Tuesday, December 8, 2015

The Confession

She knew she wanted him. But she was tired of the games. They both stood next to each other going up the escalators. Her features were not sexy. Fair with a baby face and wild brown hair. But it was her eyes that spoke volumes. The way she carried herself somehow made people turn and look. They wouldn't admit it, but they couldn't help stealing furtive glances at her. She was dressed in a simple aqua colored dress, ending just above her knees. With her long heels she was almost as tall as his 6 feet frame. He had the perfect athletic Greek body. The kinds that are not achieved with hours at the gym but you are born with. As fair as her, they both could pass for an European couple. His ready smile and dimpled cheeks made most women swoon. But that was not what attracted her to him.

She had invited him for drinks along with her friends. They reach the club to find the group standing around a table near the bar. The club is over-flowing and there is hardly any space to walk. They make their way to the group, him avoiding touching her at all. She puts on a smile, but inside she is seething. She can feel the physical wall he has created between them the last couple of times they met and she can't understand why. She is tired of the games.

It is a mixed group of people, more men than women. She had decided to ignore him too and continues talking, flirting and dancing with the others, trying to maintain a cool distance from him. One guy, Aarush, in particular is hitting on her. He is a friend of a friend and she doesn't know him very well. She continues entertaining Aarush's advances, her hands now and then brushing against his chest. Her date meanwhile talks to the others on and off but mainly sitting there, acting a little bored. She knows he is noticing her. Noticing her every move. The way he used to earlier, when they had met first. Noticing how she moves her hands, her gestures, her body language. He hasn't done that in a long while and it somehow gives her immense satisfaction and she escalates her flirting with Aarush. It isn't that difficult either with a few drinks in her system. But before she can realise, her date is getting up, saying his goodbyes and making his excuses to leave. He doesn't as much as glance at her as he starts walking out of the club.

By the time she gathers her thoughts and notices what is happening he is already out of the door. She gets up and starts fighting her way through the crowd to the exit, leaving Aarush mid-sentence. She spots him climbing down the escalators from the exit. She tries calling out to him but either he doesn't hear her or chooses to ignore her. Walking as fast as she could in her heels, she finally catches up with him in the basement parking, about to open his car door. Even before she can reach him, she almost shouts, "Where are you going?"

He continues opening the door and barely looks at her, "Nothing. Just going home. You know I get bored at these parties. Not my kind of scene."
Before he can open the door completely she reaches the door, pushes it shut and stands against the car facing him.
"What the hell?" she exclaims.
He acts like he doesn't know what she's talking about. "What? I feel like going home. Am tired."
She continues glaring at him, at a loss for words. He moves to brush her aside. With sudden force she grabs his hair and pulls his face back. Staring into his eyes, she knows shes playing a very dangerous game.
"Let go", he states calmly.
She continues looking straight into his eyes, knowing at this moment he is capable of anything, knowing that she should be scared, but somehow glad that she is finally getting some reaction.
"Else what?"
"Let go, am warning you." he says through his teeth, held hostage not by her hand but by her eyes.

Before she truly registers what she is doing, she yanks back his hair further and bites his neck hard. She is shocked by her own actions but it is as if the need to leave her mark on him is imperative. That like all those missed moments earlier, she can't afford to waste this one.

She lets go of his hair and his neck, just standing there in front of him. For a moment they both stand like that- immobile, fear in her eyes, anger in his. Within seconds the roles are reversed and he grabs her by her hair. Harder than anyone ever has. She is pinned against the car, his body almost on her, his face breathing down on hers. She is scared to look into his eyes now, sensing the pure animal he is at this moment. Her chest heaving, rising against his. Suddenly she is very conscious of his body- the way his legs are resting against hers, his other arm next to her waist, palm resting on the car, locking her in. She finally looks at him, feeling the desire in his eyes. They both look at each other, and at each-other's lips. Suddenly she smiles a lopesided smile, a knowing smile, while her eyes wince from the pain he's causing her. She knows he is taken aback a bit by her smile.
She bites her lips and speaks looking at his mouth, "Your ego makes you suffer so, I don't have to do anything."
She notices the questioning look in his eyes. "Your ego won't let you kiss me. Look at how it is torturing you.", she almost hisses it out, willing her words to hurt him. "If you kiss me, your ego tortures you, If you don't your desire tortures you." He pulls her hair harder still.
She winces and smiles, whispering "And now the only thing you are trying to decide is whether you will cause me more pain by kissing me or by refusing to kiss me. You already know you will make me suffer either way. The only question is how will I suffer more. Did you think it wasn't true? What you said- about me being who I am and you being who you are and that I cannot deny it. So, why have you been trying to deny it? " she snarls the question at him.

Even before she can finish her sentence he grabs her other arm twisting it behind her, pushing her breasts further into his body, bringing her mouth right next to his, her hair falling over both their faces. He kisses her hard, his lips the greatest weapon he can unleash against her. She sighs into his mouth. His hands now holding her against him while she tries to grab onto him for dear life. Their bodies, right there against the car, willing themselves to dissolve into each other. When he stops and steps back she stands there, her eyes closed for a moment, resting against the car as if trying to learn to breath again. She opens her eyes and sees his eyes roving her body, unclothing her by his gaze.


He takes her by her hand and starts walking her towards the escalator, she trying to keep up with his steady steps. She stands a step behind him on the escalator looking up at him, still trying to gather her thoughts.  She knows this is what had attracted her to him. The way he claimed her. The way he knew it was his right and he had to seek no permission from her. As if her permission was inconsequential. As she stood there letting him lead her, what was shocking to her was not the knowledge that she would burn following him but the knowledge that she wanted to burn. That she will and is following him into the fire of her own destruction.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

The Dysfunctional Masochist

She had always thought that she was a sub only when it came to sex. It took some years and some broken men for her to realise that it was really who she was. Maybe it was the first love. She should have walked away. The love did not justify the torment. It couldn't, it shouldn't have been enough. Ofcourse he had loved her. No. He still did love her. But aren't your survival instincts stronger? Primeval? They never did kick in or maybe if they did, she chose to fight. So she stayed. For seven grueling years.

She knew ecstasy too then. But her capacity for joy, enormous as it was, dictated the depths of her sorrows, And these were the men who attracted her. She didn't necessarily attract them. She needed peaks and valleys. Plateaus afterall are boring.

She remembered the others also. The nice ones, the loving ones, the ones who were always there. Just like she had been there for many others. And she got bored of them. One of her ex, her best friend, few random dates, et al. Didn't she say any girl would be lucky to bag him. She didn't like to be lucky. She liked to be tragic. Because he would have done anything for her. Maybe that was his mistake.

She chased the torturous ones. It was an addiction. The more they tortured her, the bigger the obsession. It wasn't love. If only it was as simple as that. And it didn't matter if the torture was intentional or situational. As long as she could make excuses for him. Logical as she was, she needed the power of rationalisation. And let him do one thing that could not be justified- despite her greatly cultivated sense of defence mechanisms and immense extent of forgiveness; she would walk away. Never to return. And if he be unfortunate enough to try and come back, it would be too late. Forgotten- a stranger who wouldn't even warrant her anger. When did he ever hurt her to begin with. Maybe he thought he did. But he never had that power over her. She was master of the games.

It was amazing. As a rational being, she knew consciously she wanted to be happy. But did she? And how could she internalise it? That she was attracted to pain and misery....her need to be the tragic hero? That unless he made her suffer, he was not worth her? It was such a contradiction, such a confusing existence for a girl who wanted just to love.

She broke hearts or had hers broken. Without tragedy and drama what was romance? There was never a mid way for her. How could there be ? The bridges she tried to create fell away at her feet plunging her into deeper labyrinths. She had designed a silly cycle for herself- self sustaining, running on her own life power- but her only fuel. It was wonderful though that she was never broken. She came out of every such experience healthier still. Never leaving a piece behind. Maybe adding one. She was a collector of souls and memories.

The last one was a sensuous sado-masochistic play, she getting off on the sufferings he inflicted, safe in the knowledge that he suffered too. She might have offered him everything. Maybe because she knew he will reject it. He was the player afterall. Or maybe she did offer him everything but the truth. The player being played for her own twisted purpose. But he did not, he could not break her. She had hoped. But she had been wrong.

So she had moved on -she had become so wonderfully adept at moving on.  And that is what she needed. Someone who could break her. Someone who could break her never to be whole again. Break her into little pieces to make his own forever. In love and in torture.

Until then. She could not, she would not settle down. A nomad. Not just in her world travels, but in her travels of life and relations.Her self fulfilling prophecy. Never a fulfilling relation. Self destructive as she was. Some solace atleast - she could write.






Sunday, October 18, 2015

The Pursuit

Hold my hand and guide me
lost forever in eternal hope.
Born for sin he said-
the waiting axe, the hanging rope.

The human chain follows
enchanted by her immortal passion.
A bagpiper's lucid dream-
into the darkness, into the chasm.

The dark silhouette stands still
while her silver robe dances and swoons.
She howls in pain & in pleasure-
the stalking wolf, the ageless moon.

The crystal ball rings hollow.
Her eyes veiled in a knowing smile.
The assurance of a cynic-
the haunting innocence, the persuasive guile.

Hold her hand and guide her
as she laughs- drunk, exuberant.
Spellbound by the shadows-
towards oblivion, uplifting and arrant.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

The Summit

It's lonely sometimes,
being with my mind.
It speaks in parables
of lost kingdoms and miracles.
Looking to stroll
with another sentient soul.
That sudden yearning
for the alive and discerning,
for friendly duels,
and the dreamy jewels
of his eyes enchanter,
playing me like a cantor.
To the childlike presence
in its valiant essence.
I protect the flames
in this waiting game.
And I burn and burn.
When will they learn?
Its lonely. Sometimes.

Friday, May 22, 2015

The Tempted

I like the strong ones.
the cold ones.
The ones with the wall around.
I like to think myself as the only
who could claw through

I like the thirsty ones
the lonely ones
The ones keeping away.
I like to be able to show them
all the love misty dew.

I like the broken ones
The scarred ones.
The ones hurt and burnt.
I like to embrace them and
piece them anew.

I like the unyielding ones
the proud ones
the ones who break than bend.
I like to stand next to them and
merge the two.

And then

I leave the vulnerable ones
the submitting ones
the ones who have given in
I like them to be strong again
when I say adieu.