Works of RK

I am not a painter, have never touched a canvas, never splashed colors on to white space awaiting life. But had I been a painter, I would have drawn you crossing the street, catching light, long burgundy hairs catching flight. I would have painted your smiling face looking up to the skies, your jingling laughter floating around the floors, while you chat on a telephone. I would have painted you in your thoughtful moments, deep black silent eyes poignant, your entire frame frozen, waiting, for that one one moment of clarity, and then the sun would shine again. I would have painted you riding your bike, your face covered with a shawl, a terrorist on trawl. And I would have painted you looking at me all confused, not knowing what to make out of all the stupid things I say, giving up, and letting be. I am not a painter but a writer. And it is you I paint, in every written word of my life. Also Published in Muse India, Jan-Feb 2017 issue

That you light up my desktop with your Monalisa smile, and look at me from files and windows in which you hide, is no surprise. When night falls and it is time to sleep, I love to blow a kiss your way, hoping that I have not missed.  That wild draft of wily air which fondled your locks, was my gentle kiss goodnight. Whoosh . . . Goodnight.

Life has a beautiful way of finding reasons to live. In its strife and its grace, in its rhythm and its pace, it evolves its own definitions, theories and beliefs. It is for life to find its reasons to live, innovate... I just participate.

For the moment past, I sing no songs, for the moments yet to come, I do not make haste. What will be, will be. For the good times and the times that were otherwise, for the far away and the time that is near, for your smile behind those lashes and your tears behind that smile, for restraints and for flight, for the days yet to be and the nights that have passed, the secrets from our yesterdays will be the fairy tales of our tomorrows. Open your heart and let me in, why do we need this strife. When the waves hit the shores, there is always, always some respite.

I need no occasion to wish you luck, no special date on which I remind you of how precious you are to me. As you tread into 2012, I continue to wish you peaceful mornings, busy afternoons and love filled nights. I wish that you will always have a place you would call your own, a shoulder you can lean on and always, always, someone to drive you home. Dream on, for your dreams are my fodder, live life like it would last forever...

How long has it been?  Close to 20 I guess. No no, it is 18, 18 years. I remember I was 16 and you were 18. We could not even run away together, I was still a minor :) You are right, it is 18... not that I would have run away with you... I had no money no friends and did not know where away was :) Dog, you were always a Dog Raj!!! Bhou Bhou but you still tag along, don't you? I do, I always will... I will lead you by your leash until one of us is gone. And then, then what would the other do? I know what I will do with you if you are gone, I will steal some cinders from your ash and make myself an amulet. I will always carry you along, until I am a old hag and I cant walk any more. And then, when when I go to sleep, they will leave that amulet on. Straight out of FLS princess. How would you explain that to your husband? I'll tell him something.Not that I plan to marry anytime now! How is it Princess... with me around? Hmmm! I can walk into the night and not be worried about Ghos...

The years that have passed leave grey shades of darkened lines on my face. My mother would not have recognized me, had she not seen me so often and for so long. The years in the sun have etched lines of laughter and thoughts on to me. With me they live and grow. What began a lifetime ago is now old tale well spun. Memories of you and of first love and of growing up in a small town full of known faces, memories of one hundred and thirty love letters written to you in brown ink, on fancy stationary. Memories of the day you burnt them and exorcised me from your life, so that I can walk back again, when I chose, now that I am a ghost of love once known. The old Rado watches still strike a present note. Seasons come and seasons go, but they now talk of global warming a lot more. The designs of cars have changed, actors and actresses have come on gone. ET happened and then the Titanic and all have become folklore. The black and white photos of dads and moms gave way to morphed images on the ...