

I was always attracted towards stories which had pain in the sense that it made it lifelike and worth remembering. Like that of Tezimola, beautiful but equally poignant. Here, the maiden is no tezimola but I see grief in her eyes. She, if a sculpturer is to chisel his way out would carve an elegant looking duchesses out of her but will that be enough to define who she is?

He, if I am to speak about seems to be a confused soul to me who knows to love her but fails to see that love is a liberating force. He can't possibly expect to cage a tempest, can he?

The wind carries whispers of their story to me and as I try to picture them both within a single frame, I see two love birds complementing each other and I try to freeze that moment in my memory. I wish I could somehow translate this picture into reality but that would make my make- believe collide. So, as of now I am still relying on the wind to fetch me news about the love birds and they can't possibly blame the wind until it only whispers me their muffled secrets. The trees, well I guess they can wait. The wind still is being my best friend!

And every story is a journey equally beautiful, who needs an ending when you have a beautiful beginning each day. 😊

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Grandpa and me

I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents.  It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could

Life on wheels

The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more  can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing

"My love is enough for both of us"

"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while