Name.

"I have started a blog, to upload my write-ups. From now on, everyone can read them from internet, if they like to."

"That's nice. So these people, who read your blog, will they know that its you, who is the writer, right? "

"Yes, of course! I have given an introduction on the front itself, and my name."

"OK. That's good."

"And... I'm using a pen-name. Husna Khadeeja Basheer."

"Oh... Hmmm... Why did you take out your surname Pudussery...? Its your family root... And its the name of our home too... And its not in custom, to use mother's name in children's..."

"Hmm... I know... But I like to use this, as my pen-name. This sounds cool !! hehehe "

"OK... Still... Anyway, its your call."

"Yup. Its 10 o'clock there now right... you should prepare yourself to sleep."

"Yes. Or I will lose whole night's sleep if I got late to bed! Assalamu alaikum."

"Wa alaikumussalam."


----------------


"This sounds cool" ?? Is that my explanation to why I used my mother's first name as my middle name?? Come on! Cool??


I am thinking of her. What she will be doing now. She must be praying and after that she shall slide inside her fresh crisp cotton blanket and try sleep. I have always noticed, she shuts her eyes very tightly than usual, every time she tries to sleep. I used to find it odd, till I found out that I do the same thing. But when she does it now, when I saw her couple of months ago from India, I could see new wrinkles around her eyes... And her once deep black eyes, faded into a gray hue. Her soft feminine voice turning fragile and sometimes a little frail. And the jet black color that youth had painted her naturally once, lighter... whiter... Here and there.


After all, she is aging. Everyone is aging. But when I start seeing visible differences in her... A strange fear is growing inside me. A fear that makes me sometimes lost. I'm getting scared, one day, I will lose my one big link with this world. I'm scared, when years are passing by, the chance for missing it is coming closer.....


She no longer puts henna on her hair religiously. She says she is lazy and don't care much. But I think, she is actually a little concerned about the judgments of the society around her, who thinks, a widow need not have to take care of her looks that much. But she is not just, only a widow. She is also a mother. She is my mother. My beautiful mother. And I want her to take care of herself. At least for me. At least to make me believe that she is still young. I know I'm trying to convince myself that she is the same healthy robust person, whose saree hem I used to hang on when she cooked. And I would wrap a shawl around my dress, as if I'm also wearing a saree and I would carry my doll, Wendy, on my hands as if its my baby sister. This is a picture which has become a sixteen year old memory now. Still I'm trying to cling to it. But sixteen years... It has changed her a lot. It has changed me a lot. But I'm used to the changes in me. Not hers.


Still all those years has failed to change some things. The unconditional affection in her eyes whenever she looks at me. The prompt forgiveness again and again for the ungratefulness that I shows to her time to time, because of my selfish and stubborn nature. The innumerous number of deep heart prayers that she always does, for my happiness.


I remember, on my 22nd birthday, she wrote me a card. "I wish you were still the one year old. I could have sung you lullabies and make you sleep". She wrote it from India and I read it from England. Maybe she also wishes the time stood still so that she could cuddle me anytime she wants to. Not reminiscing over those beautiful days. Not becoming sad thinking of the thousands of miles between us. The difference of time zone between us. The extremely distinct climates between us.


Now I'm sitting here in UK, in front of a computer typing all these things from my thoughts. I wish I could tell her more than just the word 'Cool'.


----------------


She once told me she has one wish. To see me as a mother. I don't know. She is a mother. And I'm sure she is now a mother first. Her utmost priority is her children. If she had to choose between her parents, her husband and her children, she would undoubtedly choose her children. Us. Me and my elder brothers. And if I became a mother, I know I will choose my children before her. And I'm not yet ready to give her up now to second position. I know it might sound silly and juvenile. I know life doesn't work like that. But ruthless realities can't convince me enough for the time being. I want her to be my top priority. For now at least. For some more time at least.


----------------


Mother... You made him my father. Through you, I came to know him. You are the unbreakable link between us. Pudussery is of course, my family root. And our home. But you made it my root. You made our house, a home. So without you, my name is incomplete. I'm incomplete. So there it is. My level best explanation... Hope this is a tad better than 'cool'...


----------------



Its 10.15 in India now. Now let me go and call her and tell this. Before she shuts her eyes tightly to sleep.



-----------------



Her phone is ringing...



-----------------

Golden Era.

So, the other day, some teenagers tried really hard to scare me off with their bullying. There were like three boys and six girls . All around 13-14 years of age. I was sitting alone in the playground, just half a mile from my house, and they told me they wanted to be friends with me. For me, they are just beautiful lively kids in their golden age. And to be honest, I didn't see this 'bullying' coming. But after a few minutes of friendly talk, they became too 'friendly' and started joking with bad languages which I can't even say loudly. To my own surprise, I sat there least bit bothered, reading my book. Coz again, for me they are just kids who were trying to be 'grown-ups'.

What I still don't understand is, why do teenagers think, using a lot of F-Word or far worse words make them adults. Or is it my so-called 'generation gap' with them, making me forward this question? Atleast, I don't think so. Even if, swearing does make us adults, why this sudden urge to lose the beautiful era of life? You are gonna grow up and be an adult one day, anyway, so why so much rush to conquer it? Coz once, you enter those pages of calendars, there is seldom a comeback, ain't it?

Teenage years are the most wonderful time of a person's life, for its full of fresh energy, innocence, eagerness, constant curiosity and fascination for new episodes. Teenage is not just a part of life, its much much larger than life; Short and sweet, filled with all the distinct, special and unique experiences, that a person will have in his/her own lifetime.

A teenager is happiest, when he/she is with friends and they will literally die for their friends, and thats their fearless commitment. A teenager will fall in love so blindly that he/she will never forget those small crushes they had, rest of their lives. A teenager will be so rebellious to others, that during these years do they know their real strength to stand up for themselves, against many obstacles, good or bad. But a teenager is still the most innocent, who will get upset when parents just 'sermon' them, or when a favourite rockstar demises or is grounded for going to a party too late. Those innocent emotions will eventually be lost through time, when they hit the other side of the curve towards adulthood. So why can't teenagers simply be just those innocent kids, who will share their homework, gift her favourite earrings to her friend, help his best bud get ready for his date and laugh at the silly jokes only their friends circle will understand?

I might never get answers to these questions, but I try to pacify myself thinking that, atleast I enjoyed the best years of my life with all its superlatives. Now when I look back, I can only smile and be happy. And I'm proud and grateful that my friends and cousins who were there for me, and still are, for even the silly stuffs at which I used to get worried, are the best gifts I got during this glorious time.

I just wish, all teens have their time, never seized away from them, by themselves. I just wish all teens have those beautiful not-still-lost baby smiles on their faces. I just wish all teens remain as teens and welcome and enjoy their ever so fantabulous years in its twenty-four carat authenticity.

P.S : Dedicating this write-up to my most wonderful cousins sisters, Febin and Aysha. Teeanage wouldn't be the same without you two.. I wouldn't be the same without you two.. :)

Fairy Tales.

And then they lived happily ever after...

The handsome prince and the beautiful princess...

They knew they were meant to be together, the first time they met...

He could just live, looking at her eyes forever...

She was rescued from the evil stepmother and stepsisters...


The 'eternal' love stories of the good-looking couples go on like this. Fairytales and even the 21st century movie lines decide to stick with the inter-connected triangle between love, good looks and an evil in between. What if the girl was not that pretty? Will the boy fall in love at first sight? Or will he be able to look through, for the substance contained? If the boy is handsome, will he automatically fit the bill to be a good partner? What if there are no evil aunts or witches or dragons involved and the girl need not to be rescued from anything? What if she can look after herself and doesn't need any kind of 'help' from a second person? How can the boy make the grand entrance without proving his physical strength? How do they know that he or she is The one? Will they hear bells ringing or violins playing?

Almost all the stories that we hear from childhood, put some fancy dress over infatuation or crush and call it 'love'. At first sight, love, as in between two persons which has a potential for sharing lives, is hardly ever going to happen. Because love comes from companionship, from knowing each other, from acceptance, from seeing the goodness, from the willingness to let go the flaws, from the ability to see even through darkness. It doesn't come from eyes, or lips or anything of that matter. If its like that, its mere attraction which can happen anywhere anytime to anyone. When the L word is misused or if defined better, 'incorrectly used', it becomes synthetic and a cheesy line. If genuine, love will stand the test of time, patience and misfortunes. But then again, its never always about love,as it is not enough. There are hundreds of other emotions. This single emotion doesn't make anyone complete, but just makes our journey more beautiful.'Giving hearts' and 'living only for someone' are soothing to hear of course, but partially hype and overrated. Even, some of my own scribbles, are exaggerations about love and sacrifices and all. Sometimes, even my thoughts do deviate to lesser practical concepts on these kind of emotional needs. In reality, expecting someone to be there for you as if he or she can't live without you, can be a very narcissistic way of thinking. But to accept that these are all parts of life, might be the reality to be realised for our own good.

But whatever it is, I don't know whether this is hypocritic, I still believe in fairytales... Because I believe in happy endings. For that is a beautiful thing in life to be hoped for always.

Fly High

When you are made of fire, no candle can burn you...

When you are made of water, no pool can drown you...

When you are made of hurricane, no wind can shiver you...

When you are made of rock, no pebble can scratch you...

When you are made of glass, no razor can cut you...

But when you are made of nothing but flesh, blood and emotions... you just forgive and forget and be patient and hopeful...

But you can still be a phoenix... who will rise from the darkest ashes... and fly high again...

And explore all the wonderful things, life has left to you... and thus rediscover your beautiful incredible strength, which only you can enliven...

In Love...

When you are in love...
You laugh for no reason...
And tears come from no where...

You will smile when the raindrops touches your face...
And you will giggle when the breeze whispers in your ears...

You will recognize the scent of grass...
And you will notice the blue sky...

You will tease your hair unknowingly...
And you will check yourself in the mirror many times...

You will forget time...
But feel like time is standing still...

You will smile at strangers...
You will dance like no one's around...

You won't be hungry...
But you will crave for the fragrance of roses...

You won't be sleepy...
But still have lots of colourful dreams...

Everything will start looking beautiful...
Because you start seeing his charming face in everything...

Just A Small Thought.

The time we start thinking of gaining independence in life from others like a hard and fast rule, is the point we should realize that we are actually insecure, uncertain and sometimes cynical about ourselves. Better, we accept the need of dependence, approve the mutual reliance of humans and stop grieving on the widely mislead concept of 'personal freedom'. Adoption of the fact that, mankind can never be free of everything is the ultimate independence he can ever obtain. I think, independence is a man's transcendental sophistication; But dependence, his latent necessity, majority of the time. Either way, I believe, dependence and independence are two inevitable but extremely beautiful sides of the healthy co-existence of humankind.

Home.

"Husnaaaaaaaa, why is your room so messy?? What is this Husna...Why can't you make your bed properly! Sometimes, I feel like you haven't grown up since 1994!!"

"I was gonna clean my room, umma! Why do you have to check my room always! Don't I have any privacy?!"

"God...You will say all these! You will know, when you become a mother and get coaxed by your children..."

I didn't reply to that. Because, of course, I ain't gonna enter my children's room without their permission anyway! So I just went to my room, cleaned up the mess and came downstairs. I could hear Rayan's squeaky stubborn noises and his mother scolding him for being impossible.

Rayan...my 3 year old nephew. Naughty is his adjective. No, actually, Rayan is the noun of naughty! Cute he is,of course..and a brat. My mom says he is like me in that way. Yeah, of course! All the not-so-good traits comes from me!

Here comes my nephew running...He is crying loudly. Another 'legacy' from me. Crying and loudness.

"what happened?"

"I'm fed up with this boy! He just had a bath. When I took a dress to change him, he said, he wanna wear another one. I didn't mind that. After he is all dressed up, he ran straight to the bathroom, and poured water all over him and came back saying, my dress is wet, give me a new one!!!"

I just smiled. Maybe he IS like me. I never like to wear dresses that I don't like too.

"Where did he go now?? That boy is driving me crazy!"
"I will take care of him."

I went outside. He is sitting there on the swing. He is happy but has a stubborn look
in his small beautiful eyes. I was gonna laugh but I didn't. I went near him.

"You want me to push the swing?"
"Yeah..slowly."
"Ok, hold tightly."

He started giggling. Especially when the swing comes backwards. I feel like
a cool aunt! I don't understand why all mothers can't be like me! Just cool. Never enter one's room without permission. Else allow one to be the way he/she is. Never compel to like their choices, but give us the freedom to choose!

I think, Rayan is happier with me. Because we understand each other.

But you know, after a while, I started getting bored with pushing the swing. Its been half an hour! I stopped and sat under the tree, and told him to push with his legs. He was trying to reach the ground with his feet, suddenly he lost his grip and fell down!

"Rayaaaaaaaan!"

I really felt my heart coming outside!

"Mammaaaaaaaa..."

He started crying...He ran inside. I stood there perplexed. I didn't know what to do...

I was near him...I made him laugh and played with him...But when he got hurt, he ran to his mamma... who by the way didn't care for his likes in the first place. I felt really sad. I stood there looking down, holding the swing... I don't understand why he still ran to his mother when he got hurt...

"I am not sure whether you should sit on that...Its not that strong."

I looked up. Its my mother. She had come out, hearing all the screaming and commotion.

"You know, I don't like swings now. I feel dizzy whenever I sit on them. I don't enjoy them anymore like I used to, when I was a kid."

"So you ARE growing up!"

I smiled...a dry one. I walked towards her. She sat on the threshold of our kitchen.
And I sat beside her.

I was still a little sad. I wanted to sit closer to her. So I moved nearer.

I looked at her face and gazed at her...I knew then, why Rayan ran to his mother. Because I just did the same thing...Unknowingly I was pacified just by my mother's presence too...

"Your favourite tender coconut is in the fridge. You had asked for them when you arrived home."

"Aaaah! I will eat now."
I chuckled.

"You wont get those in your UK, will they?" Teasingly of course.

"No. UK doesn't have many things I like."

UK doesn't have many people I love...



But I should admit, UK taught me one thing. How it is like to be, being back home...
How it is like to be with your family...How it is like to be sitting near your mother...

"I'm sorry for being a brat...I will clean my room from now on..."

She just smiled. And I hugged her and started eating the coconut with all my zest.


PS: This is a fictional story, except the characters. The real incidents in this write-up didn't happen in the same order and the bits with Rayaan are fictional, and also I still dont clean up my room up to my mother's standards :D But I would like to thank my family who gave me the liberty to make up a story on them, especially my dearest sweetest sister-in-law I can ever have Rubin Farook, who gave me the complete freedom to make up this story from part-reality and part-imagination and for letting me be a very selfish writer who wrote the story from my stubborn, selfish, small-minded angle. I do not understand motherhood yet, but she is more than generous enough to me to be motherly to her beautiful children always :) Dedicating this to our Rubi and her mother-in-law, my umma..

Bro.

Why do you always irk me?
Coz I just like having fun with you!

Why do you mock my friends?
Coz I think you can have better friends!

Why don't you like me watching romantic movies?
Coz you are still too young for that!

Why do you want me to hear your favorite songs even though I hate them?
Coz I want to enjoy them with you!

Why can't you simply leave me alone?
Coz you give me a good company!

Why can't I wear high heels?
Coz you are only a small girl!

Why don't you allow me to eat chocos even if you eat them a lot?
Coz you might get ill!

Why don't you like me have boys as friends?
Coz I'm protective!

Why are you acting like a big guy to me sometimes?
Coz I'm like a father to you!

Why can't I use makeup?
Coz you are beautiful for me as you are!

Why don't you like Brad Pitt?
Coz you drool over him always!

Why do you play with me even though you are too old for that?
Coz it makes you smile and that makes me happy!

Why do you keep preaching me?
Coz you are my responsibility!

Why do you never talk to me as if I'm a grown-up?
Coz you are always a baby for me!

Why can't you just be free to me like our cousins?
Coz I care for you more!

Why didn't you tell all these, straight to my face before?
Coz its too tacky and not so cool for me!

Why do you love me so much, my bro...?
Coz you are my little sister...
And for your record, I will never stop loving you and bugging you!

:-)

Dedicating to my wonderful big brothers, whom I love, close to my heart.

My Ways.

I live in my own weaved beautiful dream;
From which I will never come out...
Where small things make me happy;
Simple words make my day...

I fill my life with full of colors...
Even if there are grey hues sometimes,
I mix it with my own light;
Brighten it,
And make it my very favourite...

For me, there is always a way for light...
And a ray of hope in the darkest hours.

For my way of perception is,
Midnight is never the end of the day...
But the beautiful beginning of a better tomorrow...

The chains.

The more I lost you,
The more I knew, how much you gave my life its meaning.

The more I miss you,
The more I know the depth of my love.
-------------

So I will carry the pain in my heart always;
I find happiness in that pain.

The freshness of the wound;
Shows open my eternal love to you.

The crystal clear memories;
Paves way to my life onwards.
--------------

The echo of your laughter,
Is the lullaby I hear every night.

The sound of my every heartbeat,
Each of your footsteps towards me.


The moments we spent together,
Is the priceless treasure I possess.
--------------

The promises that I made to you,
Is the truest religion I always follow.

The dreams I saw about us,
Are the milestones I aim to attain.

The intensity of my devotion,
Is the chastity of my unconsummated love.
---------------

My untiring hope,
Is the food to my long journey towards you.

My profound faith in my love,
Being the deep root to the anticipation.

My never ending prayers,
are for a more beautiful ending.

My eternal optimism in myself;
Other priceless answer of my true emotions.
----------------

Maybe everything is meant to be the way it is...
Untouched. Unaltered. Unchanged.
Pure. Genuine. And Simple.
-----------------

Maybe the infinite unbreakable chains that I bound myself to you;
Is the ultimate freedom I ever gained.

She.

I came crying out loud...
She blew a soft breeze into my little nose then...
I breathed it for the first time...
The fragrance of Her breath...
So pristine...

I named it, Air.

I took my first step on Her...
She lay down there for me to walk...
She smiled at me when I put my little feet on her stomach...
Softer than the finest velvet...
But still clasping than the roughest rocks...

I named it, Earth.

I fell down many times...
But she caught me always...
And kissed my cheeks...
They blushed with her pearls of kisses...
I touched my rosy cheeks...
And felt it between my chubby little fingers...
Nothing finer than those pearls...

I named them, Soil.

I cried as those beads of sand got into my eyes...
I was angry as they belonged to Her...
So She gusted a slow whiff on me...
And took them away from my eyes...

And made me smile again...

I named it, Wind.

I became weak and tired...
And she fed me with her milk...
The sweetest thing that I had ever tasted in my life...
The purest form I had ever felt in my life...
Other than her love to me...

I named it, Water.

I needed a shelter...
A roof above...
Beneath which I would be safe and happy...
She placed Her hands above my head...
And blessed me...

Her hands...lighter than feather...

Nothing as safer as being in Her own hands...

I named them, Clouds.

I wanted to rest...
She gave me the softest bed...
In which I lay down peacefully...
It had Her delicate palms' fragrance...
Calming me...hushing me to sleep...

I named it, Grass...

I felt withdrawn...
And I was lonely...
So She cried along...

Her tears drizzled on me...
When those divine drops touched my face...
I danced in it to make Her laugh...
And She laughed along...

I named it, Rain.

She brought big flashing streaks of light in Her eyes...
Her gleaming beautiful azure eyes...

Deeper and vaster than the bluest ocean...

Whelming with Her affection...

I named them, Sky.

The glittering aura of Her eyes...
Brighter than blanched silver...

Like a string of a thousand crescents...

Beaming with all Her glory...

I named it, Lightning.

She made drumming wham with Her hands...

To awaken me from my reverie...
And teach me to look after myself...
Hence I knew I should be careful...

And aware of my enclosure...

I named it, Thunder.

My life felt like its full of grey...
Then she made colours for me...
And I played with them...blissfully...
She charmed me with more and more colors...

So that I will never stop being happy...

I named them Flora and Fauna.


I was shivering with cold...
So She kissed me till I was comforted...
And hugged with all Her warmth...

Brimming with Her care...
Warm with Her maternal amore...

I named it, Sunlight...

I wanted to see myself...

My face...its reflection...

Its beauty and imperfection...

So she gave me Her mirror...

A cloudless crystal; still with flaws...

I named it, Moon.

But above all the eternal distinct facets of Hers...
She always loves me more than anyone...
As I was born from Her heart...
Warmer than Her womb...

And I always wish to live in Her heart...
And I wish to die in Her bosom...
Which holds Her untiring love for me...

Her heart...so magnificent...

So purer than Herself...
The most beautiful one it is...

And I named Her heart, India.

He.

He. He was searching for that face. A face that has been haunting him for years. Behind the shadows. Keeping him restless. He was never a follower of the puzzles;

He created puzzles. From his mind. To his imagination. To his fingers. To his brush. To his canvas.

He always created a mystery in the sheets. The smell of the fresh paper; And the smell of the old Parisian inks intoxicated him. To a different trance mode into which he would dive for weeks. Till it would hit his imagination to the core and deliver it back in the form of grey strokes. Years has he been solving the enigma of his fantasies.


But now...

He is out of those lines. Those infinite colors, that he would bring out with just one color of grey.
He could not decipher the face. He could not grasp it and make it his own.
That face... its silhouette... is the only rescue that he got from all his yearnings to see it.


---------------------------

The room was so beautiful for an artist. No mess. No paint splashes. No dirt. The room itself was a beautiful painting. A painting to perfection. It was made shabby only by one sketch. One among a million copies of her. Mona Lisa. She is not beautiful; she is cold.  Why she, of all the beautiful celebrations of femininity?

She was intriguing.. She was a dilemma.

She was questioning.
She was answering. Not.


---------------------------


He felt fogged.

He felt out of breath.
The smell of his works.The closed place.
The secluded atmosphere.
Mona Lisa's all knowing eyes. Her sarcastic smile.

He feared his eyes would start welling up.

 He fled from there. To a beautiful place. With fresh air. With simple people.
Wishing for a clear vision to his heart, which achingly held that unknown face.



---------------------------


Jardin du Luxembourg. Tall trees. Manicured shrubs. Warm colored leaves scattered on sand. People everywhere. Talking. Laughing.

And there it is. De Medici Fountain. The most amorous place in Paris. The fountain near the alcove; Crowned with trees grown wildly around. Not prim like the rest of the gardens, but veiled and rather dark. 


Watching the couples holding their hands and smiling at each other's eyes, he asked self.
Why is always a special place for a man and a woman? Why is their relationship always celebrated eternally more than the others'?
Is it the ultimate companionship, everyone is searching for? Or is it all about being in love, but not love for being self...


Small ripples are forming in the water. A long hand is playing carelessly in water.

He looked at the face. That face.
He felt he found it.

He looked more intensely. As an artist.
He was analysing his object of inspiration. As an artist.

She was tall and waif. Was not the conventional choice of a painter.
But she had that face. A very sculpted one.

He looked again and again. Not as an artist.


------------------------------------------


Finally they met their gaze.

He felt a lump inside his chest. He took his eyes away. He was never good at making the first move.

But today... today is not like the other days... He had found her.

If he moved away, he will lose his chance forever. He walked towards her. She stood up.

They smiled. They talked. With their eyes.

He could feel something running from his chest to his hands. To his mouth. To his stomach. He was still in that puzzle. Why she?

He leaned closer towards her. He did not know how long they stood like that. His hands moved from hers to her waist. Suddenly, she moved back from him and looked down.

He waited silently for her.

"I cannot do this now... I have to complete something... I have to finish something on myself..."

He broke his silence for a moment.

"I do not understand... "

"I have to be done something on me, so that I will be fully fashioned. Sans my past..."


-----------------------------------------------------


He felt the lump on his chest going down to his stomach.
He stood there wide-eyed. Still blind.
He could hear all the noises around. Still unperceived.

He felt like he didn't know himself...

"I want to go now. I have to think about some riddles of my own.. Please do not... Its not you... Its me... I want to find myself... Or I wilI be lost from myself forever."

Tearful she.


-------------------------------

He had no choice but walk away, not knowing where.


-------------------------------


He looked around his room frantically and had his eyes caught up with a pair of Louboutin stilettos he had bought it for no one. Except for him to look at; even though it cannot be worn...
because he is a man...

He had always tried to find excuse for his conscience for the ridiculous amount he paid for it when he hadn't had enough to feed him... but that pair was something unattainable for him in strange ways...
because he is a man.


He started pondering over the women he admired most. The perfect forms of his definition of beauty. Paz Vega. Tall, lean, dark thicker brows, strong jaws. Juliette Binoche. Seldom considered beautiful but rather brawny enough to hurl you to the core. Why are their such unconventional features alluring to him?He knew, all along he was the puzzle for him to solve. He had never enjoyed the beautiful womanhood of the infinite number of sculptures and paintings in Musee De Louvre. They were only looked upon as a perfection of art. Never hearted for his own joie de vivre.

-----------------------


Mona Lisa in his home, staring every excruciating hour at him ...
her soft face.
but her intense expression...
her strong ardor.

She was questioning again.
She was answering again. Not.


------------------------

A stranger has been hiding inside him for years.
A stranger who never confided his natural urges to him.

He started unraveling the threads.
He was waking up from his cocoon.
He broke the shell.


------------------------

He knew then...
The haunting face.


-------------------------
It was his. The truth about himself.
Which he had tried to forbid.

-------------------------

Finally he had decrypted himself.
He had freed his mind from all the chains that he had locked himself in.

His hidden urges sought at last.
His quest for the unknown answered.


-------------------------
His sexuality

Demystified


-------------------------
P.S. The story name 'He', I leave it to the reader's interpretation. Even though he is my own imaginary character, it's painful for me to interpret his personal pronoun completely. And thus, this is my most edited write-up ever. And still prone to more editing in the future. For me, his story is always going to be incomplete, literally and figuratively. Therefore, I'm not full-stopping the end.

The Journey Of Life.

Life ...

Its journey ...

Passing through many beautiful moments ...

Following nothing but its own path ...

Its own direction ...

Without a clue ...

Still so fast ...

So restless ...

So fierce ...

So zealous ...

Sometimes even reckless ...

Still as if it knows all the ways, flashing by ...

But somewhere... some time...

A slow breeze touched the face ...

A soft whisper went through ...

A warm fragrance brushed upon ...

Life found a destination ...

Where it could rest ...

Where it wanted to rest ...

Forever ...

The journey became meaningful ...

The aim was redefined ...

The niche was placed ...

But life in constant need always ...

To follow the unknown ...

The stop was discouraged ...

The rest was slighted ...

Then ...

The hearth came forth weary ...

The roof felt laden ...

The halt seemed tiresome then ...

And was disheartened ...

It all seemed pulling back the voyage ...

The wish to stay was blown away ...

The place to breath was swayed ...

Compelling to move on ...

And so travelled again ...far far ...

The moments seemed to be lost in the road ...

To be locked in a box ...

To be hidden away from mind ...

Never expected to visit again ...

Never gathered to heart it fully ...

Never awaited to own it again ...

But still ...

The moments are remembered always ...

Emotions are treasured forever ...

Then all of a sudden ...

Life did take a U-turn ...

All the road traveled after had become hostile ...

The search for the ultimate seemed unanswered ...

But still enriched with experiences ...

With mistakes ...

With lessons ...

Paths are familiar again ...

Emotions are revisited ...

Sights perceived in frenzy ...

Ardor enlivened ...

Smile once lost... returned...

Paths still had the old footsteps ...

The breeze gusted upon once more ...

The fragrance lingering around still... pierced through...

The whispers echoed again and again ...

Memories brought back to life... to present ...

Life brought back to home ...

Bringing the long lost happiness ...

Finding the long lost roots ...

All are then felt purely once more ...

Life had never seemed so beautiful ...

One Beautiful Morning...

I remember handing you a small paper of my drawing secretly... Before you got into the plane...
So that I could make sure, you would think of me more everyday...

I remember you calling me your golden daughter...
Even though I was nothing special than other girls... Except that I'm born to you...

I remember you turning and tossing whole night restlessly...
Just because I had a small headache...

I remember you waiting for me outside our home...
So that you could give me a heart warming smile when I return from school...

I remember your voice trembling with sadness for being angry to me...
Even though it was entirely my fault...

I remember you talking to me showing no pain in the hospital bed...
When I knew you were having a hard time...

I pray to God to give me one more chance...
So that I could tell you how much I love you more than anyone...
How great a father were you to me...
How great a life you have given me...

I thank God...for making me your golden daughter...
I pray everyday...wherever you are, may you be happy...
I pray to God... to help us all meet in Heaven...
I pray to God...that my home with my family is the Heaven I wish to have...

I remain strong... I remain positive...

But when I saw the small paper I handed you seventeen years ago... In your suitcase you used to carry everyday...
I couldn't stop my tears...

But I knew then...that I was always loved and remembered by you... The whole time of your life...

And I knew...it was a gesture from God... Showing me...to do good deeds...
So that I can meet you one day...

And I'm waiting for that beautiful morning...
When I open my eyes and see your face...
With a heart warming smile...

I want to talk to you the whole day...
I want to tell you how terribly I missed you all these years........