T a l k i e s

“The words I am about to express; They now have their own crowned goddess.”

“so that is your dedication…hmm…nice”

She runs her hand over my chest, “let me feel your heart beat”
“hey its not beating”

Eyes makes a subtle to and fro, the classic confused look according to her

“can you check the other side”, Me

she smiles, the night is throbbing outside the glass window. Trains are destined to go slower, what could be the problem with this one, I wonder.

“will you feel my pulse then, please” , now my voice is tense

i feel the bony fingers on that vulnerable point of my wrist “yes, you have pulse”

Leaving a sigh of relief, I settle in, her revolting curls block my view of the neon night. Raven hair.

“oh my poor intellectual, seems Marquez has already taken your dedication”, smiles, “say something exclusive”

long silence, comfortable silences.

I sit up “you mean my passions are a quote”

“yes” ,matter of fact

what do I tell you then; that I need to climb on these big sentences to catch a glimpse of what you are, to make some sense of you, or easier I could dive into your tresses and forget me forever.

or just, that i need you to tell me that i exist, my heart still beats

“i think we are about to enter the Palghat pass”

“how do you know” she asks, opening the train door. She knows all about trains.

“because we are about to enter the Palghat pass” the kind winds of the cool night wrap us in the narrow corridor

“hmm”

“you are an idiot”, I’m feeling free

the Palghat pass stretches like a conduit, this is where the monsoon with all its spice laden air enters the arid lands of the living. i look to the right, knowing its foolish, for the city lights.

“I don’t think I’m an idiot”

“what if i agree that i am an idiot”, there was no Coimbatore anywhere around. Tamil wilderness receding.

“I’m not an idiot” she thought for a minute before confirming. She thinks before she speaks.

“where are we now; can you read those station names”, at the train door her hair is blowing in the cool wind

I said “think we are somewhere in between”, I stretch out into the night my hands gripping the door handles

I’m there. The balcony of night, hope’s threshold. She too. The night pregnant with a day, boy or girl? A day that will remind us that we can’t, a day that will evaporate every holding mist of love. However hard I grip her, however hard I sleep the day returns, the night’s kindness recedes. Immense kindness of the night, a reminding world that sleeps. I do not know which station we left behind, which one we are nearing. I think we are somewhere between essence and existence, between freedom and necessity. Essence, existence, freedom, necessity, ha nice names for stations.

“Feeling cold?”

“No” I remove my jacket, wrap her around that

“Oh you are Nirvana, who doesn’t feel anything”, smiles

“Is it too cold? we’ll get coffee at the next stop” I shut the train door, moves across to the wash basin

“It doesn’t matter”, looks at me “Nothing else matters”, only she can say that

I wash my face, looks at myself. Girl, I’m not the Buddha I used to be. If I am the Buddha, like the poet said yesterday, I am one of those broken buddhas of Gandhari’s country, I am one of those poor Tibetan buddhas in the cold Delhi winter of refugees, one of those helpless buddhas of Lanka who stand witness to bloodbaths, I’m a torn Buddha in love. See I know about so many places, I even learnt about the capital of Burkina Faso to reach you.

One deep kiss, entwined. Nothing else mattered, there were no Gods worth worrying about.

“Nothing else matters..or has a name, the world is made of air that waits…waits”, I improvised

Silence, why is he saying all this.

“I like it when you are quiet…like…”, I’m improvising again.

“my sweet, I often wonder why there are not many women who write about love, as much as men have….why there are no women who could help me articulate in words so beautiful…”

“i think a man needs words to dance around…the woman sits in the middle with all that warmth, as the meaning…”

“You…you and you only”, she said, my moment in time

entwined in one anguished knot, eyes closed, complete

I think a man needs words to dance around when he finally lights that fire, like he danced around offering flowers and coconuts in one ancient rhythm after an other, and you woman sit in the core, with all that humility knowing well that you are the meaning. Because I have only words to offer now. My words that rise from your direction, which limit their existence to your extremes, where fire and nectar and air all mean you. You know that some loner said this before me, but from where I stand, this is all I have now and I am parting with that. Smile.