The Dark Chocolate Illusion

His gaze always intoxicated me. His dark glittery eyes radiated a fierce, uncompromising intelligence. Those eyes were the warmest molten chocolate brownie with impossibly long lashes. I had been trying to decode the alertness in his eyes, behind that round power glass standing on his cute button nose. I had been eager to dive into the depth of his eyes for an eternity. But those eyes always flickered past me.

Blinking with feigned innocence I had eyed him demurely three months ago on his first day at the research firm that I had been working for quite a while. All consumed in his dark mysterious chocolaty looks I had missed to listen to what he was sharing about himself when Rohan, our HR manager introduced him to us.

I regretted not listening about him so much that I decided to punish myself by not satisfying my unending cravings of creamy sweet vanilla chocolates.

The milky and buttery aroma always oozed out from my Instagram feed asking me to take a small bite of one of the chocolates resting right next to my bed’s drawer. But the craving to be closer to him always won over my cravings for the chocolates. I knew I would never be getting his attention if I didn’t stop eating them.

Sunanda, my gynecologist would have been the happiest to hear my break up with the chocolates. “You are digging your grave with your spoon.” Since my diagnosis of PCOS, she had been recommending me to lose my weight. I had been turning a deaf ear to her for the last two years.

“My 46 F boobs keep my stomach warm. No regrets, Doctor.” Blazed with torches I used to answer Sunanda. For some unknown reason, I have always felt close to my gynecologist. I am completely a different person in front of her. I guess it’s because of her. Such a warm personality Sunanda is. I frequently visit her; sometimes with serious uterus issues while sometimes just to feel light.

I thought of sharing about him to her.

I could already imagine her modestly ridiculing me adjusting her bangs. I love it when she does that with her thin slithering fingers. Even in her forties Sunanda still outshines me. She has a kind of understated beauty; perhaps it is because she is so disarmingly unaware of how charming she is. She is taller than the average Nepali woman and certainly larger than a catwalk model, but in her ordinariness, she is stunning. The most astonishing woman I have ever met. I, on the other hand, have stopped growing at four foot nine inches; have the kind of face people forget even before looking at it. I don’t have a single part of me, apart from my wrist, that is small and I look as if I am forty when I have just landed on my mid-twenties two months ago.

Sunanda has a sweet, mellifluous voice. Whenever I listen to her it makes me feel like I am floating in air. Oh! Her lips! Her lips reminded me of a rosebud. Sometimes when she parts her lips slightly, it makes me stop speaking waiting in anticipation to see her lips moving. I wish I had her lips.

“Your lips are so dry and peeling”

That was the remark when I had agreed to kiss one of the boys at my high school. He had an abnormally large tongue. It was so fat and disgusting; it didn’t fit my mouth. But I couldn’t say anything as for the first time someone had an interest in kissing me. And I was the one who had followed him to the men’s room accepting his proposal which he had made sliding a note inside my Nepali book.

“Hey! Beautiful!

I love you. I want to kiss you and hold you close. Meet me in the men’s room after the class.”

He had written in bad handwriting.

It tickled me. No one had ever eyed me that way. I too wanted to feel what other girls at my class had already experienced. Every day the girls would huddle around and share how their boyfriends kissed them.

I decided to meet him then later to regret that kiss all my life because that gave him the leeway to touch my boobs. Kissing like a bloodhound; sloppy with too much tongue, his right hands had slowly started to move below my shirt, squeezing and pinching my cute pink nipples as well as my face red. He then literally started sucking on my face to the point where my face felt crusty from all his dried-up drool. It was so disgusting that I had to push him off of me. Ugh!

“I made your life, bitch. Your lips are so dry and peeling. I shall gift you a lip balm tomorrow.” I heard him shouting as I ran through the door.

The next day was worse.

“Give me my fucking 1000 rupees. By the way, her breasts are not that bad huh! I can now proudly say I have touched the largest boobs of this school.” I eavesdropped him sharing with his friends with a burst of thunderous laughter. I ran away completely heartbroken with my flaming cheeks that day intensifying my timid nature since then. Since then, I locked my words, along with my thoughts, feelings, and dreams. Since then, I have stopped coloring my lips.

But this time it’s different.

There’s something different in Abhinav. So different, that I am willing to let go of my innocent personality in the office. I can’t imagine myself spying on someone’s cubicle. But I did tiptoe to Rohan’s room just with the hope to find Abhinav’s phone number. I did find it and later mugged it up as well but didn’t gather enough courage to give him a call. Not even a missed call. And I can’t expect a call from him. I am an ordinary face working on a completely different project than his.

Everyone was busy with their own work, most of the time on their desks in front of their computers. I am most of the days anxious but grateful to be able to see him every day and know that I could at least speak with the silence, peek into his eyes he could almost catch, cease to exist for a few moments- even if it were only for a fraction of a second- as they felt infinity all around him.

This morning I caught him peeking at my bosom out of a narrow corner of his left eye.

I was talking to Rubina, whose desk is right across mine.

“Hey! Jasmine! Can you share the last report that you were working on, please? I heard that you are the one researching on Bagmati project,” Abhinav broke into our conversation.

I fumbled to find the report. I couldn’t.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said.

“Is it the one next to your pen holder?” Abhinav pointed.

“Oh! Stupid me!” I said, finally saw the report and handed it to him.

An awkward side-by-side smile followed.

I didn’t know how to react. So, I just left the conversation pretending as if I had some urgent work to complete and started typing.

Clicketyclackclickclickeyclickclackclick

He was still standing in front of me.

The pitter-patter of mechanical rain couldn’t take my attention from him rather I wanted to see if he was still playing peek-a-boo with the accentuated curves that my new brassiere had created.  Demi-cup bra, I had bought that bra recently on Sunanda’s recommendation. I had inquired once about how she had that added cleavage.

I had noted his interest on me as he passed by later in the evening and had it not been for my crippling shyness, perhaps I would have dared to summarize the report or talk further about it. But I lacked the courage. A strange fear always groped me when it comes to man.

‘I will soon overcome this’ I reminded myself the promise that I had made with Sunanda.

“You need closure, Jasmine. You never had closure with your old self. Though you grew up, you couldn’t grow over what happened in your high school. If this continues, you will never find the courage to fall in love, even not with yourself.” Sunanda had encouraged me on my last visit.

“Sorry, this closure-closure you keep doing. What exactly is closure, Sunanda?” I had asked her with a pinch of disapproval.

“I was never body shammed, so I neither know nor have to deal will all this. But trust me, Jasmine, even I went through a lot of shit in my childhood.” Sunanda continued. “As a child, I grew up in a household where fear and betrayal ran deep. For years I watched my father abuse my mother both physically and mentally for not giving birth to a son. We were four daughters and my mother passed away while giving birth to my fifth sister.”

I listened to her stunned.

“A day would barely pass before the sound of forceful strikes and gut-wrenching cries echoed throughout the house whenever she was alive. I could hear her cry even after her death. I would become so overwhelmed with fear and anxiety that I would all of a sudden burst into tears. Later, I used all my anxiety to motivate myself in becoming a gynecologist.”

“Can I hug you?” I had asked her naively listening to her story.

That was the most beautiful hug I have ever had. We hugged each other as if we had found our missing friend after several years.

“I will overcome my fear.” I had promised her.

On my way home, an elderly couple ambled along her arm in his. I sauntered imagining me in her and him in that well built old man.

My cell phone started dancing Adele’s “Make you feel my love”.

Shoot, it was him calling. He might have got my number from the report that he had asked for earlier.

I turned red. My knees started shaking. My heart froze. I could feel my nerves tingling as if I was being tickled with a small feather.

I sucked in a shaky breath, feeling my throat constrict. Panic rose like bile in my body. I suddenly didn’t know how to speak. Or Walk. Or Run. I just stood blank, staring up at my dancing Samsung Galaxy S5. My palms were clammy, and it was all I could do swipe my mobile right. “Hello.” I managed, the word rolling out of my mouth like tumbleweed.

“Hey, Jasmine! Abhinav, here!” He spoke from the other side.

The second he uttered my name I felt a deep sense of well-being as though I was no longer alone. My unconfessed sentiments had yet to be revealed, but they were not going to remain unknown for long.

“Hey, Jasmine! Are you listening? Shall we go out for dinner today?”

It was difficult for me to believe my ears.

The anxiety curled into my stomach, hands clawing up my throat and choking me letting me the words I had practiced over and over again in the mirror in my small bedroom be dragged back down my throat and dissolved into the acid of my belly. I had been dreaming about the day when we would first talk and then slowly meet and then slowly fall in love with each other. But everything was happening fast, so fast that I wasn’t being able to comprehend. I should have been thinking if moving that fast was actually what I wanted. I should have been thinking if he actually wanted to go out with me. I should have been thinking if there was anything fishy.  But all I could worry was about keeping my knees buckling under the weight of my wobbly body.

 “I might be a little late but yeaahhhhh… Sure” I blurted.

Bang…

My brain hit me. I was searching for some words of excuse. But … At times we are fooled by our words and end up accepting situations like these.

“I will be waiting for you at Alina’s at 7.” He hung up.

I asked myself. No words can really describe what receiving a call like that feels like. 

Excited and nervous at the same time, I was watching my own hands struggle against the door as I pushed it open. The heavy wooden door finally gave way, and I was soon rushing into the bathroom. The irresistible warm water quickly rained onto my skin. I came out silky, soft and beautiful.

I chose to wear a long and flowing dress that I had bought recently. It had the color of the red wine, intense violet; round necked and quarter sleeved.

I looked into the mirror incomplete. I opened the drawer and painted myself with a dark red strawberry lipstick.

I hurriedly clicked a selfie and whatsapped it to Sunanda with the caption ‘Hey! All set to move on! On a date’

Without even waiting for her reply I rushed towards Baneswor. I didn’t want to keep him waiting.

Yessss

I was absolutely on time. I looked around and found a place at the corner. I was eagerly waiting for him just to realize how slow the time moves.

I sat there tapping my left foot, biting my nails. My eyes dart back and forth to the clock as it showed 8.

I start running my hands through my hair frequently stealing peeks at the watch that I had been wearing. Slowly the hour dial hit 9 and I thought I had to leave.

When I was just ready to leave, I found him fumbling towards me.

“Sorry, I had to stay back at the office. Deadlines, you know.” He smirked in a low voice.

His feet were finding it harder to find the floor. I held him tight to prevent him from falling.

I turned an angle to look at him properly; an attractive face with arresting deep brown eyes.

“It’s ok,” I said with a smile.

The waiter came forward to make us aware that the kitchen is going to close, so we need to order fast.

He didn’t reply. He just held my hand and got me outside the restaurant. I didn’t dare to ask him why and where he was going to take me. I guess, his inebriation was so strong within me.

‘This is insane, completely insane,’ my heart kept chanting as I sat pillion on his bike.

He kick-started his bike. I wasn’t being able to figure out if it was the vibration of his Enfield or the thumping of my heart.

We left the compound of Alina’s and headed out towards the outer Ring Road to reach a two-storied building, a fifteen-minute drive. He tore into the building.

‘Relax’ ‘Relax’

I was consoling myself all the way.

Without any word, he pulled me into the corner room on the first floor. I felt a strong wind blowing inside me. My heart pounded.

The room where I was had more square footage than my entire floor. It had a king size bed in the center, with a white silk bedspread, and several framed pictures on an enameled sideboard. The antique furniture in the room made it resemble one of the posh boutique hotels of Kathmandu. I quickly scanned through the framed pictures. It looked like most of them where his family photographs. I saw one of Abhinav as a child. He was standing next to his father. His cute button nose is still the same.  

“Are we at the right place?” I managed to ask him in a low voice.

He didn’t bother to answer.

My heart pounded hard. Something was wrong.

He walked up real close to me, eye inches from mine. In a split of a second, he was just an inch far from me and I could sense a pungent smell. I felt nauseous. When my nose was just trying to figure out what it was off, my tongue was the first to find it out. I wanted to throw up but couldn’t. Confused, I stood still.

His hand started to dance on my bare back, all thanks to the backless robe that I had worn. Though unexpected and bland, I was trying to drift my mind and enjoy his lips.

He suddenly stopped and said, “I missed you, Rubina.”

“Rubina?” I muttered with my smeared lips. He had tasted my strawberries very carelessly.

In his drunkenness, he asked in return, “Who are you?”

Trembling, I stumbled to the closest chair and plopped down before I fell down.

I had heard Rubina patiently a week ago share with her tearful eyes the story of her break up.

“I can’t tell you the name of the guy but he used me to get into my pants.” She had shared me in our office canteen when I had asked her if everything was alright with her as she had stopped smiling for a few days. “It was him who started the conversation and later he blamed me for hitting on him. I was being my real self. Don’t I smile to everyone I see, Jasmine?” She had then started crying like a baby.

Hundreds of voices started shouting over one another inside my head.

Oh! Rubina! Why didn’t you tell it was Abhinav? I started panting. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress and tried to control my breathing.

‘So what do I do?’ ‘Run away?’ I kept on asking myself. It was already dark.

‘Let me leave the same way I had come and vanish.’ My heart replied. I considered the idea. I decided to sneak out, get back home, and pretend this never happened.

A few minutes later, as I ran down the stairs, guilt flooded through me.

‘Not again’ I cried. I ran back to the room where he was lying inebriated. I pulled him in his collars and made him open his eyes. When he turned to look at me I cracked my hand across his face leaving a red welt behind.

“I am Jasmine, you moron,” I yelled.

***

I sat on my cozy bed in the room; a quilt wrapped around and hugged myself tightly.

The phone vibrating in my pocket jolted me.

“Oh! Wow! You look gorgeous! Sorry I was busy, couldn’t reply earlier. I hope the date went well” Sunanda had whatsapped.

“Yeah, I kept the promise.” I wrote back along with a relieved faced emoticon.

“Yay!!” she replied.

“I am eager to hear the complete story. Let’s catch up tomorrow.” She continued.

“Sure. 6 pm at your clinic?” I said.

“See you” She sent with a smiley.

I then slowly unlocked the drawer attached to my bed, opened my dark brown chocolate slowly, paying attention to its silky sheen and delicious color as it melted between my thumb and index finger. As soon as the scent of vanilla surrounded me I realized how much I had missed the crisp bite of my dark chocolate. With a small piece of it melting on my tongue, I inhaled a sigh of relief unapologetically.

Growing up with the Shades of Red

Every time Bindu ma’am held our Nepali textbook, I used to notice her slender fingers, her sharp-pointed manicured nails painted dark red like a fresh rose of our landlord’s garden. How could I not notice her golden ring shining brightly in her right middle finger? They were the most beautiful ornament I had seen so far. Her red matt lipstick always used to match her bright red well-creased saree. She was the first female teacher we had in our secondary level. Well! The first female I had known so far who was pursuing her masters. 

Her son was one of my classmates and I thought about how lucky he was to have her as his mom; not only was she beautiful but intelligent too. She used to share a lot of interesting stuff; stories of victory, stories of loss, poetries of Devkota, biographies of Koirala, dramas, novellas whatnot. She spoke verses that were so pleasant to my ears. 

Oh! How I wished I could listen to her all the time! 

Oh! How I wished to be like her- wearing her red velvet block heeled shoes! How I wished…

Yes, how I wished… 

I wished as I looked into the mirror, I would see a reflection of Bindu ma’am in me. Alas! The mirror on my aama’s podrej daraz always reflected a younger version of my old aama every time I looked at it, round face with a button nose completely different than Bindu ma’am’s who had a symmetrical face with a pointed nose. The red wrinkled ‘sutiee ko saree’ was something that she used to wear every day to her nursery class in her old flip-flops, again, opposite of what Bindu ma’am used to wear. I used to turn red out of shame as she used to sometimes visit the secondary block to give me my tiffin box. Her cheeks used to turn red too. That might be the reason, she hardly visited my class. Besides ‘A.. B.. C.. D.. and Ka.. Kha… Gha.. Ghaa…’ she didn’t know anything and she had shared how difficult it was for her to send me to a private school just on my father’s income. The school had promised me free education for her service in the primary block. More than having feelings of gratitude towards her, I felt ashamed at her inability to help me solve my Math problems or buy me a separate science notebook or help me prepare in my oratory competition. I never realized when my cheeks had started to turn red out of anger more than out of shame.

This red never stopped following me. From my teacher’s flowing saree to my pleated white skirt that I had to keep on turning around the whole day as a shed of red always dropped from tattered sanitary pad made of my aama’s old sutiee ko saree. I had shared every time about my friends using ‘Stay Free’ when my aama used to tear her saree and teach me how to fold the saree in a way that it fits my underwear. And I still remember when not just my underwear but my whole body used to drip red hot blood out of anger for my aama turning her ears deaf to my concern; for every safety pins that I had to hook in my white skirt; for every scolding that I had to get from my teachers when I was reluctant to stand up and answer. 

I never realized how slowly I had started to hate the color red. The hatred grew much stronger with time. It was always the Red house that won the essay competition. It was the RED house that won the awards in cleanliness. It was the Red house that was applauded every time for the discipline as well. I hated how I had to stand in front of my school assembly just because of the collar of my blue shirt used to be dirty because I didn’t have an alternative shirt to change every day. I felt guilty for not being a part of the Red house. The silence was the only armor to hide my face that used to turn red all because of guilt.

Was I the chosen one?  

If I was then, could I do anything about it? 

Before I could find an answer to this question, the hatred for this color red grew deep when I saw the color scattered on the cracked walls of my best friend Ramila’s house. It was only a few days back when she had joyfully shared that their parents had painted their walls white in her elder brother’s request who was preparing for his S.L.C. exam. The topper in his class, he had requested their parents to paint the walls white so that he could concentrate on his studies. I had promised her that I would soon visit her unaware of the fact that when I would reach there the white would have already turned into smoky black that too mixed in the color of the dark red blood of her intelligent brother. Nobody had anticipated the tragic death of the future engineer in a bomb blast in his room.

This time the color red disgusted me. I felt like puking because this time I could smell the color red and it was pungent. This time the red was vivid and the vividness grew clearer and I could see a group of people with guns interrogating Ramila holding her filthy piece of cloth. I could recognize it was a tattered suttee ko saree. I was sure that must have been her mother’s just like mine because I could see Ramila turning red out of shame. I would have died at the moment if someone had held my sanitary pad like that. Ashamed, Ramila stood there still looking at that dangling piece. 

The next day, in school, the window seat next to me, was empty. Bindu ma’am entered the class wearing a black kurtha suruwal. She asked us to turn our books on a poem by Bhupi Sherchan. The page had had the feathers of a peacock and some dried red petals of roses that I had secretly plucked from my landlord’s garden. I placed all the petals mindfully- one by one, on my palm, shifted near the window and blew them away. Five rows in front of me, Bindu ma’am was reading,

“ Chiya ko Kitlibata eeuta surya udaucha,

Sadhai raksiko ritto gilasma eeuta surya aastaucha

Ghumirahekai cha ma baseko prithvi – purwawat,

Fagat ma aparichit chu

Wariparika pariwartanharu dekhi,

Drishyaharu dekhi,

Ramailo dekhi,

Pradarshaniko ghumne mechmathi

Kaarle baseko aandho jastai.”

(A sun rises from the kettle of tea

There is always a sun set on an empty glass of wine

The earth inhabited by me keeps on revolving — As usual

Albeit, I am unfamiliar

To the changes around,

From the views,

From fun,

Just like the blind forced to be seated on the revolving chair

Of the exhibition.)

The Wrong Number

She looks at her cell phone once again with a dilemma.

‘Should I call him back?’

A thought throbs her hard, so hard. She is not in a position to decide anything.

She quips with herself, ‘Why shouldn’t I? Let me just give a call…. What if he didn’t pick it up?...  What if he picks up?.... What shall I say? After all these incidents, is it good to make an effort from my side?’

She is drowned in an ocean of thoughts. She looks at her cell phone again and dials the number back. Her heart is beating quite fast as if it is going to win a marathon. She tries to disconnect the line. Oops! the line has already snapped.

***

It has already been eight months since she had talked with him last. For 240 days now, she hasn’t talked to him. There were days when she used to know everything about him. What he wore, if he had had his lunch or not, she was informed every second.

It’s different now. She can’t believe that it has been 20736000 seconds. She never stops counting the seconds. Yet, she does not call him and ask his whereabouts anymore.

Actually, it was not her who started it all; it was him. The first call! Oh, it all started with that….

She soars into her fairy past.

***

“Hi, I am Akash. Is this Junu?”

These were the first words he uttered. She still remembers the day.

“No, I am not. Wrong number.”

This is what she had said and hung up. In no minute, her cell phone had blinked with the same number again. With some harshness on her tone, she had answered, “Don’t you have manners?”

There was a polite reply, “Sorry Ma’am. Are you Upekshya? Actually, I made a mistake. You had given us your number for the lucky draw. You had visited our shop last month during our sale. You have won a gift hamper .”

She called her month-old memory.  Yes, that the guy was telling the truth. She had visited his boutique and had bought a dress.

“Oh! Sorry for those harsh words. Yeah, I am Upekshya.”

“Congratulations, Ma’am! When are you coming to collect your hampers?”

“Shall I come today?”

“Yeah, sure.”

A faint upward curve appeared on her lips. This was the first time she had had some luck in a lucky draw. Before that, she never believed in such kinds of stuff. She was eager to see her gifts. So, she rushed towards the boutique which was a one-hour walk from her residence.

Akash Boutique!

She read the board from the roadside and peeped in from the glass. Akash was busy with his other clients. She looked at him, feeling sour for her unkind pitch earlier. She was staring when suddenly their eyes met. Akash waved at her and called her in.

“May I help you?”

“Oh! Actually, I am Upekshya..Um. Gift hamper winner….You had called me in the morning.”

“Oh! Hi…Sorry for the confusion. Welcome to my boutique once again…. Do you have time?... Actually, your gift is that you can choose any dress as you wish. So I guess you may need some time to choose something beautiful.”

Upekshya nodded with a big smile on her face. Akash helped her choose the most beautiful outfit for her. It was a beautiful floral Maxi dress.  It was white with some big and beautiful orange flowers embroidered on it. She tried it and stood in front of the mirror. She agreed on his choice.

This wasn’t the end. The visits frequented. The ‘wrong number’ had by then come to the top of the contact list in her cell phone.

***

Upekshya comes out from her nostalgic world. The red traffic light had forced the bus to stop. She looks at her cell phone and sees that her call has not been answered yet. Somewhere deep inside, she knows her call is not going to be answered.

Beep! There is a message.

The message, from the same number. Immediately she opens her inbox. The text reads: “Please look at the number before calling. I am not the person you are calling to.”

Upekshya takes a deep breath and answers, “Sorry. It was a call by mistake. Wrong Number.”

She looks out and sees the light turning green. Her bus resumes its journey.

The Run

Picture Credit: ak6.picdn.net

The clock stroke 1 am.

Midnight passed.

Within a few hours the sun will be beaming in happiness with its rosy shades. It’s a usual routine but she wanted the morning to beam soon. She desired a new hope to run down her nerves soon.

For, she knew with the passing of this night her ghouls of thoughts shall pass on too. Only she knows how difficult it is for her to run away from that black phantom. The sudden urge of dying had again stroked her mind with the temptation to cut her nerves.

Blood…

She imagined herself drowned in blood.

She changed her mind and wanted to hang herself up into that blank ceiling.

Ughh! She got frightened with her own dark self.

She kept on asking questions to herself which she knew no one could answer even her own self. She wondered if she had known herself or not.

She kept on reminding herself not to get provoked for the disaster for; she won’t be able to see her love again, there are people who count on her, there are people who loved her and will never be able to love anyone again if she chose any of those routes.

She looked herself in the dark mirror with her watery eyes. She saw herself not different than any ghosts. She was already dead in her soul and that urged her strongly to take her life from her body as well.

She blamed herself for all those negative interpretations surrounding her. She looked around and asked what was wrong that made her think that way.

She didn’t find any answer.

“Are you lonely?”

“No”

“Have you gone through any misfortune recently?

“No”

“Then, what’s the trigger that wanted you to give up your life?”

She stumbled on her own questions. The tragedy is she wanted to die again for she had all those thoughts without any reason.

She had been running away from death. She did it that night as well and hoped the other night shall pass soon.

She feared if she will get tired of running. 

Drugged Love

Picture Credit: Tumblr

His gaze always intoxicated me.

I felt as if I wanted to plunge into the depth of his eyes and never return.

“Ahh!”

The little cupid woke.

My cell phone started dancing on Adle’s song “To make you feel my love”.

“Shoot, it was him calling.” I blushed.

My heart froze. The naughty cupid started teasing me.

“Hey, shall we have dinner outside today” He spoke from the other side.

“Yeah… Sure” my heart answered.

Bang…

My brain hit me. I was searching some words of excuse.

“I will be waiting you at Alina’s at 7.”

The call hung up.

With so much of excitement, I had a quick shower. I chose to wear the dress that I had bought recently. It had the color of the red wine, intense violet; round necked and quarter sleeved. It was long and flowing. I completed my look with a dark red strawberry lipstick.

I rushed towards Baneswor. I didn’t want to keep him waiting.

“Yes”

I was absolutely on time. I looked around and found a place at the corner. I was eagerly waiting for him. I had never realized time moves so slowly.

The clock showed it was 8. Slowly the hour dial hit 9 and I thought I had to leave.

When I was just ready to leave, I found him running towards me.

“Sorry, I had to stay back at office because of a small party organized by my friend.” He said in a lowly voice.

I was angry but the passion for him was stronger than that.

“It’s ok.” I said with a smile.

The waiter came forward to aware us that the kitchen is going to close, so we need to order fast.

He didn’t give any reply. He just held my hand and got me outside the restaurant. He asked me to sit behind him.

I didn’t dare to ask him why and where he was going to take me. I guess, his inebriation was so strong with in me.

I agreed.

His bike flew and landed in front of his home. Without any word, he pulled me into his bed room. I felt a strong wind blowing inside me. My heart pounded.

“Am I at the right place?”

In split of a second, he was just an inch far from me and I could sense a strong odor.

I wished it was something good. My nose was disappointed. When it was just trying to figure out what it was of, my tongue was the first to find it out. 

His hand started to dance on my bare back, all thanks to the backless robe that I had worn. Though unexpected and bland, I tried to drift my mind and enjoy the moment, as it was my very first kiss.

He suddenly stopped and said, “I am sorry, Rubina”

“Who is Rubina?” I muttered with my smeared lips. He had tasted my strawberries very carelessly.

In his drunkenness, he asked in return, “who are you?”

***

My cell phone blinked with a message.

“Hey, yesterday I was heavily drunk. Did I do anything wrong? I am sorry. Can we meet again? I want to apologize.”

I went to the bathroom and had a quick shower. I washed away the intoxication that was still heaving me.

I peeped my heart. My little cupid was snoring. I wished him to never wake up as people feel for him only when they are drunk. And I hate to be loved when drugged.

Butterfly in her bellies

Painted on 10th May, 2017

IT’S ACTION…

Scene: Butterfly dancing in her bellies…

A sudden spin of that touch gently shifted from cheeks to nape… to cleavage and gently down there to the navel... (Rest depends on how far anyone can imagine J)

When she just imagines these with little bit of eroticism and more a bit of biological sexual drive, yes, butterfly definitely dances in her bellies.

AND CUT…

Now, the fantastic reel play in her mind finds an end. The reality peeps upon. She goes beyond those urge of having that wild orgasm or thinking of all those cute gestures which is feasible only on her head. Most probably, because those gestures don’t really happen in real lives. Or could be, she hasn’t been fortunate enough to receive those. And, she can’t imagine its possible now because of the extra pounds she has gained, the extra lumps on her body that she feels would irritate her partner if he touches her in the time being.

However, beyond that there's much more in life she has been fascinated about. She looks into herself every morning and gears up for her work, wearing the dress she prefers.  She roams around with her tangled hair, not caring about what others would think of. She does her work undisturbed. She roams around the city lights. She tastes the cuisine that she wants to with poor dining etiquette without shying away with the fact, what would the person sitting behind her is thinking about her.  Then, when she return home tired, she falls on her cozy bed with that wide upward curve on her lips. She feels something dancing on her bellies. They not only dance but laugh with the feeling that they have had a wonderful day and would expect the same every day.

Before she sleeps, when she embraces herself with a big hug, yeah she does realize that she has gained some extra pounds but then, she has the audacity to accept her body the way it is and the romanticism to fall in love with the freedom she enjoys.  Then, when she is slowly closing her eyes, a cute little girl inside her murmurs good night with the sweetest tone.

“Dear, you are the most precious gem, take care of yourself.”

She is in the dreamland and again there are butterfly in her bellies fluttering around and singing in the most romantic song.

Long story short, she is deeply in love with herself. For many, her status is ‘complicated’ because her love is way beyond than she can explain or they can understand.

Beautiful in her ways

Retrieved from Pinterest

She was beautiful in her own ways; thinly browed black medium eyes, chubby cheeks, circled nose and small full lips. Yeah! Beautiful in her own ways.  

Heartbroken several times, disrespected quite often and ignored frequently, she was beautiful in her own ways.

She had crumbled down by the majestic life. She had been kicked hard by the ugly fate. She had been punched and blown down by the colossal emptiness. Yet, she was beautiful in her own ways.

She was touched, yet untouched. She was loved, yet unloved. She was smiling, yet in tears. She was daring, yet feeble. She felt cared, yet uncared. She was social, yet lonely. She was kind, yet irritating. However, she was beautiful in her own ways.

She was desired, still undeserved.  She was taken, still unreceived. Despite that she was beautiful in her own ways.

The Cut

There’s a deep hollow. May be because of the cut, which I had just received.

I see blood dripping down…

I can hear the sound. Yeah, it’s flowing slowly…

“Oh! I had been always afraid of blood,” she gasped.  

“Ahh! It’s still churning. Can you feel it?” I roared.

She looked into my eyes with sheer curiosity.

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded to respond no.

“I don’t see any, “she shouted with anxiety.

I mumbled, “The cut is there in the soul.”

कथा, त्यो बादलको

"म त्यो बादल हँु ।"
"हो, साँच्ची भन्या के म त्यो उडि हिड्ने बादल हँु । निराकार बादल । म गतिहिन छु अनि आफ्नै तालमा मस्त पनि छु । म आफ्नै आवेगमा छु, आफ्नै गड्गडाहट मलाई प्यारो लाग्छ । त्यसैले त म भागी हिड्छु तिमीबाट । 
कति समाउन खोज्छौ तिमी मलाई ? "
"के तिमी थाक्दैनौ ? कति पच्छाइरहन्छौ तिमी यो थाँहा हुँदा हँुदै कि म गतिहिन छु । 
तिमीलाई डर लाग्दैन मेरो गतिहिनताले तिमीलाई पागल बनाउने छ भनेर । कतै तिमी पनि म जस्तै विना उदेश्य विहार गर्न थाल्यौ भने । नियालेर हेर त मलाई । सधै म सफेद कहा हुन्छु र ? कालो, धुस्रो फुस्रो हुँदा के तिमी मलाई हेर्न सक्छौ ? "
"अहँ, सक्दैनौ । म नै धरधरी रुन्छु मेरो त्यो कुरुपता देखेर ।" 

एकोहोरो बोलिरहीन् उनी । म सोच मग्न बन्न पुगे । 

म भन्न चहान्थे, "प्रिय, तिमी बादल भए म तिम्रो आकाश बन्न चहान्छु । तिमी धुस्री फुस्री हुदै रुँदा म तिमीलाई अंगालेर सम्हाल्न चहाँन्छु । होसमा त अहिले नि कहाँ छु र म अब पागलपनको डर हुन । तिमी गतिहिन्ताको कुरा गर्छौ म त तिमी विना पाइला चाल्नै सक्दिन । तिमी थकानको कुरा गर्छौ, म त ठान्छु यो दौडिने शक्ति तिमीले त दिएकी हौ । तिमी उड्छौ र त म दौडिदै छु । नत्र त म उभिन खोज्ने साहस राख्ने नि मान्छे हैन ।" 

आँहा! कस्ता मिठा मिठा शब्दहरु मनमनै बग्दै थिए तर खै के भयो उनीसामु वर्षीन सकेनन । 

म मौन उभीरहे । उनी आफ्नै गतीमा ओझेल भइसकिछिन् । 

That Red Umbrella

Photo Credit: pinterest

"That one"

She beckoned at that red umbrella. The shopkeeper pulled it from the pile of several others and opened it. She checked its features; it was not that extra and seemed little feeble as well. She looked at the sky. It was already signalling a heavy rain. 

"My bad, why did I forget to carry an umbrella?" She infuriated.
It was already dark. The shopkeeper knew she was in a hurry, so he started showing her several others with the intention that she was definitely going to buy one. But that dark red color had an effect on her. She was already wooed and that small heart embroidered on the boarder was what fascinated the most. She decided to buy that without any second thought.

Lights and Thunderstorms.... 

She paced fast. The wind started howling and it started to rain heavily. She clenched her umbrella tightly. 

"Don't worry. Just five more minutes, then you will be home" she comforted herself. 

Suddenly someone slipped under her umbrella next to her heart. 

"Sorry, I need your help", he quipped. 

Without uttering any word she kept on walking. He too didn't speak. She approached her home.

 "I have to go," she spoke softly. 

"Thank you", he said and waved her good bye and resumed his journey. 

She felt sorry that he had to walk wet. She ran towards him and handed him the umbrella. 

"You can return it tomorrow". 

"Of course, I will. Thank you very much."
With a chill on her heart she rested on her bed, going back at that moment once again. She started to imagine rest of the story. She didn't know exactly what the reason was but she was so excited about the next day.
She waited the whole day waiting that someone would call her in order to  return her umbrella. She waited till noon but no one knocked at her door. Sadly, the evening passed, still she wasn't called. She had a hope somewhere inside her heart that he would come. 

Weeks passed. 

She had now slowly started to forget her umbrella and that stranger.
One sunny day, she was dawdling in her garden when she saw someone under the umbrella coming nearer. That umbrella was dark red. He stopped next to her house and waited....A girl came running and hugged him. She joined him under his small red umbrella. They walked passed her house. The girl was next to his heart. I kept on looking at them. Then I realized, the umbrella had a heart embroidered on its border.

Tragedy of her EYES

She looked at those eyes; dark, oval eyes. They were so poignant, so deep.  Every one would comment on her beautiful eyes.  Interesting it was, most of them  praised the shape while some of them went deep and explained the colour of her eye balls. They recited poems on them but alas! failed to read the story her eyes had been telling! She glanced at them one last time in one of the pieces of those broken glass. One of them had just cut the nerves of her left wrist.

I was in LOVE Once Again

I was revisiting my papers. I guess, I had reread it more than hundred times. My research paper was due the next morning. I have been researching on life and hope. Oh! How pathetic, trying to uncover the paradox.

My mother entered the room with a cup of coffee. That was the tenth time she was serving me from morning till now. She glanced all around my room but didn’t yell. Sheets of papers were scattered here and there. My mother has stopped yelling at me long back; maybe since the day I started earning.

“Have you finished yet?” she asked in a very mild voice. Her mildness didn’t touch me. I didn’t bother to respond.

Mom left the room and I was there all on my own once again. I stood up and sat against my window. Through my ancient and small mullioned window, I can see the gigantic and dazzling city.

Peeping through the casement has become my daily schedule and I have gradually started to fall in love with this crowd.

I feel fortunate those days when I can watch the beauty of morning slowly being faded by the stretching and yawning sunlight. I enjoy the reality that it’s not only me who is lost in this brightness.

Today was one of those lucky days. I love to find that I am the one among those who wane during the rays and finally get defeated at night.

I was on a roller coaster ride of my thoughts when my coffee mug started shaking. My research on hope started soaring leaving me anxious. Was I the only one shuddering? I turned to glance once again through my windowpane and found that tall Dharahara, the symbol of old yet modern city crumbling down.

My mom was yelling my name outside my locked door.

Bowling…. Howling…. Wailing…. Yelling….

In the middle of it all, the loudspeaker planted outside the church next door roared its final cry “Where is The Hope When Death Knocks on the Door?”

When my hands instantaneously clutched the window frame, I realized I was in love once again.