I love oranges.
I love guavas.
I love grapes.
And I love cheese.
And above all I love you.

Wonder when

I don't understand this at all. I don't even try not to think about her when I am awake and its so easy. I don't remember her face. I don't think of her voice. I don't think of her at all. And I don't have to suppress my thoughts for that.
I was home yet again. My sister and my cousin were there. Mom comes from somewhere and scolds my sister for being lazy. She wasn't exactly being lazy but she has me sulking with her behavior towards ma. Mom wasn't right to scold her but she wasn't so very wrong either. And even after Mom left, my sister didn't regret this.
Suddenly I am all alone. Theres no one at home except some cousin who is sleeping in my room. I feel teary for something and then I have actual tears and I realize why I have tears. I look for things at my home that would remind me of her. There are none. I start shouting towards heaven why its like this. Why ,when I don't have a trace of her remaining in my everyday life, do I still have to cry thinking of her? I didn't blame anyone else. But for a minute I felt like going to her mother and crying in her presence.
I don't know why I dreamt that. In between my studies sometimes I write her name without intending to do so..without thinking at all. My hand seems to respond well to my unconscious mind. It doesn't disturb me at all. It only intrigues me. The fact that I am so aloof from myself. The fact that I don't understand what I really won't. Wonder when I'll know.

They drift.....the thoughts

Its like winters and I like the sun. A worker had created a little fire and I was tempted to feel the heat of the fire and I went and stood beside its blaze.
I thought of a dead man's pyre..I thought of my grandfather's pyre. The place where i was standing then had pillar where one could find support. One ought to have the luxury of such a support when in times as such. Pashupatinath has such a facility. An old man went past me on his cylce and I had difficulty remembering whether he was at my second year hostel or did he work here.
I didnt receive any letter from LE at the 2nd year hostel. Did I receive any letter from her at the 1st year hostel? I fail to remember. If I did..first year hostel has to be a special place I thought. I enter my room thinking over this and looking for her. Shes packed in a yellow bag in a cobwebbly corner of my room and I haven't disturbed her since god knows when..
She once said something about my saying 'god knows'...and from then onwards I started to use it every now and then making it prominent enough for her to notice.
God knows what I was doing.
God knows what I am doing

I despise myself

Its this dream that I want to record because it was both good and ugly. Though I don't remember much of it.The dimmest memory of my this dream takes me to me the room I used to share with bapuji (my grandpa). Like I used to do, I was doing his bed so that he could sleep..setting the mosquito net. But it was with much greater affection than I used to.It was some two years ago that I last saw bapuji. He was as healthy as he used to be before his last year when he was mostly bed-ridden. I then unlike other days that I used to have with him then, offered to massage his feet and his shins. He allowed me to. It suddenly felt like I was giving my grandfather and myself the greatest gift of life. After he had almost slept, I then started to silently cry for myself..for what Ma had done to me..what she hadn't.
That was the disturbing part because my dreams acknowledged my contempt for what Ma hadn't done for me. And I really despise myself for blaming mother for doing something, that almost every mother in the same situation, would have done.

A nice Saturday it was

Shes in Allahabad and she gave me a mail just two days before she was to return. An SMS, a night's wait, another SMS and I finally get to talk to my English teacher. The meet is fixed and I have the address all scribbled on a piece of paper and I am super excited. My date today is a real wonderful person with the most beautiful smile, so full of warmth that it became the reason why I thought I needed a counselor in the first place. I actually never needed one.
In 40 minutes time, I rode to her home following the long list of landmarks she'd given me for every wrong turn i might take. I had my super-cool moped, which I had just some time before setting out, recovered from the garage postponing the much needed servicing. Ma'am wouldn't have allowed me to come had I no vehicle. So the Hero Puch does act like the Hero who saves this meet for me and thus deserves a mention.
Like always I started to feel the insecurity of not being someone really important. She didn't do anything to let that impression. Its just that she looked some busy when I reached her home. She was actually busy arranging the privacy I'd need to comfortably talk to her.
The khukuri I had gifted her had found a place in her living room decoration. She wanted to hear what I didn't want to write to her. The moment I had been waiting for...to give it her in style..surprise her. She surprised me instead. LE getting married didn't surprise her a bit..and some minutes later she told me that it'd do good to me. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. I wanted her to think I am pained and that then I'd tell her how numb I feel. She sure thought that I was pained and I did find the opportunity to tell her that...the since then stories..and flowers and that I don't drink tea. She got coffee for us both because we both don't drink tea. I had one super weird reason which I confessed to her on her insisting and she did complement me in this regard when she gave me an equally weird reason for her not doing so.
When I had set out from hostel sacrificing the special Saturday meal that we get at our mess, I thought I would take lunch at her place.And she kept insisting on my having lunch but I wasn't hungry anymore and I didn't want her to spend time preparing lunch for me. The talks shifted to 'her GHOST' stories and I made a discovery about her that astonished me. She isn't ambitious or someone looking to find economic independence for her. Shes almost got a doctorate in English..shes published a few international journals and shes got a decent salary. But shes waiting for her ghost..waiting for her angel to propose marriage to her. She wants to live depending on her husband..decorating her home..watching television soaps and movies. It was very unlike her and it suddenly reminded me of Jenny Cavelleri. It sounded so Jenny like. Shes a modernist who is now advocating...not actually advocating..wishing for herself, the 'women should stay at home' system. She was sounding so much like a little girl mad in love that I was slightly worried. God Forbid. I wish her wait pays.
I found the chance to confess to her how bad I'm at ending a meet and that she should tell me when I should leave. After another half an hour of pleasant talks I took leave.