A sweet nothing..

I was having a random conversation with a very random friend. You know the kind of friend you just talk to in order to while away time? And somehow the conversation led to a point where she said , kiss is like foreplay. That got me thinking.
Is it really? Yes it does stimulate the senses sexually. But is that so always? What about the moment when you kiss the one you are madly in love with, but cannot be with? Could you be thinking sex in those moments? I guess not. Those are then, moments of the joy of your lips touching the others, mingled with the pain of your soul, mourning the passing away of the dreams you once had. Then they aren't just kisses. They are cries of the innermost corners of your being, struggling hard to be heard by your fates design. Those are edges of hope you cling on to. Those are attempts at forging everlasting imprints on someone's being to make sure they know. They know, and remember the ways in which they were loved.
What about the kiss when lovers meet after decades of distance? When it's a distance of geography, they are not just kisses. They are subtle reminders of relief, of eagerness, of cravings which now would be fulfilled. When it's a distance of the heart, they are assurances of an intent to hang on. A clarion call of revival. Revival of what was once lost. They are acceptance of 'better late than never'.. Not merely the longing to make wild, passionate love.
What about the first kiss of your life? When all that can be heard is the loud beats of the heart, in the dead of the night, as the world sleeps, or under a forgotten, dusty staircase, away from the prying eyes of the enemies of love, your lips finally touch that of the one before you? That's not a kiss that screams sex. That's a thrill. The thrill to finally have touched the most desired, heard of, moments of being with the opposite sex. A thrill of being a rebel. It's an inquisitiveness of just wanting to know how it feels. Of wanting to know if all that you had read, in books , in the forbidden prints on screen, in the gossips and scandals and the rumours you secretly heard, of the goosebumps that you were supposed to get when the newly bought lip gloss you would otherwise kill to protect, you so willingly flaunt ,when messed up, this once.
A kiss is not just foreplay. It's an experience. A feeling. A memory. Some, that fade over time, some just stay on as scars reminding you of those memories you once made. A kiss is more than a kiss. It's a world vaster and deeper than what anyone can even imagine.

The Game

Sitting at the waiting area of the airport. It was difficult to find seats. Got lucky. Thanks to the desperation, garbed under a tremendous sense of observation. Looking over the shoulder of a newly wed bride. Playing bubble witch. You know ,the one where you need to match the colours to pop the bubbles? Yeah.. It's a boring game. But I couldn't quit ogling. More than the game, it was the attitude of the player towards the game, that struck. Everytime she couldn't get the colours of her choice, or the colours she needed, she quit the game , went back and started the level again. 

This got my mind reeling. Isn't life a game too? What if we could do the same with this game as well? Just quit. Go back and start fresh. A new game. A new life. Keep restarting it till I have it my way. Then I noticed something. When the player I was silently stalking in my observation, got the colours she wanted..she kept going and got past where she had to leave the last time. But soon after those moves, she again started getting colours she didn't want. So she couldnt really make it out of that level. She was trapped in the same level, at different stages.
That's exactly how life works too maybe. When we don't get the colours of our choosing, we 'take a break' and 'start fresh'. Like fools probably , we get past that stage and pretend to be victors and go around preaching it's never too late to start afresh. Change course. Restart. Only to get stuck again at a different stage and never really making it forward. Stuck. Bored. Finally quitting for good. Lying in our deathbeds, looking back at the starting again as the regrets of the life gone by. Maybe every soul born, is born with a quota of shit. Different stages though. Shit. Deep shit. Pile of shit. Dribble of shit. But shit. And no matter how smartly we go back and restart, we get past that stage, but are stuck at another. Maybe you got to face your share of the shit quota. This way or that. If not, then be willing to be stuck in a loop. Trapped. Even if you get past one stage, or luckily the level, the game history is never really wiped clean.
Maybe there is no smart way out. Maybe the smartest way out, is thru it. Maybe we have been playing it all wrong. Maybe instead of restart, what we need , is to Resume.
And that's my flight call. 

Three Things

It was raining very heavily and the place I stay, has an amazing weather. I have always liked the rains. Getting completely drenched and stamping on the mud puddles , getting myself dirty. Playing around. However, it's been a long time since I enjoyed the rains so carefree. Some of it is due to a bad timing, with me being too conscious of my surroundings, some of it because of a weak immunity system and some of it because i just didn't bother. Somewhere the spirit of wanting to enjoy, had disappeared . Or maybe just the concept of enjoyment had changed. 

I am 24 now. And already dealing with a terrible heartbreak, a terrible amount of uncertainty and an obscene amount of negativity. Then yesterday, it rained. I watched it for a while, and stepped onto the open terrace, just to get drenched. Strangely, this too, was because I just didn't care. Timing was bad too. Immunity still weak. But the strongest reason, I just didn't care. So there I was, getting soaked, my mind, completely blank. Playful spirit gone for good. Then three things happened.
I heard the wind whisper into my ears. Not the first time the winds have thrust themselves across my face, really. But this felt different. I moved my ear away, as if I was telling it to 'buzz off. I don't want to listen to You. ' But it persisted. On my right ear, and to it. It continued to whisper. In that moment, for the first time, I actually heard the whisper and not just an effort to throw wilful thrusts at me. I heard it. Felt as if it was talking to me. That it wanted to talk to me. Like a stubborn loved one, who refuses to give up on you. As if there was something urgent it just wanted me to hear. That second right there, felt different. Maybe bad phases or dark times in your life make you poetic. It's just the wind flapping it's wings on your face. One can't tell really. But there in that moment, it felt different.

I have a swing on that terrace. Since its the rainy season, and the textile used to clothe the seat, isn't waterproof, the seats remained wrapped and safe, with a plastic cover. I never told anyone, but I have had these terrible urges to sit on that swing. As if sitting on it would help me brood better. Or maybe make me feel good. Or just rest my feet after a workout. The plastic is wrapped in a way that one could sit in the swing, although not comfortably, but one can. I chose not to , it's dirty. It would dirty my clothes. The rain water was accumulating somehow on the dirty seat, and was making it dirtier. I was drenched and dirty. And like I said, I didn't care. I looked at the murky water accumulated on the seat, and frowned. Before long, I found my shock absorbers comfortably sinking into the filthy seat. I swung. For a while. Then got off.

There are lots of cows here around my locality. Since my house sits in the midst of open fields, I get to see a lot of the cows, now so important in my country's politics. Because it was raining heavily, around 7 cows found shelter under a tree-ed patch. Some calves found shelter under the mother's belly. They stayed there, calm and relaxed, as they always are, waiting it out. The downpour stopped. And I saw a few of them, shifting around as if to make up their minds whether they want to move ahead. Most of the cows stood still. Except a few, who set out to continue their journey. Some disagreements I am sure i thought and smirked. In a couple of minutes, another shower. The rebel cows split. Some of them turned around and came back to the previous shelter. Some found a new one.