On the spiral, forlorn way
Oh, nothing’s new, all is old
Same dull stories told untold
To keep awake the drooping child
I sing, I curse, I blabber wild
I want to stop, my tongue is dry
But every line just ends in ‘why’
There is no way, there is no way
I will lose life everyday
The other day a friend told me that he thinks men are more comfortable with female friends rather than with male ones. On further probing he confessed that he is talking particularly about emotional comfort. Then he went on to tell me how in their group of friends in college, there is this girl Roshni whom everybody wants to be with. If anyone is down, she is the soothing factor. People talk to her about their personal crises and disappointments and find shelter in her empathy. Not that she is extremely pretty or seductive. Not that she is flirtatious. Neither is she anything like extraordinarily generous or talented or helpful etc. It is simply because she is a girl, and she is single.
But then, there is another girl in your group too, said I. What about her? She is the more gorgeous one, right?
Then I got to know that this other girl, who is also a good friend, is in a relationship. And when I expressed wonder at this strange observation, he started generalizing. He claimed that two men can never be as close as two women can be. It is the inherent nature of man to maintain a strict distance from another man. But in case of women, relationships are more flexible. They allow emotions to overpower everyday distance, if required. They are not as rigid as men.
I don’t know whether his point is valid or not, but it definitely made me think. If, for a moment, we consider this statement to be true, why, then I ask, would a man feel emotionally easy only in the presence of a woman and not another man? Why? What is the cause?
What do you think?
Please ask yourself this question and feel free to comment. Am hoping to see some really interesting and enlightenening views.
O you have grown so stagnant, my love! No longer do you dance along the breeze like before, like when you cruised all the way from the silver hills to end in me, said the Sea to the River. It seems another era when you would rush ahead, nomadic and beautiful, flowing like a constant wonder with a song in your heart. You are no longer the labyrinth that you still profess to be. Indeed, you are changed; you have lost the charm of flow.
But if I wander, thought the River, why, I might melt into another sea.
The Sea does not spare such spiral thoughts. He would rather think that the river is now a lake.
Some days remind me of violet evenings. Of floating along smokes of cars, and taxis. Of plunging into the beautiful quicksand which breeds yearning in its depths. Of sweaty fingers clinging on to each other. Of breath beating in the rhythm of light. Of slender visions in pretty frames. Of meandering memories and smoggy sight.
Some days remind me of foamless waves. Of tears held inside tender shells with care. Of tampered, yellow pages full of love. Of fainting faith, flesh wetted, rot. Of humid breeze amidst long, wild hair.
Some days remind me of musical nights. Of words unsaid with gaps and smiles. Of covering and uncovering moments. Of passion bursting itself into fragments that spread along the clouds, empty streets, windows. Of trembling muscles that wept for distance. Of promises cremated and then showered by flowers.
Some days remind me of those eyes. Of the spark of togetherness that cuddled thoughts. Of that craving which can never be quenched. Of green glass bangles jingling, sublime in pain. Of unvisited crossroads without a name. Of a touch cleansed by an indifferent winter rain.
Some days remind me…
Of you.
