Wishing Whispers.....

Here I bare my heart… unburdening it all... a heart bursting with love for you. The love that went unobserved even though our eyes had locked over and over… The love you didn’t spot trembling in my lips, eager to come out. But then, how will you ever know? I had never voiced anything. I wanted nothing more than to saunter through the same path you had trodden years ago before me. I knew that I was blindly tagging along your footsteps. I craved to turn into your shadow. All the time, I remained behind the curtains…unobtrusively... I used to steal glances at you from my numerous hidden corners. Every time I looked at you, a veil was always ready in my hands to cover my face and heart.

I had always thought about the women in your life. I used to observe them closely, wondering what is it that made you choose them over me… I used to wonder if I will ever get a corner in your heart.

Summers passed quietly.. followed by winters. Flowers blossomed. We both changed, and went in our own ways. Still, my heartbeat synchronized with yours. Thoughts of you were always prominent in my mind. The leaves of memory always made noises. My pen flowed for you. Muses bestowed me with words.

How could I not love you? It had come to me unawares in my childhood, grew with me through adolescence, and ripened with age. One day, when you hear the soft rustle of leaves behind you, when you feel a silent footstep following you, you might look back… But I won’t be there. I will be waiting, hiding behind the trees, waiting for you to pass so that I can follow you.

Sometimes, love is like this, my dear. Unheard, unseen, it just follows you without entering your heart. It follows you, through life, through death, in the next birth, in a never ending wait…….

Blocking Whispers........

I get these blocks sometimes. From time to time it is writer’s block. Now and then it is speaker’s block. At times it is thinker’s block. Occasionally it is reader’s block.

Often I am stumped with something I wish to write. It is not that words don’t come to me. It is not that the muse never drops in on me. She does. The words too.. They come uninviting, looking coyly at me, footing themself at an arm’s reach… I can see them. But powerless to feel and fondle. They are a bit timid to come near me. Like the cup of coffee that is still to reach the lips… Like the book that is yet to finish… Like an unfinished conversation... Like an incomplete mating…. The pangs of labor becomes agonising. But…

There are times when words fail to come to my mind. I stumble for the exact word I want to utter. I think and think till fumes come out of my ears. I am inept to express myself. My mind isn’t blank, just too dense with thoughts that need untangling. If I ponder hard for the exact word I want to say, the person with whom I am talking to wont be able to resist and will jump in. If I don’t think and use the first word that comes at that instant, it often ends up in a humourous situation. I just ramble and babble. These days if I take my pen, I am able to write clear, concise, precise razor-sharp sentences. And the sentences come to me with lightning speed, which reminds me how my brain can fire.

Then there are those occasions when I falter for something to think. Ideas just elude me. My mind will be blank. Or too many thoughts at the same time, but none that I can recollect. I think of a million things at the same time, and yet think about nothing at all. The flashes of ideas that comes to me for a millisecond vanishes with supersonic speed. Then my mind re-writes. The original becomes ordinary. The wit gets tarnished. My mind wonders aimlessly. I wonder what I wondered! I wonder why I wonder thus!

Now and then, I get sick of the printed world, and go on strike. I can’t get into any books, can’t concentrate on the contents. I had suffered the same thing during my post graduation, so many books I HAD to read, that I didn’t want to read any of them at all. I had the courage to appear for Viva Voce reading just ‘Wuthering Heights’. Forced reading books are as bad as forced feeding food. One has to let the appetite arise naturally. I used to go into reading overdose that I wouldn't have stopped if I didn't have to. Late at night, all I want to do is surf on the net or chat with friends. And that block is one I am sure I will never get- Internet block.

Of late, a new block is also on the roads- Blogger’s block. I refuse to visit my blog, and when the people dear to me ticks me off for not writing anything, I try to make them see that I am going through the Blogger’s block period. Like a woman undergoes her menopause.

Thank God there is nothing like an electrician’s block, technician’s block, plumber’s block, a supermarket block, restaurant block… But there can surely be a kitchen block, cleaning block, wife's block......................................................