Princess Blog Post Author: Rahul Vats ©www.wakenshine.com, 2017.

Princess

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Maybe most of the Indian men will not like this article. Sorry Gentlemen! I am not one of stereotypical guy, trying to influence you. Having my own free will and mind to think about her I am today sharing what I feel my love for her is all about.

 

I will do whatever it takes to make her happy because she is the only one person in my life after my mom and dad who give me happiness, without any reason. She does not see me as a prospect, yet she cares for me. Her feelings for me are selfless. Her warmth for me- genuine.

 

I am going to treat her like a “Princess”. 

 

Forgetting all the problem and worries of my life is easy when she is in front of me. I feel so confident in her acceptance of me that I know I can go through all. Although I know the way I have chosen to be with her may be different but not wrong.

 

Love is never wrong. It's the purest form of emotion. 

 

The way she looks at me shows the faith and trust she has in me. The way she gives attention to me is when we meet is perfect. It makes my life worthwhile. She deserves to be my "Princess" as she is precious to me.

 

I feel pleased to have her and feel proud to walk with her. Our walks together will never end.

 

I don’t believe in God but for my "Princess" I pray- always.

 

These are my thoughts- these lines are directly from the depth of my mind and the bottom of my heart.

 

Author: Rahul Vats

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Barter

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Annie woke up from his light sleep after getting incoming from the reception that a pregnant lady had met with an accident and was in a critical state.

 

The nurse briefed on the phone as he ran for the lift on the seventh floor. The injured had a car accident and her womb had been hurt hard with profuse internal bleeding. He instructed to shift the patient to Operation Theatre. It would be difficult to save both, mother and child, something he had learned from experience. He dialed the number of another doctor on duty to assess the situation and simultaneously pressed first-floor switch.

 

Dr. Anhaya Kapoor was the cherry among the lot, known by a more popular name among his breed-Annie.

 

An upbeat guy in early thirties with a faded beard. He was the senior resident doctor at Brighton’s Medical Research and Science Institute, a prestigious hospital in South Delhi. A hospital founded by his father, who passed away six months ago, Dr. Jagdish Kapoor.

 

Annie’s brain was as good his face that bruised the hearts of many. He was considered one of the best in the profession a talent he had inherited as genes from his father. His father had been the best surgeon in the country, a favorite among politicians and businessmen who traveled in a private aircraft often for holidays.

Annie wasn’t a spoilt brat at all but had a deal in the closet that constituted of everything considered unethical.

 

He smoked pot, pee-ed on streets, drank abruptly, had a thing for madly kissing his dates in the parking lots. He chased a cop once till the end of the capital border! Annie could play the flute with ease; spoke French and Latin without stuttering. He was a state level swimmer. Rich, smart, fancy looking, a persona other guys wished to be and girls got lured to was Annie. All this charisma was sadly shadowed after he got married to a girl his father chose for him. This was another feather of burden. He loved his dad too much to keep dating Meera; the girl he loved passionately- his lifelong desire.

 

They had met at a bar at the Inner Circle in Connaught Place, just next to the coffee house.

 

Meera’s sleeveless blue dress could just kiss her knees! She came for her friend's breakup party, and he was there … coz, he was there most of the times. She was a jingle writer for an upcoming ad work agency who always carried a sweet tone in her laughter. That laughter eventually made the doctor lost his heart. He could never express accurately the love he felt in his heart for her with his multi-lingual skills but she could read it in his eyes. They were the most handsome couple in the circuit without a penny space between them!

 

A decade later, he was playing high.

 

When on a game night his dad asked him to marry the daughter of a family friend he held high regards for. His father has just recovered from the second heart surgery. However,  he could feel a lot more pain agreeing to his father’s request, the pain of a poisoned heart! Meera and Annie spent their last night together speechless, just holding hands. He made love to her like never before and cried as she led him to the door in the morning, kissing- a final goodbye. Eight weeks from his wedding date his dad passed away. Annie felt deserted without the two people he loved.

 

Annie lost the desire for life and spent most of his day hours in hospital after the marriage.

Everybody knew his story but no one ever whispered in those hallways or canteens!  The times were not the same; he was more of an enigma now, never indulging in his old misadventures. The lift reached the first floor and Annie ran out from the half open door and lurched toward the operation theater. Attendant doctor submitted the summary of the report confirming the urgency of the surgery. He wore his latex gloves and entered the operation theater where the proceeding had already begun.  Sphygmomanometer showed a continuous drop in blood pressure due to excessive blood loss.

 

Annie completed the caesarean and saved the child.

 

The mother’s heart had unfortunately stopped beating midway the surgery! The beats didn’t bounce back by the defibrillator. The failure- the silence of losing the mother was broken by the first cry of the child! Annie took the child in his hands and felt a resemblance in the touch and couldn’t stuff away that instant love for the child! He went through the patient information sheet to sign off the document and read the mother’s name -‘Meera’. 

His eyes blurred as he waddled out of the room with his daughter in the arms.

 

Author: Muflis Musafir

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Art Of Missing Blog Post Author: Kleio B'wti ©www.wakenshine.com, 2017.

Art of Missing

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"Not seeing you is like not breathing. I see dead leaves everywhere. The red rose looks black and crumpled to my eyes. They pain, yet no tear runs through these dry sockets I use to see the world with. The delicious smell of yours that makes my world fragrant is now an odorless, clinical place. I wish I could run these miles in a second and you could glove me up with a surprised glee in your strong arms. Maybe, I am talking too much. I am not sure, though, if these three simple and overly used words would communicate what I truly feel.

 

Yet, I shall try-I MISS YOU!"

 

Alone, bereft, emotional, sad, insomniac ache are the symptoms of throbbing for someone’s presence. Some compensate ‘missing’ with ice-cream, hot chocolate, some cake or pudding. In other words, they replace the absent individual with calories devouring comforting food. The number of people hitting the pubs and drinking themselves insane, usually attribute the impulse to the 'Act of Missing' someone they love, as well.

 

As Jeremy Sherman has pointed out in his blog, 'missing' isn’t always being sad.

 

Giving up something unwanted or unpleasant 'a miss' does sound like a wise choice sometimes. Most importantly, when someone becomes a part of one's environment, he/she ends up influencing the other. Humanity is about connections- good or bad ones. When something good exits one's immediate universe, it pains, yet when an unpleasant stimulus gets deleted from one's vicinity it brings a reprieve.

 

Yet every wise man, poet or philosopher ends up ‘missing someone badly’. Poetry on longing, unrequited love, betrayal, the guilt of deception, reminiscence, and longing are different shades of nostalgia dealing with the central omitted emotion that binds the poet to the cherished.

 

A fragment from 'My River' by Emily Dickinson goes like this: My River runs to thee. Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me? My river awaits a reply. Oh! Sea, look graciously.

 

She makes an indirect reference to that special someone. She awaits his reply and desires to join him, in that emotional sea; to mesh herself with this person she loves. While only the creative minds write poems and music about the person being remembered, the feeling is universal.

 

That pang of pain, that sudden stopping of mind, that literal heartburn, those misty eyes, the lonely nights, and that sullenness of the early sun distresses every abandoned soul; suffer the pang of longing. It's because the one who moves on leaves us, goes on a business tour or vacation takes that major chunk of the heart where love dwells. Essentially stingy, they leave behind just a wisp of themselves. That big piece of love that can keep one warm during those long wakeful nights, that caress when the nightmares knock, that makes the mornings brilliant, the days agile is never shared by the miser.

 

The ‘Art of Missing’ is that mushy feeling of passion that makes one ardent until their love returns. Love is a crazy feeling. It is the wackiest when it cannot be instantly articulated.

 

Brian Adam's points out in his song; only when someone leaves, only then one really understands the feeling of being in love. A love that is hopeless, irrevocable, absolute.

 

Author: Kleio B'wti

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'Incognito Inamorato' Short Story Author: Kleio B'wti ©www.wakenshine.com, 2017.

Incognito Inamorato

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Hardbound in red, with gold ink etching out the name 'Incognito Inamorato' winked wickedly at Lana.

 

The very cover of the stationery made her cringe! For years she had poured her heart out in it. She had once thought it to be her best friend; the one who knew everything about her one-sided love, her wishful thinking, her angst, her jealousy, her fears- every emotion that 'he' evoked in Lana. The Diary was her witness.

 

Lana reasoned how it was important to move on, to survive. It was crucial to surrender to hopelessness, for new hopes to sprout.

 

The only way she could make a fresh start was to let the diary go.

 

With a deep breath, tears rolling down her eyes, she walked down the stairs, into the living room; opened the door to the porch- resolutely walked further until she reached the picket fence at the gate where the black garbage bag lay abandoned.

 

She carelessly tossed the diary, never looking back. The Diary almost wilfully somersaulted from the edge of the garbage bag into the center of the pavement. A resolute Lana hadn't looked back, she wouldn't look out of the window where her beloved diary could be seen lying alone, sad.

 

Dave in the other part of the same neighborhood cursed under his breath as we walked through the pavement. He had had enough! After years of squabbling more than loving, he wondered if his childhood romance with Summer was a mistake. She had believed it was! She had given him an ultimatum today. He should either propose or stay away.

 

Dave loved Summer, yet a niggling thought was growing into a shout in his head, "It was puppy love. Don't commit!" Distraught emotionally exhausted romantically, Dave kicked the few dry leaves on the pavement and strode away quickly until a light object touched his toe.

 

The red Diary smiled invitingly at Dave, shimmering in the street lights. Dave was longing for a change in mood. He would rather read a stranger's secrets than prod on his own love life. So he sat down on the side, picked up the diary and turned the pages until morning came.

 

He then walked up to the porch and rang the bell. Lana groggily skipped down the stairs to see who it was. A look at Dave and all her sleep was replaced into stupendous elation!

 

She squeaked, "What are you doing here, Dave?"

 

Dave looked equally perplexed! He had never known that the shy and beautiful Lana, his classmate since middle school lived just a few blocks away! He cleared his throat in wonder and said,
"Hey Lana! I found your diary. You must have dropped it on the road by mistake. I didn't know you lived here!"

 

Lana replied accusingly, "How would you know Dave? You have been too busy for too long!"

 

"You write well, Lana! It’s funny that your boyfriend shares my name”, Dave mentioned with a chuckle.

 

Flabbergasted, Lana repeated in a rising voice, “Funny!”

 

Hey, Lana! No bad blood girl! I mean your guy is lucky, to have a perfect girl like you", Dave smilingly declared.  “I must confess, I always had a thing for your poems since Grade 6! Your Dave is a lucky dog!”

 

Lana with stabs of embarrassment, yet giddy with a resigned love, snatched the diary from Dave and shouted angrily as she slammed the door- "Me! Lucky! I have no boyfriend! It was always you, Dave- you fool!"

 

Author: Kleio B'wti

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Love Story

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It's a Love Story...

Sunaina just got off the call with Arpit, discussing last minute stuff of her engagement with Sameer that was still midway. Time does not define the intensity of friendship between two people, at least among them. She met him at Saira’s wedding, her childhood friend, last year which wasn’t a Kodak moment of capture; the first hold off for her with Arpit. She thought him as the groom and the chaos and pools of laughter it created henceforth were the highlights of that wedding. He went with the flow to add some drama but eventually came to her rescue when she drowned twice her hair length in embarrassment.  Since then they have developed an amicable relationship which included 10-hour telephonic conversation a week, a couple of hundred messages and a few video chats.

Sunaina worked as a Junior Associate at Mehra and Sons Advocates, a midsize law firm in Bangalore suburbs. Sunaina was a quiet and introvert in a group as long as she wasn’t a couple of wine glasses heavy. She was also badass enough to scatter a few here and there with her words and raised eyebrows in the courtroom.  She scared a Judge once with her trademark eye-raising style; all he did was responded to a mobile call during the court trial.

She was altogether a different person in her formal attire, one who is not a  mirror reflection by any angle. This characteristic of Sunaina made Sameer swipe the floor with his knees and ask her to marry him. Sameer didn’t only love her for her juvenile nature but a lot more for the personality she grew into once in the courtroom.

She banged her right fist on the table, looking into the eye of the police officer and would say "Spill out the truth about fake FIR lodged”, (against the client) or “I’ll not only prove it but also open the book of your entire life deeds.” Looking at the convict and gave him the feeling that if he'd lie his soul would come out and reveal the truth out of fear. The magical moment when the officer gave up efforts to stand against her, was when Sameer knew she is the one he would like to grow capsicum in his backyard and eat lettuce every morning, from whatever was left. He held high regards for the profession and the way Sunaina embraced it and grew in it, made him respect her.

Sunaina, on the other hand, was never into a relationship, apart from once when she was in Graduation College. She fell for a guy who was eight years older to her, (at least that what she believed then). The guy worked at a local newspaper as a political editor. They even met her parents to get their blessings for marriage. That was some day! Her mother almost lost her senses; her father's blood pressure rose beyond approved levels and her elder sister fell off the floor in laughter holding her stomach in laughter pain. She used that topic for two straight years for amusement and even rumored it with spice among all their cousins. But this time when Sameer asked she and was blown away. He held high standards and repute among the line of co-goers. She couldn’t have found a better one and felt

Arpit also supported her in the decision and reviewing the case in his court of judgment favored for her corner. Though he was shocked on initially, he eventually couldn’t find anything against Sameer who led her to the ocean of lovers and blossoms. The jury (friends and family) also got hit at first, the way Arpti and Sunaina spent time in conversations. They always believed that it had gone beyond the cooking stage and they were actually piping. Her boss would tease her at social gatherings and off-site meets, but she could never make them believe that there was nothing beyond calls, messages, holidays and overloaded discussions.

Sunaina and Sameer got engaged at city’s most lavish fine-to-dine. It was a magical night with flowers, wine, music, and dance. Happy faces, roars of laughter, neon light flashings, and fathers drinking for the first time in life - the day couldn’t have gone better.

Arpit came to her room and she was already up. She hugged him with a smile turned towards the mirror, admiring her looks and recalling the last night. She had weird thoughts and feelings, into a space of uncertainty. She could feel her heart go heavy but rebutted with a thought that maybe it's normal. Arpit looked into her eyes and felt the reason of her pale chin; he held her hand and told her not to worry. But she couldn’t get it off her head; she could feel something in her spine going down and all of a sudden her feet went cold.

She hugged him again and could find peace transmitted into her body through his arms around her waist. She felt like sleeping and transferred her body weight onto him. She tightened her armband around his neck, bowed on his right shoulder and leaned towards his ear and with closed eyes and dry lips she whispered:

If it’s not you who wakes me up, let me sleep.”

 

Author: Muflis Musafir

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Love of the First Degree

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Mush! That squiggly, warm, overflowing, chocolatey, intoxicating Mush! When the effervescent dewy eyes lit lamps of the heart! Ahh! That murderous feeling of the wrenching gut of jealousy! That deluge of longing that drowned hours of night’s slumber.

 

That special Mush!

 

Social Psychologist from The University of Lancashire, Dr. Gayle Brewer wrote in an article published in The Guardian, “Why We Can Never Recover From First Love” has mentioned how first Mush or Love sets unrealistic expectations in future relationships. He goes on to describe how Romantic Love isn’t a one-time phenomenon, however, it might be very different from the first experience of ‘being in love’. The reason is that as we grow older, our experiences change and so does our feelings in similar situations.

 

But honestly, come to think of it, is it possible to forget the first time you got drenched in a downpour unexpectedly? Is it plausible to not recall the first time you scored surprisingly well in an examination or won an award that you were not anticipating? Will you ever forget the first drink, the first time you bunked classes, the first time you rode your bicycle, the first pet, the first car, the first slap from your parent? Firsts are always The First.

 

The feeling could be stronger for something else or someone the next time, but still the original experience will stand as the yardstick to judge the next experience.

 

So, how is it likely that love will be any different? You might end up finding your soul mate after the first heartbreak or romantic disaster, but that will be the foremost time you were guilty of being in love with someone else more than yourself. It was the earliest time you felt the pangs of pain, the utmost instance when your heart actually overgrew your body and replaced the little place between your lung- Yes! That awesome breathlessness!

 

Affirmative! That absolutely, amazing, ravenous, dreamy, perfect feeling that has you committed for life. To love- to give- to be for someone more than for yourself- that wonderful amnesia of thudding unconsciousness where the earth revolves in a zigzag motion of hmmm. No! When the earth dances harder than you do when the sky smiles the largest cumulus cloud, the sun simmers its most romantic rays, the trees sway in silent melody, the sweet green grass carpets the feet of your loved one- Ahh!

 

That most atrociously perfect, the superlative of all superlatives First Love! The Mush! The Love Of The First Degree!

 

Author: Kleio B'wti

 

 

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