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The French Lover

Ever since I started to learn French, I wanted to go for a date with a "French Lover" because people say they are are the best lovers! I also imagined a Date with one of those romantic, passionate & handsome French lovers, floating on a boat in Seine river, looking at the dazzling Eiffel tower at midnight, holding hands. People also say that we should aim the Moon so that we can atleast land among the stars. Here I am, landed in Aix- en provence, 800km away from Paris, without the sight of any river or a tower but just a big fountain in the city. It is all water, that is how someone should be positive in life!

So, we met by accident on a dating site, because he wrote to me in such elegant French words that I had to scroll through Le Petit Robert & verify again in Harraps dictionary for Beginners, to find the real meaning of his message which in simple terms suggested that we might meet for a Dinner Date ! I , myself was elated at the idea because I was already so tired of the many boring profiles of the young French bachelors who asked for the size of the breast & the hips, the colour of the eyes & the salary of the month which discouraged me, at least to talk with them. I told him that I was a feminist ( eventhough it is not a job), ardent follower of Simone de Beauvoir which impressed him without any doubt. He must have thought  that I was a  powerful woman activist from Asia.

The happy day, arrived. I wokeup rather jumped off from my bed to get ready for the big day ahead of me. I thought I was going to make history on this day. After having read many useful articles on how to get ready for a date because I had never been on a formal "date" in European Style, I chose the best clothes, the best perfume , the best shoes & the best handbag bought at Monoprix eventhough they were all counterfeits. Make up was simple with bit of powder here & there learnt from Youtube tutorials & hair style was less complicated than the French girls because I did not want to scare him away at first sight. I also checked an Indian restaurant in the City centre which has Happy hours and Set menus. I already felt powerful because I was going to pay for his dinner. I wanted to be diffrent & radical even with a French Lover!

Things were pretty good at home with casual fallings & stumbling, breaking glasses & throwing away the horrible clothes which made me forgot the last bus which carries me to the City Centre. Bad omen. I was determinded to walk 2 km even with tight heels which I hardly wear in normal days , just to see this wonderful creature. Meeting at the railway station at 6.30pm. I managed to arrive at 6.45pm just to find out his train was delayed in one hour. Second bad omen. It means there won't be any Happy Hour, but Nervous Hour because I will have to pay the normal price for everything.

While the heart beat accelaretad and the mind was not working properly with the calculations, 

He arrived.

I was expecting a man in full  black suit with a bow tie like in a romantic movie. Instead I saw a man getting down from the train with a black jacket & denims carrying a back pack! I wished the gurads atleast opened the door for him. He was tall & rigid looking and did not smile at all. I thought it was the first sign of a gentleman behaviour. How do we know the behaviour of French lovers? They never taught us that part in the class.

" Hey girl, How are you ? Nice to meet you then "

Such romantic words, I literally melted!

"Yes, I am doing good, actually really good , Let's go straight for Dinner because I have a strict diet discipline "

Eventhough I eat only sandwiches at night on other days, I kind of pretended that we should eat correct food on correct time while I was thinking if we reach the restaurant by 7.55pm  we will still be inside that Happy hour scheme so Drinks would cost less. Five minutes is still Happy hour. But, I need to order quickly to avoid unnecessary lateness which might cut us away from the privileged group.

He was so enthusiastic with tingling eyes, perfect French lover, I said to myself, who followed me dearly. As soon as we arrived at the restaurant , to my greatest surprise or to the horrible shock, we found that it was closed due to an unprecedented situation. I wanted to keep calm, like the Tsunami eventhough I was infuriated. What could possible happen in a restaurant ? Did Indian cook burn his mutton ? Did a French lady scream from pain after eating too much Garam Masala in her dish ? Or , did some one die eating too much from their Thalis. It is the universal stupidity in these Asian restaurants !

" Don't worry , Girl, let me find a good French restaurant around , Isn't it cute you give a French dinner for a French ? "

" Yes, absolutely cute ! " while guessing perfectly what was on my way. I was praying all Gods of Hindu Krishna, Vishnu & Ganesh to make him think of a cheap restaurant in this highly provincial town of Bourgeois where we have to pay atleast 5 euros for a 5ml cup of coffee.

French lovers have a very good taste, I think it was Too elegant. He chose the best. The restaurant Deux Garçon built in 1792 ( I sniffed some French revolution there),  which is the most expensive restaurant in the town, reputed for its highly delicate food. Coincidently, it is next to my ice cream shop where I work as a waitress, my part time student job ! My heart beat again accelerated because the waiters at Deux Garconsknow me quite well, and if they see me with a guy alll dressed up they would definitely come to say hi. Should I be telling him that I sell ice creams in the neighbour shop ?  Is it a good job for a woman? What a turn off  for a first date !

So, We sat. The waiter came. ( Thank god, a new waiter)

" Do you need Red roses around you sir ?"

" Please ask Mademoiselle, she is the one who decides" 

He seemed to be perfectly respecting women by giving them the chance to decide. Red roses ? Am I going to eat roses ? My tongue was itching to say.

"Yes, please"  I said like a lady.

"Candles too Miss ?"

Don't they have electricity in these developed countries ? How can I see what is in my food when there are only candles around me ? Then again, I stopped the bitter words.

"With pleasure"  with a sweet smile.

"What is for Hors d'oeuvre, Mademoiselle ? "

Such a big name for a plate of food ! Now these waiters ask so many questions, I don't have a degree in French food science , Get me something to eat for twenty euros for two persons, I just wanted to say.

" Please bring the menu."

There you go, instead of a small leaflet kind of thing, he brought a book , a book of Menu, with long descriptions which needs to be read at leisure during a vacation by the beach.

"I recommend you to order battered snails, I think you would love them."  Jean said.

Snails ? My heart sank & my mind ran back to the small snails sliding in the home garden in Sri lanka full of shiny liquid. I have never eventhought of touching them because of their gluy butts. And, now he suggests battered snails ? How can I refuse because I am here to learn their culture & mix with them.

"Oh, cool, I would love to" . I said all approvingly. 

If I ever knew that snails had a value I would have started an export business, it is rare women in businessthough. 

Now, I restarted the calculation, how much for one battered snail, it cannot be more than one euro, is it that expensive a snail ? If he eats three snails, and I pretend to eat one snail, it would be four euros for both of us. Mathematical enigmas are indeed a problem.

Instead, the waiter came with a huge plate full of tiny escargots. And Jean absolutely dipped in to it with garlic sauce.

"How tasty they are, I can eat hundreds of them"

"Yes, you are right"  said I suppressing the nausea for food & for the hundered Euro note.

"What would you like to drink Sir ?"

"I would go for Redwine, for lady I think White."

When He said white, I also became white because my red blood cells started to cease.

"Which year sir ?"

" Bring us wine from 1900s'"

I sighed gaily.

The French has a thing for old, expired stuff, the more it expires the more it has value, even for food! It is us who never keep anything beyond two days even in a fridge. Now, I will be drinking rotten wine and paying for this expired stuff eventhought he says quality comes from the antique ! Why don't these old women have much value today ?

"You should eat crispy frog legs too, none can ever beat them."

World started to rotate, and frogs went jumping & hopping infront of me.  How can I possibly eat that green, slimy frog legs in the name of Love? Am I in the hell with the Devil ?

"Oh later, not now . These days I am on a diet, we should not eat a lot for dinner. You know Ladies !

"Ha ha ha" he laughed.

Yes, Frogs are not hard to find, later , later !

"Then, Why don't you try Foie Gras?  Let's order that, because I love to see you enjoying french food.

Foie Gras?  I think I have heard this term somewhere. I typed immediately on Google search pretending that I got a SMS.

Apparently, it is a duck liver fattened from over feeding and is one of the most expensive food. Now, I am pretty sure this French man is the disguised Devil directly sent from Hell to pay for my sins up to now !

"Go ahead, let's give a try. I am flexible, you know open to any suggestions. You look so handsome when you pronounce the word Foie Gras. Music to my ears"

Eventhough  I wanted to tell him that he looked like a pig who wants to be over fed  & while I was feeling exactly the pain of a over-fed duck due to its high price.

"One portion of  Foie Gras please" .The waiter approved.

"Why so ? You don't like to try?"

"Oh, no let's share because sharing is caring. We should always practice it from the very beginning."

He even approved, not knowing that it would cut the bill.

Foie gras arrived, I tasted , it was divine to the tongue. Actually, it was divine than the man himself and I cursed myself for not coming to eat Foie Gras all alone , now that I have to share it by half, I gave a disgusted look when I saw him enjoying the rest of the Foie Gras which was supposed to be mine, all to myself !

My tummy was already filled, I thought to move on with the conversation. Because, I did not get to talk about women empowerment and the equal rights project which I have on my mind. As soon as I was about to talk about it, he asked:

"What would you prefer for Entrée ?"

Your head!  Words stopped again.

"What is entrée Jean ?" I asked ignorantly.

"Oh , I thought you knew it.  After Hors d'ouvre, then comes the main dish ? Let me choose again for you because I understand you don't know these thing very well"

"Of course, choose, the choice is all yours today"

"As you don't know much, let's try Boudin Noir with baked apples."

"What?  Boudhha Noir ?" I thought about Black skinned Bouddha. Is he a racist too?

"Oh no, It is a sausage made from blood."

"Great, Bloody sausage !"

I dig in to the bloody sausage as one stabs a knife in to the heart. Blood was in my head too, I was already loosing the appetite and legs were paralysing. While he serenely swallowed what was offered, I started to calculate, numbers could not stay in one place they were flashing in front of the eyes and he was all focussed on his plate.

Again the waiter came, with a plate of salads, I ate the leaves like a cow, rather grazed them while perfectly talking about the benefits of vegetables & leaves on a diet.

Again that black suited man came, with a plate full of Cheese, with green puss on it, they stinked from far like he was bringing a plate of poop directly from the toilet pit.

He did not stop, again he came, this time with tarts, small cakes & ice creams, they all lied ahead of us happily.

The question at the exam papaper came to my mind:

Should women pay for the fist date ? I imagined writing an answer, they should pay from the second date. Atleast , Asian women should start to pay from the second date!

The black dressed Faustus agent came this time with steaming black coffee as if I was not going to digest what was eaten tonight.  If he ever knew that I burn more calories thinking than eating.  Do brain celles burn calories ?

The plates came & went , he ate, my heart stopped temporarily.

He came with the bill, I saw him from far with my fading eyes, I was almost fainting, and smiling, rather grinning.

312 euros. 

Exactly the rent for my room!  As if my house owner has told him. I paid, card inserted, took only two seconds.

What do you for living Jean?

"Actually, I am unemployed, living on allocations. I would love to be a househusband oneday. Where shall we sleep now?"

"On the road !"  Words splashed out, thinking how the Landlord chase me out from the house for not paying the rent.

"You are a funny feminist. I just love you." He said darlingly.

"You are my perfect French Lover!"  I said daringly.

By Jahooli Devi

Snow Princess

I just moved out from my apartment. I really don't know where to go. But I want to kill this night too, like any other nights. My heart is so heavy. I know, it’s filled with of emptiness. It’s almost getting dark around. So, I walk through this side walk around and around so blindly, everyday again and again. I don’t want to stop nearby anything. I see the street lights so blurredly; I thought it’s due to the snow fall.  This Snow reminds me a lot about you and me. I used to call you as my “Snow Princess”. You, soft and beautiful like white snow fall. You are the like the snow angel sent from heaven along with magic dust of snow flakes.

I cared for you.  I protected you.  But I was never able to wake you up from a “kiss”. Other Princes come and give kisses and awake you up. Then again, when you  are tired with them you come to me and sleep with me without a fear. Of course…. I protect you no matter what; you can rely on me without any fear. That’s why I am there.      

“Once, I remembered, you merely hold my finger and walk with me on a snowy byway. Suddenly you were going to fall because of a slippery tile. And I  and hold you, putting my arms around your waist. I may stock to you for seconds, may be more.  Really, I couldn’t realize what was happening.  You got my hands off so quickly and jumped off, then stared me. I saw that your face began to frown.”

I know you never wanted to think of me. It’s not your fault, I guess. It’s my miserable life.

Still remember just like yesterday, the day you fought and broke up with your previous boy friend Chris (the long hair guy), you came for me and cried the whole day. You hit my shoulders and cried, cried...Until your voice gets hoarseness, you cried.   You fall upon me and shed tears until my shirt wet with tears. When you fall upon my shoulders, even I felt your hearts ticking.  But I know, you never know that I cried too, each and every time you cry. I wanted to cry like a little boy, to release my pain, always. But I never can do that, in front of you.

Then after four months again, you were felling love with “Marlon” the Tattooed guy. He never cares about you either. But you were fascinating about him.  Sometime you didn't give me at least a call for two three weeks and stick to him. I’m really happy though, coz, you are happy. But few months later, again you broke up with him and came to me. I was there for you, as always. So…again… you told lot about you and your dreams. I was not in any dream of you. Even you never remind my name, in your dream, at least as a friend. I realized how miserable I am. But I never wanted to leave you either from your friendship. It’s like though flowers were picked, still tree to blooms flowers.  Though you did hurt me so much, I never wanted to leave you. 

I never fed up for caring you.  You always wanted me as a good friend who cares about you. But always I wanted more than that. I wanted to care about you as my sweet love, I wanted to make you happy in every minute, make you laugh, to take your soul to higher ground . I wanted to see your face every minute; I wanted to hear your voice every minute.

Oh..Gosh…my heart is full of love about you. But how I’m gonna tell you? I know I never gonna tell you. Cos’ you want me as your best friend.  Day by day, I was falling love with you so deeply. Day by day I got deeper feelings about you. Coz’ you always brought me the happiness. The courage, the hope to live, but…. not love, never.

I feel a warm feeling on my eye lid. Realized my eyes are filled with tears.  I just wipe my eyes with my glove.  Then I put my hands in to pocket in the over-coat, and walk again. I pass many people, buildings, vehicles, but I feel them all so unreal. It seems, I came from mars. 

It's all like a dream and now it’s a tragedy for me, that dream is over too, but I never will forget the days we spend together. Sometimes I feel you are walking with me and laughing beside me.  Then I thought to myself, “What can I change to get you in to my life?” I know it’s impossible. I can’t control anything. Even my own life.  

It’s almost 11.00pm. I don’t have any reason to go to my apartment back. I sat on a bench. What I suppose to do now?  Again…I remember one time I asked her that…

“I like to see you dress in a “Black color sleeveless mini gown”.

Then she smiled and nodded.

One day, she wore black color mini frock and came to see me with a smile. That was wonderful; she was an angel to me. I felt very lucky to have her nearby me. On that day we went out for a dinner too. And we danced too. That incident really made me happy. Though you always belong to someone else, you made me happy sometime. I always wanted to be with you at anyhow.

Life went so fast, and the day came, that you told me, you gonna marry “Lim”.

I asked “lim”?

“Who is that?”

That’s your new lover…you really loved him, you told me that he is the one for you, and the perfect guy for you. this time you gonna marry him too. So after three days you left me, to marry him.

I merely searched my upper pocket in the overcoat and found your birthday card which sent to me, it says,

“Happy birth day “Liyan”…I’m sending wishes for your 58^th birthday with Hugs and kisses!!!” 

I know…my heart, and shoulders are there for you, whenever you need them. Coz’ I’m your protector, and the guardian until you find your next lover.

By Manu Fernando.

Love Post Card

« Lettres , ô lettres des débuts, attente des lettres de l'aimé en voyage, attentes du facteur, et elle allait sur la route pour le voir arriver et avoir vite la lettre. » Belle de Seigneur

Oh, Dear Post Card, you arrived on time, as usual, you arrived on the right time when I lie here dying. I was guessing it to be a Letter with an envelope, from the day he asked for my address. It arrived when I was having breakfast. The old man said :

« Here is a letter for you, your much awaited letter ».

I was talking to the old man's sister & I could not be surprised in front of her or collapse to the floor. So, as if it is all casual, I left aside the post card , like one leaves the candies aside to be sucked alone when there is no one around. I came to the room with such a serenity, slowly as if nothing has happened, counting the stairs , gazing at the TV set where the old man leaves all the letters for students, holding the trophy with a certain pride. I entered to my little research laboratory as if I was going to dissect the frog on the post card! 

Why did not he write a letter? But a post card? Oh women are never satisfied! Isn't the letter & the post card, all same? It is same. When you want to believe, it is the same. Don't they read, those postmen what is written on the post cards? It is for me, all to me , not to be read by wretched postmen who don't come on time! Oh , no post men here they don't read English , tant pis, if they knew what was written here? I can only have sympathy for the educated. Well, it means no one ever read it, I am the first one to read what he wrote. Well, what about the women in the post offices? You know, some women get so jealous when they see some sort of romantic messages. Thank God, this post card escaped those cruel witches!

Let's have a look at the front page. Do post cards have pages? No. Oh, the front side. It is a frog! Now who is the frog here? Did the frog remind of me to him? Or is it him , the frog? But, why a frog? May be I talk a lot, frogs do croak all the time for no reason and it is a headache. But he is not that cruel to compare me to a frog. But wait , it is a beautiful frog I have never seen a such a beautiful frog in my whole life, the other day at the restaurant I was right not to eat the frog legs, disgusting these French. Oh no, I should never talk bad about french, after all he is french, what to do he was born like that , but I don't think he eats frog legs, he is not that cheap. Well, what if he eats? It is OK, one should eat everything, so should he. It is not the end of the world, frog legs. And there is a red colour flower too. He knows the meaning of the colours, Red, I knew he would send me a red colour flower, see I was always right! But he did not send me flowers? Come on sending, copy pasting, painting, they are all same. What if he chose another post card with yellow or white flower? You ask too much all the time, that is the problem here. The tilte says Faune de Guyane. Godness, how little I know about Faune de Guyane! Let me Google it, I have never googled about a frog in my whole life, now the circumstances made me to do so. I should read a lot about Guyane & do a whole research on Guyane so that when he comes back, he can not surprise me any more, the poor thing, ha ha. But he has always something to surprise me so that I open my mouth wide, eyes gleam, & no wonder he thinks I am a blonde with black hair. Now this frog, I will like him forever, I wish I can get a Dentrobate Tinctorius as a pet, because I find it cute. 

I think, I should read now what he has written. Should I hurry myself? Tomorrow is the exam, did I study anything for Traduction Créative or did I prepare the speech? How can I make him proud when I fail a test like the last time? But, he did not scold me when I failed the exam, he looked cool. So, why worry? He is not my father to ask about my results! But then again, it is not good for my image because it will confirm him again that I am a born blonde. Wait, next time I will show him my academic records, full of A+, A, he would say Wow, Pussy cat ! But then again , he would never believe, he is that type, he is neither happy nor sad, that is his nature, even if I pass or fail , he will still be same. Moreover, intelligent people do not behave like the way I do, they are all composed, serene, full of knowledge. Where is the post card?

Let me start to read. Hello. I stop there, why does he call me Hello? I am not a telephone. It is not romantic. Hello, so ordinary, Why can't he write Dear, Darling? I know why because I use the same words and he does not want to copy me! He is not like the other guys who waste words, he uses words when it is necessary. But, wait! he says Hello Pussy Cat! Why did not I see that part, may be because I tried to read quickly. Pussy Cat sounds good, the word of endearment, in old English. He likes all these sweet words from Shakespearean days, he loves like him, that is why he used the word Pussy Cat. Let me think again. But the other day , I saw the word Pussy in a website, some sort of a bad website, where there are wet pussies. I don't think it is the same pussy here, here it is a pussy cat, like the normal cat , meaw, meaw, the four legged one? The adorable one? Are cats adorable? The only thing they do is to scratch the master and be indifferent all the time when we try to cuddle. Did not I cuddle him enough? May be it his message to tell me that I should cuddle him more even though I am a pussy cat. I should not be proud all the time, you see.

Then he continues. Now, I am shivering to write it here because he really meant what he wrote! Too much of anything is not good for you baby. Is it a warning? No, I don't think because there is no exclamation mark. He never warns me, he the sweet type unlike the idiot that I used to have. Then this a general opinion. From where did he find this motivational phrase? Nowadays, we copy paste from websites all those intellectual quotes to show that we are wise, but then again he does not have internet like me , I mean when he was in the post office. So, this is real, this is written by him to me or writen to me by him ? Let me read gain, Too much, ahh I knew he would feel it because I did not act like a lady, anything, it can be anything like Nutella or mustard cream . But he is not a dietician. Can "anything be everything? You know things are tangible, any thing means things that are tangible. It is good I really got what he said, it means I should be careful with my diet. Or you know stop drinking wine, too much wine. He said for you, It means he cares for me, for me! It is special he did not say , too much of anything is not good for anyone, but for me, he even write the word baby, for you baby. So lovely! By the way are feelings considered as things? I am sure not!

He continues the letter, no I mean the post card, Yet, looking forward to seeing you loveliest one. Aww, what a beautiful phrase ! But where is the subject? Is the subject important? Look idiot, it is the same person who writes, there is no need to repeat the subject in grammar. But where on earth on this letter, he has mentioned a subject? Did he start with I , no. There is no I. Then who is looking forward to see me? Idiot, look down , he has signed! Oh thank god, I am calm now. It means it is him who is looking forward to see me. Who else? Do you think his father wrote this to you? Does he know that I stalk his father? I think that is too much information. Father is cute too, all rose like roses , Like father, like son, I am becoming wise! Loveliest one, that is the best part, the superlative adjective. I am flattered, I shoud pretend Oh, no don't say like that, I am not the loveliest. I am humble, you know,and bit stupid too !

Then he finishes, oh no, I am already at the end of this terrible long letter, dit post card, time flies like rockets. Kiss, in & outs. That is like a monkey kiss! No, you woman how dare you think about that animal when you think about him? In & outs means , everything inside, & everything outside. Ha ha, that is very intimate so I should never show this post card to my sister because she is still so young. What would she think about him when she reads in & outs, bad impression on him, I know she would imagine naughty things, see I am already red. Perhaps I would show the frog but not what he wrote because it is private & highly confidential. Then he has signed, beautiful signature, it is the first time I see his signature, even though it has just two letters, scribbled quickly. After all, what is a signature, it is a name written quickly, until a kid told me like that I never thought about it. Kids are quite smart these days. He has written Love before the signature, it is not that important compared to the analysis I had on the frog.

Now, the left side is over. let me have a look at the right side. It takes time to move the pages. He has drawn a sun, he got real talents, better than Paul Cezanne here, yes, Sun because he has drawn the rays of the Sun. But this Sun has eyes, and a moustache. again a puzzle, he loves to give me puzzles. He wants me to revise the lessons on symbolism. Now I know where the moustache comes from, even the tiny eyes. It is like you are my sunshine, rather I am your sun shine. This Sun does not have a nose & a mouth. Strange. May be he was in a hurry to go to work, he told me so. But think wise, when did Sun have a nose & a mouth? Are you crazy? Think logically. By the way the moustache on the Sun is so cute, sunny days have been healthier for the moustache.

Then he has written my name & the address. Wow, he has taken time to write my name, that is special, I feel elated. And then it is over. How come a letter ends? It is sad, letters should not end, they should be continued. Look there is a stamp, did he use glue or his own saliva? Let me smell. Ah I guessed right, saliva, he must have rolled the tongue lightly on the stamp. Heaven. And the pen? How did he find a pen in the forest? Is he in the forest? No way. he must have asked a pen from the post officer. And then the post officer must have asked why, & then he must have replied in his sweet way, you know just to write a letter. As he is all smiling with the strangers, the post officer must have felt pity & has given him a pen. Next time, when he arrives, I should give him a pen , in case if he wants to write more letters when he is away.  I don't like when accepts others' pens! 

Does this letter smell good? sometimes people use sweet smelling ink, perfumed inks, I bet he must have used one of those ink to write this long love letter. He finds things when he really wants. Sometimes, when they don't have perfumed ink , they spray their perfume a bit to the letter. Well, that is why it is bit blurred in the address area. Or did he really cry writing this letter because he misses me so much? Tears too can stain a letter. Wish, I was there to give him a tissue to wipe the tears. But, then again if I was there would he write a letter to me? There is no logic in what I think. I should give him some space to write a letter, so he can really express himself, like in this as he used all his writing techniques. I think this letter a true master piece, if they consider letters for the Nobel prize, he is sure to win it. Oh, I can just imagine, he walks up to the stage to get the prize, I will appluad, all jumping. I know he would share the prize with me because he wrote it to me. What shall I wear to the ceremony? Black does not suit me, may be Green, but it is not elegant. Should brush my teeth now to get ready.

Wait.

Now, where should i display this letter? i can't just leave it on the desk like rubbish. But, i don't have a safe, do people hide letters in the safe? Should i do what others do all the time? if i hide it in the safe, no one knows it, no one looks for a letter in a safe! i am too smart today. Hold on. i should not hide it i should display in a place where i get to see it everyday, near the bed? On the bed? under the bed? in my pocket? no i don't wear jeans all the time. In the bath room before the commode? No way, imagine it falls to the toilet pit. How can i ever recover it? 

i am angry. Angry because i don't have a bloody place to keep this. i can not be carrying a letter everywhere i go, there are thieves, they might snatch my bag & runaway forever. Oh god, i am confused, perplexed, overwhelmed. 

Oh god, i am going to faint, this is too much pressure. Oh, God, why did he write to me?  I did not ask that much from him. Actually, I don't like too much attachement. I don't like too much of anything. Did not he know that before? Who cares these stupid post cards!  Poor fellow who is trying to win my heart, huh! One post card? It cost only one euro, am I that cheap?  Look at him, hanging on to my bed room wall, exactly like an endangered species. I should replace it with Tim's photo , who writes me long love letters with scented perfumes, who keeps on declaring his love. Such a sweet, chap he is!

By the way, Shall i ask him to write another letter?

In case if I loose this one? There are rats every where.

At least a Post Card? 

By Jahooli Devi 

My Father had a girl friend

Once upon a time, my father had a girl friend who, he loved very much. But they were only very best friends. He always knew that she had another boy to marry. But my father and she were keeping talk with each others as much as they could.

But sometime she was telling, bad things about her fiancé, sometimes she was telling…

“I regret about my fiancé, I feel so sorry about myself, I never should have loved him, but I can’t do anything about this now, it’s too late”. 

So...my father just listened to those sad stories and never asked her to give up him, and never asked the reason for not to love him or the reason about the regret. He always stayed calm nearby her, like a glacier. But he was crying in heart every time she talked like that. When they were talking, sometime she used to sing the tune of “To Love Somebody by Bee gees”. And she asked and told my father…

“Don’t you like that song? I like it very much.”

But my father never tried to listen to that song carefully or look at the lyrics of that song on that era. He just listened to that song like any other songs.

Though, things happened like that way, my father never asked from her. It’s because, he knew that her fiancé was rich than him. So he wanted to give better life to her. And my father thought, asking from her, while she was having a fiancé, was not ethical. He didn’t only really love her, but also he had a great respect about her. 

When time passed one day she told my father that she is going to marry her fiancé and she cannot talk to my father any more but she wants to keep the true friendship, in her heart forever and asked my father to do so too. 

My father never wanted to break up with her. At the same time he didn’t want to hurt her heart too. So he promised her that he never talks to her again, and he also promised to keep the friendship and her memories in his heart forever.

So after around fifteen years of this, he always used to ask from himself, did she ever love him ? And did he do something wrong to her? Those questions were haunting in his mind always.

One day he listened to that song “To love somebody” accidentally on radio. Then he listened, very carefully every word of in that song. Then He cried a lot same as on the day which said good bye to her!!!

P.S: - now my father died. I had to read his almost all dairies to gather this scattered story to put together. 

(This emotional story was given by a friend & thought to share it) 

By Manu Fernando

One dance with you

I meet you, almost every day, every morning…we are just passing each other.

I have been waiting for this moment almost every morning, and it seems the time has stopped.I feel my heart is ticking fast, and then I see you… far end of the crowded street. It didn't take me a millisecond to recognize your pretty face among thousands of people. I amdelighted and prayed the god.

Here….you come... I begin to walk….yes I am heading to you. I am walking…walking…and pretending I do not see you...instead I look around…then suddenly I stare at your face…and then...smile…and say…

“Hello”…and you say the same.

Oh…God…how gorgeous you are…how pretty your smile…the way you talk...the way you look...I want to turn back to see how you are walking. But I cant do that, Because...’ if you see me....it's ridiculous. 

I must turn back and look at you. Oh…no…no…its not good…if you see me…you may think…I am interested in you. That’s not good. …oh…man…what the heck…yes…that’s true…I am am interested in you…not only that ....I love you for madly, even...without knowing anything about you.…yes I love you. OK…now I must turn back and look at you.

So I turn back and look….Oh gosh…you have gone beyond my eye sight. Well…well..next day I’ll look back before you vanished from my eye sight.

All the mornings are…Nothing more than that… nothing less than that. That’s all… This is how I know you…this is how I see you. This is how I feel you. Always I wanted more than this. But I don’t know how to win you. Even I don’t know your name, or what you do. It really doesn't matter to me. What matters to me is... just you.

Perhaps...I could approach to you only this far...beyond that...It may only in my dreams. every morning I am filled with your memories. I like it. Throughout the day you live in my heart with love. But when I go to the bed at the end of the day, I realize you are not nearby me, and then all my heart fills with the pain.

One miraculous day....I was invited to a friend’s birthday party, but I didn't want to attend for some reason. However, all the friends were bullying me about it. And at last... I was in the party. So the party ended up in a club. but I was so tedious all the time. It feels so lonely without you. though there are so many friends around me..always I feel sad...I'm looking for something...something which belongs to my heart. 

Like the all other nights, I thought to my self, next day, I must talk with you something, more than just the word “Hello”.

It plays some ballad songs; I could see many couples are hanging on to each others and dancing. 

It's a miracle... I saw you in the club, sitting on a sofa, sipping a glass of wine. You  were like an angel. You were wearing a nice sleeveless frock.  At first, I couldn't believe my eyes. What should I do now? Should I talk to you right now? Oh…is this the right moment? Ok…I think tomorrow will be the best,....Because.. now I got a thing to tell you or ask you. I mean I can ask from you…

“Oh…hello…I saw you in the club last night”..... no….no…no…then you may ask…”So…why didn't you talk with me"

Oh….gosh…that’s not good….then what….?

How could I resist you tonight…you look so…divine. I must really…breakthrough this pain in my heart today…I must make my feelings on towards you…

Amazingly.... I heared on the background....

You can win the fight, you can grab a piece of the sky
You can break the rules but before you try
You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone

You can stop the world, steal the face from the moon
You can beat the clock, but before high noon
You gotta love someone
You gotta love someone

Yeah…I want my love… this may be my night….I must go to her….

I said…“Hello…”

“Oh…Hello” you said the same ...as always...

“Nice song…huh?”

“Indeed yes….”

“You wanna dance…?”I couldn't believe I did ask you…like that.

“Uh…. …yes…I would love to”

It was like a dream.... I felt shivers down my spine; my heart was ticking like hell. I was looking into your eyes… Like a little girl…you hanged on to my hand. And then…you headed to the dance floor.  I hold your hand and put the other hand on your bare shoulder. My hands are too warm and your back is open and it was cold. You were embracing me dearly, it made me feel so good. I could feel your warm breath…it was so warm and was inviting me to hold you tightly. I can feel your heart is ticking just beneath your breast. I just came out of the blue, whole world is mine...and I'm the king...this gonna realize that, I found my eternal love, my eternal desire, Just one dance...realize me all, For a moment…. I almost forgot where I am. Then I heared the rest of the song….

You've got one life with a reason
You need two hearts on one side
When you stand alone and there's no one there
To share the way it feels inside and baby

I moved my face close to yours   I could only see your shimmering blue eyes so close to me, then, your trembling parted lips are slowly reaching mine…

By Manu Fernando.

Future bride

Dear X,

I thought to write to you because I am too overwhelmed by a wonderful news I heard today! I don't know your name, I only know you are an African & you live in London. Africa is a continent & London has a clock tower, this extra information I found all by myself!
The important news I heard was that you would be the woman of my lover. He did not mention a date though. That piece of information was enough. More than enough, I would say.

Congratulations, you won him ( scratch) you have already won him, he told that he knew you for 14 years with a lot of pride. I forgot to applaud, would do willingly if I ever meet him on the streets. I felt bad because I knew him only for one year, actually I met him less than ten times, so, you don't have to worry about it. He is very faithful, only ten times (if I counted correctly), we met suddenly at midnight on the road to my house. I don't think he planned to visit my house at all. If it was planned, then it 's a crime according to law, I guess.

I am writing to you because there is so much joy over flowing inside me. Flooded.

I did some calculations.  If he knew you for 14 years it means, he must have kissed you when I was 12. I have not even attained puberty when he made love to you ! Goodness, when he said that I was not the woman of his life,he was damn right.  Perhaps I could be the daughter of his life, if he wants to adopt me.

Forget it, there are some interesting findings about him that you might like to know. He falls sick, always on medical leave. Are you a nurse by profession? If not think wise my dear. Do you want to take care of a man who is a patient all the time, I think you should go out & enjoy your life. I already felt sorry for you, that's why I am telling all these. Whereas me, I have a professional training on traditional medicine , so it's quite easy for me to take care of him when he falls sick, so just hand him over to me, even though it is very annoying. I don't want him at all, but we can't just throw him in to the bins like a rotten potato. 

And then , he loves cakes, from butter cake chocolate cakes , carrot cakes or what ever cakes, show him a cake, he would just jump on it. Think about it sweet lady, are you going to spend the rest of your life baking cakes for him ? I am just pointing out these stuff just to show that you should think deeply. As a woman it's very important to think before a marriage. In my case, I bake cakes quite often, so I would be able to feed him a cake & put to sleep, its not a big issue, because I like cakes anyways.

There is a very serious issue, he walks on ropes, seriously ! Do you want a man who walk on ropes like monkeys who would fall to the river beneath full of crocodiles? Are you kidding me ? I don't think you deserve the life of a widow on mourning clothes because of him ; just give up on him. I am seriously worried about you. Black is my favourite colour though.

I almost forgot to tell you that he does not bathe, in his noble effort to save the water for your nation! He stinks like a skunk. He is quite proud of that for no reason. Why don't you think of perfumed men in full suits ? This fellow has quick showers , wear torn clothes. How could your mom be proud of your man?There is nothing fishy here! Well, I kind of collect antiques, my nose is not that sensitive,water is very precious too.

Think wise lady, he does not have hair on the head, he is getting bold day by day. You who must be really good looking, how can you walk proudly with a bold headed man ? Very soo, you can replace your mirror to his shiny thing.They would also call him an egg. What a shame for you ! I, myself like to eat eggs for no special reason. I can't understand why.

By the way, what sort of dress you are planning to wear for your wedding? Tube dress? Or just leaves? Thinking about your potential wedding, I get goosebumps. Is it from too much happiness? I shake too & then bit of tears come out too. I feel like singing now, I should wait till the big day.
Weddings are quite expensive these days, save yourself from that extra burden. I mean if you don't get married you can save some money to rent a room at Buckingham Palace. Sometimes, I have awesome ideas like that for others. Free advises.
I also thought about a wedding present for you when I was watching a documentary on nuclear bombs. I would be glad to keep that surprise.

Anyways, I am just so happy for you & I can only wish you a lot of happiness & prosperity for a wonderful family life one day. Don't babies cry a lot? I feel awful  when they cry at night. How would you manage? I am a baby sitter , such qualities I got!

It is such a wonderful feeling that you two will be together oneday. I can be the happiest on earth to see that, you know real women are like that, pardoning, forgiving & forgetting, wishing but the best always. Ah, I almost forgot to tell you. Do you know that he gave me a blue diamond ? Don't ever be jealous, it is not good for health. In case, if you haven't got one, you better ask him. I don't know why he gave it to me. You should ask that from him too. Bit of useless information.
I can always wish your happiness it is very important to me your happiness as I am so peace loving. By the way, he gave me a gold bracelet too. I know it is just a bracelet, you should not be too worried about it at all. If you are sad, I would give it to you, so you can wear it when you are single one day.

I am a very busy person, but I thought to write theses lines for you because I can't drink champagne all alone while celebrating this precious news. He is one hell of a asshole darling whom I cherish in the bottom of my heart. Won't you two make a lovely pair? Should I really care? Can't we share? Will you dare?

No, no, no.

As I am wishing you a wonderful wedded life one day with My Darling, would you also come to my wedding with My Darling if you are ever invited?

RSVP.

Yours,
Well-wisher,
X

A Love Tale or Tail of the Pussy Cat & the Tiger

Pussy Cat woke up at ten in the morning, as usual.  She was a bit tired of hunting Mice at night. When she was having breakfast she thought : 

" I am just too bored of this life, drinking milk in the morning & lie on the sofa all day without doing anything, How boring this world is. When Master comes , he gives an occasional cuddle, he thinks everything is perfect. Hmmm. Eating & sleeping, I don't think I would do better in the coming days. Should move around & see."

So, she came out from her villa situated at the border of the jungle. She never went to this jungle because it was all dark, she is such a coward! Even though the jungle is so appealing with its huge trees, she never had the courage to go inside. 

When she was walking lazily, suddenly she met a tiger.

Ah, a Tiger? It was the first time she saw a tiger alive. She got over excited.

To her surprise, Tiger smiled at her.

"Hi Pussy Cat? How are you?"

She got too surprised again. A real tiger talking to her, she has only seen them in the picture books of the children in the house.

"Oh, Hi Ti...Tiger, I am fine. And you?"

"I am fine too Pusy cat, so what are you up to in this bloody forest?"

"I don't know", she said timidly, "I just came to see the surroundings ."

"Good, I will show you how it is, the Jungle, if you come."

"Oh, no, I am scared, My old Master is at home, I have to be home before he comes, if not he would scold me"

"Who cares about Masters. I am the Master in the Jungle, Do you believe it or not ? "  He roared.

"Yes, yes, she said again timidly. I believe you Tiger, I would like to see the Jungle with you, very much."

"Ah, very good, then you have to come with me, right now."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, I don't have much time for hesitations, Will you come or not?"

Pussy Cat was perplexed, she had never been on a trip to the dark dark forest, but she could not refuse such an important offer from a Tiger. To go or not to go , that was indeed the question. She never thought that she would get such a chance like that. She liked it immediately.

Then, they entered the forest.

Pussy Cat was really happy, she waited Tiger to explain the names of the tress & the flowers, the butterflies around her. Instead, he walked all straight in his tiger way. Pussy Cat  was silent for a while, she just followed him expecting him to talk. he never talked, he looked at her from time to time just to see whether she was OK. Pussy Cat  thought that was how tigers behave. Strange!

When he was walking in front she observed the tiger, his tail so long (Oh my God), firm head, white spots behind the ears, fiercing eyes, stout legs, broad paws.  She tried to imitate his gait, Graceful (Oh my God) to walk like a tiger, she got a bit of attitude to her head.

"Aha I am walking with a tiger, the most powerful in the Jungle. How lucky I am."

They arrived to the den where Tiger lived.

"Enter."

She entered, she was not scared because she knew a tiger would not eat a Pussy Cat . He must have had enough preys.

Then, they sat in the den & talked for hours & hours, Pussy Cat was overwhelmed with emotions because she heard the most marvelous things in the whole universe, his hunting, his adventures, his enemies, his friends, they were all a dream world to her. She was gaping at him & could not hide it at all.

"Pussy Cat , what's your hobby? He asked calmly.

"Catch Mice", she said ashamedly, "And you?"

"Ha ha ha, Mice! ? Do you eat them too?"

"No, never, I feel sad for them."

" Ha ha ha , Very kind of you. Do you know I hunt all the Cows in your village?"

"Is it? " She pretended not to care. Yawned.  "So?"

"Do you have friends, Pussy Cat ?

"Not at all, just a Dog who annoys me all the time"

"Huh, a dog, pretty boring! Pussy Cat , what's your favourite food, I can prepare it for you? "

"Milk", she did not have time to think.

" Ha ha ha Milk? I should have asked a Cow then!" He said all amused.

Pussy Cat  cursed herself, her own stupidity infront of the Great Tiger. 

" Grow up Pussycat, eat this chicken wing for a change"

Pussy Cat ate the chicken wing greedily, although feeling guilty "What if Old Master sees me!"

It was already night, Pussy Cat  hurried to go home.

"Tiger, I want to go home."

"Oh no not now, you can't go now because it's too dark. You can sleep here if you want"

Pussy Cat  was bit reluctant because she had never slept outside, she wanted to be cajoled by the tiger.

"Stay if you want", he said again.

Actually, she wanted to stay. "OK, if you say so". 

Tiger put some fireflies in the den to light it, 

"Time to sleep, you can sleep beside me. come here"

Pussy cat was the happiest, How good to sleep beside a tiger!

She looked at him he looked at her too. Jungle was all peaceful. He continued to look at her with his deep golden brown eyes. She felt a storm coming up in her stomach, her breathing accelerated. Tiger was still all calm.

She slowly moved her paw up to his paw. She touched slowly his padded paw looking for the hidden claw. Tiger didn't move he just looked blankly.

She was encouraged, she moved closer. That's how pussy cats are, all unexpected.

"Tiger, How beautiful your velvet skin? Can I touch it?"

Tiger thought for a moment before giving permission.

"Ok, go ahead."

Prrrr, she moved her small paws in his long body.

"How strange her touch is. Divine, when her paws touch mine eventhough there are so small" Tiger thought amazed. He could not believe that a Pussy Cat  could be that soft. He was always used to rough touch by the tigress always, Little pussy cats are cute too ha. He smiled to himself.

"Touch more Pussy Cat . Here"

"Where?"

"Here"

"Here ?! "

"Why not? Here!"

Meow. "Where else?"

"There"

"There?!"

"Yes, there"

She blushed.

"There, there"

"Right there?"

"Yes, right, There"

"Meow"

"Very good, Pussy Cat"

"Meow."

"Absolutely good"

"Meow, meow prr prrr"

"Now bit faster."

"Faster ?"

"Yes, Faster."

"How faster ?"

"Faster as much as you can."

"Meowwwwwwww"

She accelerated. He roared. So was the whole wide world!

"Now enough , Thank you"

"You are welcome, Tiger."

Then he fell asleep & started to snore. Pussy Cat  could not sleep the whole night because she was looking at the Tiger, listeing to his snoring too!

...............................................................................................

Following day, Tiger wokeup early to go for hunting, Pussy Cat  was bit sad.

"When can I come again?"

"When I feel that I need bit of company, I am not sure about a day. Now go."

"Go now? so soon?"

"Yes, go. Bye." He dissappeared.

Pussy Cat had a lump in her throat thinking she would now have to go back to her boring Villa leaving the tiger in the jungle.

She was walking aimlessly thinking about the Tiger when she arrived near a lake.

She looked herself on the water :

For the first time, she felt ugly. She thought 

"What a beautiful whiskers Tiger got, why don't I have such long whiskers ?

Look at my horrible small teeth, Tiger has long razor sharp canines, I wish I had them too.

Look at my pale skin, no stripes at all, so boring.

I hate my small tail , no use at all.

I can catch only stupid rats, sometimes they run away too. When can I ever be adventurous like the Tiger ?"

Meowww, she tried to roar, but she got fed up of her own yelling because it was terrible.

Whilst she was day dreaming about the Tiger, he was also bit amazed by this tiny pussy cat who dared to come to the forest with him. 

He thought :

"She got guts too eventhough all tiny & timid. Cute little ass she got! Pussy cats are not that bad, if trained properly! Poor thing, should invite her again , atleast I can get a good massage."

The following day, Pussy Cat  was infront of the Tiger's den early in the morning!

Tiger was confused.

"Tigerrrr, I missed you, whole night I looked at the moon thinking about you, I wish we could go to the moon"

Tiger just smiled thinking to himself, "she is bit crazy , I guessed it so"

"Tiger, I wanted to make you a wreath from the shining stars, so you can wear it, you would be so beautiful."

Tiger thought "this pussy cat is out of her mind, what happened to her?"

"Tiger, then we should go to the silver beach which you talked about. The most beautiful beach you know, the hidden beach, we should go there & dance."

Tiger sighed, thinking pussy cats could be bit silly like the cows he met in the village.

"Tiger, then I will kiss you & kiss you , holding tight so that all the fish in the sea would get jealous."

Tiger thought about a potential suffocation & thought it won't be a noble death for him.

"Tiger , shall we go there soon ?"

"Look Pussy Cat ,  What's wrong with you. I have to go for hunting now, will see you soon."

He left in a hurry.

Pussy Cat burst in to tears, she wanted to go the beach with the tiger but he did not show any interest, so she kept on crying aloud. 

"Tiger is cruel, he only thinks about himself, Tiger I want to go the beach now, right now, I order you, take me to the beach" She shouted, but he was nowhere to be seen.

While she was sobbing in her bitter tears the lion passed by.

"Hey, Pussy Cat ? What's up ?"

She looked at him innocently.

"Who are you ?"

"I am the Lion, king of the jungle. Don't you know me ?"

"Lion ? Not much, I am new to the forest you know. But are you the king here ? "

" Yes, I am the King, no doubt at all" He said proudly.

She stopped crying  "I was with the Master of the jungle by the way. Do you know ? Tiger ? she said proudly too.

"Aha, you meet interesting folks ha. Who does not know about the cunning tiger."

"Cunning ?"

"Forget it, why are you crying ?"

"It is none of your business, I cry because I like to cry. I am all alone no one talks to me."

Lion was touched by the plight of the Pussy Cat.

"Ohhh come here little darling. I will give you a hug. Do you know I am the king here, you can be my queen if you want."

"The queen ?" Nonsense , she thought.

"Yes the queen, you will be the happiest on the earth. Would you come with me ?"

Pussy Cat rolled her eyes, hmmm king of the forest ! Is King better than a Master ? she thought again.

"OK, let's go for a walk first."

Lion was really happy about this cute little thing with rolling eyes.

While she was walking she looked at the lion,

"He is not that bad , even with a bit of old mane. Hmmm. But where are his stripes ? No stripes. No colours"

"Pussy Cat, I am the best in the jungle. Everyone calls me so"

Pussy cat sighed thinking "What a boaster!, Tiger never boasted."

Pussy Cat, you should never cry because of the tiger, he is always like that, such a cunning dude" he expressed his anger.

She started to cry again.

"Pussy Cat, I will bring you all the diamonds in the jungle, will you stop crying ?"

Diamonds ? She stopped sobbing. She thought "what I am going to do with the diamonds."

"Pussy cat, I will sing you the best songs, will you stop crying ?"

She got annoyed. "Let me cry Lion"

"Pussy Cat, I will take you the top of the mountain, so that you can see the blue blue sea far, will you stop crying ?"

"No, I am bored, I can't."

"Please, Pussy Cat, I love you"

She became bit aggressive.

"Leave me alone, for God sake." She ran away from the Lion. I don't want a boring old lion. I want the tiger. I want, I want, I want. She decided to go back home with shattered hopes.

To her utmost surprise, she met Tiger on her way again.

"Tigerrrrr, I am so happy to see you again , I thought I lost you."

Tiger just smiled .

"Tiger, give me a kiss please, I love you"

"No way, I can't." he was disgusted.

" Oh, Tiger, you change quickly, but why ?"

" Pussy Cat, I want to tell you something."

"What ? She got excited again ! She thought that Tiger would take her to beach this time."

"It might hurt you, but I want to tell you this."

Tell me, what ? she asked batting eye lashes.

"I am in love with Black Panther , she is darn hot" 

" Tiger, I hate you" Meowwwwww!, she tried to scold but ran away weeping bitterly.

She refused to eat & drink all day along, she only looked the charcoal in the fire place. When Master was not around, she stole some charcoal and applied to her face & looked herself in the mirror.

"I think I am hot like the Black panther now, perfect black! Should do some abs too to get a hot body"

1,2,3 crunches, oh my back aches, go to hell Black Panther, I will tear you to pieces" she thought depressed. 

Following day, she woke up determined.

She went to meet the lion. 

" Lion, I think I love you, we should get married"

Lion who was half asleep, jumped out from his den.

"Yeyyy, Pusyy cat" He gave her million kisses in one minute.

" But, first, you have to prove me your love, you shoud write me love poems on each & every tree on the forest" She said quite smartly. Go now Lion.

Lion did not hestitate a minute. He started to engraving love poems every nook & corner.

"Pussy Cat, you are my angel sent from heaven, Yours Lion" He wrote.

"Pussy Cat, you are the best, I love you to bits & tits"

"Pussy Cats , your rolling eyes get me drooling"

" Pussy Cat, shake your booty, I would go nuts" He wrote stupidly.

While he's engraving all this , Tiger passed by accidently.

What the hell you do Lion?

"Oh I am in love with tiny pussy cat, the adorable, she is the best in the whole universe, I am happy"

Tiger was amazed too. "Are you talking about Miss Insanity Puss? "

"Do not call my lovely darling insanity, she is the most wonderful creature, we are planning our wedding"

A wedding?

Pussy cat ran towards the lion.

"Ohh darling Lion, I searched you everywhere, Milky cookie"

Both Tiger & Lion looked at her. 

She jumped on the Lion & started to kiss him as if she did not notice Tiger was there.

"Lion, Lyon, Loin my darling, she squeezed him so hard that Lion could not believe this sudden affection. Lion do you want a massage? Great Great massage there?

Lion went all red, Pussy cat you are naughty.

Tiger got mad all at once, his blood started to boil looking at this child play as if he was not there.

Pussy cattttt! he yelled.

"Come to me baby Lion, I wanna hug you tight" Pusst cat ignored the tiger. Lion show me your tongue, awww red red tongue" She continued to play cheerfully.

"Pussy cat, I am telling you now, stop your showers of love, I am allergic to your stupid drama" Tiger warned.

"Lion the great, I want little cubs, give me quickly cubs" Lion was about to get a heart attack  because it was too ealry in the morning to be a father!

"Damn, These  pussies" Tiger started to shake.

Pussy cat looked victoriously at the tiger & continued to cuddle the lion. 

"Bushy bushy lion, take me to heaven, la la la " she sang light heartedly.

Tiger was infuriated about this intolerable public display of affection. His head was going to burst ,stripes were going to fall.

"Pussy cattt, I am telling you for the very last time, Stop it."  He roared, thunder & lightening struck.

Pussy cat stopped singing, looked straight at the Tiger.

Meowwwwww! clenched her teeth with furious eyes : Meowwwwww! She too roared

"Tiger, can you just shut up & get lost? "

By Jahooli Devi

The Trial of Bernadette Fabrique

Historians in their infinite hindsight love to imagine what it might’ve been like sitting in that courtroom. Nostalgia gives them the opportunity to speculate on the accusations and tearful testimony, discreetly trimming away less passionate portions. Yet that spring lost in a whirlwind of Parisian law deserves to be remembered fully. The entire life of Bernadette Fabrique — not just her trial — deserves to be remembered.

Mlle. Fabrique’s girlhood was spent comfortably, despite what conventional wisdom insists. Her governess wasn’t abusive, her walks through the city were always chaperoned, and her behavior during social events was impeccable. The fact that at sixteen she was kidnapped from her bed by a mutant beast gestated in an undersea laboratory which took her skin and assumed her life, mattered only to the former Bernadette Fabrique. Nobody noticed the difference, and destiny continued its dreamlike course.

When she came of age to be courted, innumerable suitors emerged. All were educated, and none were psychopaths or perverts, no matter what scandals the disreputable newspapers of the time concocted. Among the gentlemen who sought Mlle. Fabrique’s favor, Louis Gagnon came the closest when he invited her to a performance of Massenet’s Manon. It has been speculated that if their dalliance had lasted past intermission, they might one day have married; the fact remains that it didn’t. Perhaps M. Gagnon leaned in for a kiss. He may have said something salacious. What provoked the incident is lost, but none dispute that Mlle. Fabrique responded by shedding her human costume, rising to her full height with fangs bared, and chasing Louis Gagnon through the Opera-Comique until five battalions of police managed to restrain her just as she cornered him on the roof.

What followed became the decade’s greatest miscarriage of justice. Barely allowed to retrieve her skin, Mlle. Fabrique was paraded through the court as a fiend. Women fought to claim seats in the gallery merely for a chance to faint at the sight of the accused. In addition to the Opera-Comique’s extensive damage, charges were brought against Mlle. Fabrique for the injuries suffered by M. Gagnon, despite the fact that she didn’t actually catch him.

The name and record of this young woman would inevitably be ruined no matter what decision the jury returned. How could such a fair beauty return to her roseate life after being described as “A monstrosity without remorse, built by corrupted minds for the explicit purpose of destruction”? Prosecutors chose to dwell on the havoc of a lone incident, ignoring years of demure behavior that preceded it. For the crime of being an independent woman, and also an amphibious, eight-limbed creature, Bernadette Fabrique bore her torment with saintly patience.

nd after dozens of witnesses, a prosecution hell-bent on character assassination, and the moving, if superficial testimony of M. Gagnon shortly before he lapsed into a presumably unrelated coma, it’s understandable that the jury was compelled to declare Mlle. Fabrique guilty on all counts. The defendant’s decision to pounce at the jury, sending a packed courtroom fleeing is equally understandable. Obviously, Mlle. Fabrique had no right to bear society’s scorn, nor should she have been held responsible for the carnage that followed the reading of her verdict. Who could blame someone facing execution for tearing the city apart building by building? If anything, it’s astounding that this young woman had the strength to rip through masonry that withstood centuries. Is it so unfair that Paris had to crumble in order to afford Mlle. Fabrique the chance to vent her frustration?

Bernadette Fabrique was a complex person, like countless others who grew up in an era with no tolerance for spirited souls. Her escape and subsequent rampage have yet to overshadow the example she left behind. Louis Gagnon never awoke from his coma, though he must have been remorseful for the part he played in her defamation. The Opera-Comique was rebuilt along with the rest of Paris, and the world moved on.

Strangely enough, Bernadette’s parents claimed that one morning, years after their daughter’s departure, a parcel was left at the front door. Carefully folded inside was Mlle. Fabrique’s skin, pristine and unblemished. The authorities denied ever bringing such a package to the Fabrique estate.

Kuiper Court

 “Welcome to the United Worlds Judicature. Kuiper Courts of Health are administered and regulated by the Solarian laws of the Ministry of Health and Longevity. Please note that all our sessions are recorded and may be accessed by the allocated attorneys in your trial.”

I stared quietly at the hologram of the young woman standing in front of me. She didn’t look old enough to be conducting a hearing. She was dressed more like a sales representative than an adjudicator: a sharply ironed white shirt, and a tight grey skirt skimming her knees. Even the golden stripes on her collar failed to convey authority; they were more like stylish accessories on her.

I felt irritated by the Ministry adopting a youthful image in every possible department. A ministry wasn’t supposed to act like an advertising agency; it was an administrative body.

As the holographic lady glowed, the room revealed itself. Its decor was certainly not suited to legal affairs. The only pieces of furniture I could see were a long metal desk like an operating table, and a rigid, uncomfortable-looking metal chair with a short back.

The hologram-lady spoke again, with excellent human intonation. “Please state your full name, along with your title.”

“Doctor—” I said, and stopped. I cleared my throat and started again, trying to sound as authoritative as I could. “Doctor Torren Ronin.”

The hologram-lady’s expression remained flat. I doubted if she realised who I was. Perhaps she hadn’t yet been updated with the latest news. I was quite sure that she was capable of expressing emotions—even half-a-century-old holograms were.

She looked like a recent upgrade—I knew the rule of thumb was the newer the model, the more details. I could see a small scar on her left eyebrow—as if she could ever cut herself—and I could even hear this particular upgrade taking a short breath before she spoke. It was worrying how holograms were becoming more and more human.

Apart from the glow, there weren’t any other obvious giveaways that she wasn’t a real human. Maybe her skin and hair…she was a bit too pallid, and even though she had dark brown hair, it was rather lustreless. Perhaps that’s why all the holograms dressed in shades of grey: if they were to wear vivid colours, their pale features would stand out even more.

“Please state how you would prefer to be addressed,” she said.

“Doctor Ronin,” I replied.

“Doctor Ronin, my name is Sheeran Hund. I’m a Category-M Class-B judiciary conductor. I specialise in handling cases in conjunction with the Human Lifespan Law.”

I recognised the hint of warning in her voice. She was reminding me that she was highly trained in medicine as well as law, so I wouldn’t be able to get away with any medical subterfuge.

“Please look at the white dot on your left for an iris scan, Doctor Ronin.”

I waited for the holographic dot to appear on my left, reminding myself that the Ministry of Health was more concerned about the safety of their systems than speed. When it did finally pop out, I stared at it, as still as the hologram-lady herself.

With an affirmative beep, my iris scan was confirmed.

“Now please direct your wrist towards the same dot for your i-code scan.”

I reached down to my lab coat to unbutton it. My generation didn’t have their i-codes lasered onto their wrists, but rather onto their neck; mine was closer to my collar bone. I was proud of having my i-code where it was—it meant that I was one of the last to be ‘born’ into this world. I wasn’t conceived in a lab with a permission slip issued in my parents’ names. I hadn’t spent the first nine months of my life in a minute incubator. I was born—just like our ancestors had been for all those millennia.

But I was surprised to see that I wasn’t wearing my lab coat as usual. Instead I had apparently put on a white shirt and some grey trousers—which I couldn’t even remember owning. There was no point wasting time pondering any longer. I opened my shirt collar and turned to the holographic dot on my left. A green laser sliced the darkness in two and scanned my i-code.

I knew that my identification had been confirmed after another affirmative beep. The holographic dot vanished into thin air, quicker than it had appeared.

“Thank you, Doctor Ronin,” said Ms Hologram. She walked around the metal table and pulled out the only chair. She sat down. I couldn’t help but wince slightly: seeing holograms moving real objects always disturbed me.

“In accordance with the conditions provided by the Kuiper Courts of Health, you have the right to terminate this session any time you wish. You may do so by pressing the red button on your right armrest. Are you ready to proceed now?”

I nodded.

“Doctor Ronin, today we are here to clarify a fact brought to our attention by HRDS. The Healthcare Reporting and Delivery System has recorded 5.4 per cent of patients requiring emergency-level intervention within 14 days of using your services: that is 17 patients out of the 312 you have seen in the last month. Could you explain this figure, please?”

I was watching Ms Hologram’s left eyebrow. If that cut hadn’t been there, she would have looked flawless. I wondered if this was another strategy developed by the Ministry to make holograms even more human. If they were now including flaws in their design, were we to have uglier, older or crippled holograms soon?

Ms Hologram—or rather, Ms Hund, as they had named her—was probably older than me anyway. She undoubtedly had a longer lifespan than me. I questioned how fair it was on us humans to be questioned, taxed, fined and even arrested by computer software which we’d developed and which lived longer than us.

“Doctor Ronin? Do you have any comments?”

“Ms Hund.” I raised my voice. I was getting annoyed with her impatience. “I completed my medical training at the age of 20. For the last 17 years, I’ve been an active healthcare practitioner, a scientist and a lecturer. I’ve served on four different continents on this planet, always with an A-level achievement score. If you were to download the latest news, you would see my name as one of the winners of the prestigious Cornels Science Prize for Academic Excellence. I have dedicated my life to this cause, and I am planning to pursue the same route for the three remaining years of my life. Now, are you really accusing me of not caring enough for my patients?”

“I apologise, Doctor Ronin. Our concern is not of not caring enough—indeed, it is quite the opposite: we are worried about you caring too much.”

I was puzzled by her words. “What exactly are you trying to say, Ms Hund?”

She placed her fingers on the metal table carefully and looked at them one by one, as if she were counting facts in her head. “Doctor Ronin…’ She paused. ‘A doctor of experience would unquestionably know that some of these patients were to be admitted to the Quarantine Wards. Allow me to show you what I mean.”

A holographic screen appeared on my left, showing the data of one of my patients. Ms Hund read out loud, “R. Conas. Male. Age: 26. Medium level of inherited inclination for substance addiction and a high level of potential mood disorder. Medical history includes: inconsistent cardiovascular activity and a limited lung capacity due to an unspecified birth defect. Medical offences: smoking and livestock consumption. Past treatments have involved intense rehabilitation and Type-2 supplementation on a daily basis. Admitted to the Quarantine Wards four times. Taken into custody twice. Jailed once, because of tobacco possession. He was released on probation and scheduled to see you on a weekly basis. However, you, Doctor…issued this patient a Green Medical Pass after his first visit.”

“I had to,” I said. “Mr Conas’s older sister was due her Last Sleep. She was his only living relative. I issued Mr Conas with a temporary Green Pass for him to visit his sister. Without the pass, he wouldn’t have been able to travel to another Solarian province.”

“Doctor Ronin, I can empathise with your concern for Mr Conas’s circumstances—however, you must be aware of the regulations against such procedures. Solarian Law article 1747 section 1-b specifies that no Green Medical Cards are to be issued to any patient unless that patient has had a clean track record for three months.”

“I’m certainly aware of the Healthcare Law, Ms Hund. In this particular case, there was an exemption clause that covered Mr Conas’ circumstances.”

“May I ask which clause that was?”

“Legislation 79118/5: Mr Conas has less than three months to live.”

Ms Hund rapidly scanned the data which began to flow across the holographic screen on my left. “Our records state that Mr Conas has three years, eleven days and five hours before his Last Sleep.”

“Then you must update your records more often. Mr Conas has a lung defect which will cause his demise earlier.”

“Doctor Ronin, can you please confirm that you have submitted this information to HRDS?”

“I should have done that, Ms Hund, but as you know, we practitioners have the flexibility to report within 7 days if we’re working away from the office—and that’s what I’ve been doing for the last week.”

I took pleasure in watching Ms Hologram express a human emotion for the first time: frustration.

She continued, irritated, “Doctor Ronin, I hope you understand that you cannot use the same excuse for 17 cases.”

“Yes, I do understand that.”

“Well, Doctor, you don’t leave us with any other option. I will have to refer your case to the FYS Judgement Team.”

“Ms Hund,” I snapped, “this case—or any other such case you might bring up—has no link to FYS in any way.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but I believe there is enough evidence here to start an FYS investigation. It is a common problem, especially in the medical profession. Dealing with your own kind’s weaknesses and short lifespan from one day to another will almost inevitably affect your own mental state.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Then can you explain why you rejected your own Retirement Plan, Doctor Ronin?”

“That has nothing to do with this case, or FYS.”

“It has a lot to do with FYS, Doctor. It is a fact that 87 per cent of doctors who have been diagnosed with FYS reject their Retirement Plans.”

“I was born on this planet, Ms Hund! Do you know what that means? I was born—conceived—here, and I have spent all my life working on this planet, serving my own race. I would rather lose five years of my life and die here, at home, than meet my end rotting on another planet full of ghostly holograms or mucus-leaking humanoids. You cannot use my personal choice of where I’d like to die as evidence for the existence of a made-up illness. Final Years Syndrome is a disorder invented solely to retire humans who are fed up with handing their own race over to non-existent creatures like you! I refuse to be a part of this screwed-up system—and that is why I rejected my so-called Retirement Plan. It’s we who created you, Ms Hund—and yes, we are the same race who ruined this planet in the process! We don’t have the resources to support ourselves anymore, so what do we do? We put our own race to sleep at the age of 40 so that our children can also enjoy life for 40 years—and, yes, God damn it, we don’t or can’t touch you, because you don’t consume any of our precious resources, because you cost less and serve well! But may I remind you, Ms Hund, you owe your nonexistent existence to humans like me!”

“And I would like to remind you, Doctor Ronin, that my ‘nonexistent existence’ will survive beyond your grandchildren’s existence,” she said, and turned towards the holographic screen floating on my left. “Decision made: In accordance with Human Lifespan Act article 213449 section 8-f, I refer case number 847983 to the FYS Judgement Team—”

The screen was automatically typing everything she said. I heard alarms coming from every corner of the room. A male voice began to bark out a sentence again and again: Soundproofing has been cancelled. Soundproofing has been cancelled. Soundproofing has been cancelled.

I couldn’t bear it any longer. I pressed the red button on my chair.

“Congratulations, Ms Hund,” a male voice called.

I couldn’t see who was talking; my vision was blocked by a bulky headset. When I lifted the headset, I found myself in a completely different room. I looked around to remind myself of where I was; I was at the Simulation Lab. My consciousness had been switched with that of a defendant, so that I could see myself as the prosecutor. This was my second time taking the same test in the same simulator, but being in Doctor Ronin’s skin was a totally different experience. His vision helped me understand why I’d previously failed the test.

“Ms Hund?” called my senior, Mr Rame.

“Yes, Mr Rame. I’m with you,” I said, pulling the electrodes off my chest. I fastened the top two buttons of my shirt and placed the headset back onto its unit.

Mr Rame examined me with his coppery eyes. “You have some remarkable scores here, Ms Hund. You seem not only to experience anger in its human purity, but you also control it rather successfully. Your empathy levels are also worth a mention. However, there is one area that I think needs attention.”

“What is that, Mr Rame?”

He looked down for a moment, and then said, “I assume you know why you were asked to retake this test?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“You understand why you were given one of our most celebrated scientists’ templates as a skin? Doctor Ronin had a huge positive impact on humankind—indeed, some of his methods are still taught in medical institutions today.”

“Yes, sir, I know. I am honoured to have seen the world from such an influential human’s point of view.”

“You have also heard of Doctor Ronin’s notorious pride, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

He paused for a short while, as if contemplating how he should continue. “Your scores are almost impeccable, Ms Hund, but you must be careful when dealing with feelings of pride. It is not one of those positive human emotions that the Ministry accommodates. Your tendency towards pride was also highlighted in your previous result; that’s why you were asked to retake the test with Doctor Ronin’s template. We wanted to see how you handled this challenge.”

“I understand, sir,” I said. I fixed my eyes on a random spot on the floor. I waited quietly for his verdict.

“It’s important to relate to human emotions, Ms Hund, but it’s more important to remember that we’re civil servants with a lot of responsibility on our shoulders. Adopting the dark side of human nature can be highly destructive. Even though you’ve successfully handled a challenging skin in Doctor Ronin’s, I would advise you to be wary of your pride under all circumstances. I assume we understand each other.”

I nodded eagerly. I had detected the friendly tone of his voice.

“I guess I should offer you the first human handshake and welcome you as an official adjudicator for Kuiper Courts of United Worlds Judicature,” he said. “Welcome aboard!” 

LOVE, ETERNAL

“She knew it,” Kedar said and slowly walked away.

***

Kedar was walking briskly through the bustling corridors of the hospital after visiting his friend who underwent appendectomy.

He heard faint voices, “Thank you, doctor,” and bumped into a girl, a beautiful girl, coming out of a room. It was the consulting chamber of a neurosurgeon.

Instead of apologising, Kedar looked quizzically at the young girl.

A smile and a nod were her reply.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” A delayed apology from Kedar.

“That’s fine. There’ll be a fine,” she said with a smile.

“Coffee?” He asked.

“A small fine for the crime.” She teased.

‘This is good,’ thought Kedar.

“Snacks and coffee?” He offered.

“Hmmm, more like it. Are you married?”

“What?” Kedar was taken aback.

“If you are, snacks and coffee in the cafeteria. Otherwise, movie in Inox and dinner. What do you say, sir?”

“Kedar, my name is Kedar Sharma. I am not.”

“Hi, I am Asha Iyer. To Inox, then?”

“The fine suits me fine. Say when.”

“Like, now.”

“Okay.”

“What are we waiting for, New Year?”

They came out of the hospital premises and hailed an autorickshaw.

***

Kedar apologised to Asha, “Sorry, forgot something. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” and ran back into the hospital.

Asking the autorickshaw driver to wait, Asha stealthily followed Kedar to see where he went.

***

The expression on Kedar’s face was grave as he came out of the neurosurgeon’s chamber.

***

“I love you, Asha,” Kedar declared, with the sky above, the sands below and the azure sea alongside as witnesses.

“I know. Me, too,” Asha said.

“You, too, what?”

“Same as you.”

“What?”

“What you said.”

“What did I say?”

“Whatever you said.” A mischievous smile cavorted on Asha’s lips.

“Oh, God, not again!”

“Not that. What?”

“Nothing, I give up.”

“Me?”

“You what?”

“Giving up me, already?”

The serious connotation of the last word disturbed Kedar.

“I know that you know, Keds. I saw you come out of the neurosurgeon’s chamber the day we met.”

Kedar looked at her silently.

“I love you the most in my life, Keds.”

***

“Keds, where’ll we go to celebrate?”

Asha was her usual bubbly self. She was tugging at Kedar’s shirtsleeve for acquiescence and an answer even before she completed the question.

Kedar smiled.

“You must have already decided. So, you tell me.”

Asha threw her head back and laughed throatily. Her shoulder-length locks bobbed up and down. Kedar must have enjoyed the sight a million times but it never tired him. He pushed away a comma of hair from her forehead and eyes.

“You didn’t even ask why!”

“What’s the point in asking? Whatever the occasion, you’ve decided and we’ll celebrate. Period.”

“You are a peach, a Sundae, a Julia Roberts movie, a darling…”

Kedar interrupted her, “Wow, so many epithets!”

“It is one year today since we met, no, no, no, since we said ‘I love you’ to each other.”

“I know. I remember the day…” For a few moments, he was lost in fond reminiscences. “So, where are we going?”

“Hmmm…we are going to …”

***

“Do your parents know about us?” Kedar sounded skeptic.

“Yes.” Asha’s simple answer.

“Well?”

“Yes, I have spoken to them about us.”

“Well?”

“Are you unwell, Keds?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You keep repeating ‘well’, ‘well’. So, I thought…” Lying with her head in his lap, she was playing with his hair.

“I’m all right. Just want to know their reaction.”

“Whose reaction?”

“Your parents’!”

“Reaction to what?”

“God!”

“They didn’t tell me anything about Him.”

“I’ll kill you, you tease.”

“That you did, a year ago. I love to…”

“What?”

“Tease you.”

“A straight question. I want a straight answer. Okay?”

Asha stood in ramrod-straight attention. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Controlling a mixture of anger and laughter Kedar asked, “What did your parents say to our, that is you and me, love and marriage proposal?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God! What did they say?”

“Yes. They said yes – Y, E, S – yes. They agreed. They acquiesced. Okay?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“That I didn’t ask them, but I guess I may as well indulge you…”

She could not complete her sentence.

***

“Keds, tell me the truth. Have your parents accepted me whole-heartedly? Do they know about me?”

Kedar was silent for a few moments.

“Hmmm, there was some, only some, objection initially. We are Delhi Punjabi Sharmas and you are Tamil Brahmins, you see. So…”

“So, the acceptance is not whole-hearted, right?”

“You asked me to tell the truth. So, I am telling the truth. I said, initially. After meeting you and your parents, and after I explained about you and me, they didn’t have any objection.”

***

“Aren’t you sad, Ash?”

“What for?”

“I am going away to London.”

“Hmmm, no.”

“Ash!” Kedar was surprised.

“You lovable dolt, I know you are going for your career. I’ll join you soon.”

“But, but, Ash, we’ve been married for less than two months.”

“So?”

“Aren’t you sad, Ash?”

“What for?”

“I am going far away from you.”

“Hmmm, no.”

“Ash!” Kedar was shocked.

“You adorable nincompoop, I know you are going for your career. I’ll join you soon.”

“But, but, Ash, we’ve been married for less than two months.”

“So?”

“Oh God! This is getting us nowhere, Ash. Aren’t you…”

“You fool, why are you wasting time?”

“Ash!” Kedar looked scandalised.

“Didn’t you know? My last name is ‘Brazen’. Come to Ash, Keds.”

She threw open her arms.

***

“Keds, darling, I’ll miss you. Whom shall I hug when I go to bed?”

“My pillow; the one you bought recently. Pretend it’s me.”

“And who…”

“Whoa, whoa, stop there, Ash. Wait till you reach London.”

“Keds, when will I see you again?”

“Shortly, babe. Let me join our office there and hire an apartment.”

“Will I, darling?”

“You will, dear.”

“Sure?”

“Hundred percent.”

***

A few weeks later…

Asha landed at Heathrow in a British Airways jet fifteen minutes behind schedule.

An hour later, Kedar was driving Asha in their white Nissan Rogue SUV towards their residence…

***

…and they lived happily ever after.

EPILOGUE

A year later…

On a Sunday evening Kedar was walking in the Hyde Park with his friend and office colleague Ramana Murthy.

“I have been meaning to ask you something for some time, Kedar. I don’t know if I should.”

“Go ahead, Murthy.”

“Did you know before the marriage that Asha was terminally ill from brain tumour?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you about her condition?”

“Not in so many words.”

Murthy urged Kedar to continue.

“Three months after joining me at London she took a turn for the worse and I admitted her in the hospital.”

“And?”

“She didn’t come back home.”

There was silence for long minutes.

“Why don’t you marry again? You can’t live alone forever.”

“Who says I’m alone?” Kedar smiled.

Murthy was surprised.

“Did she ever thank you for loving and marrying her despite her…”

“Gratitude! We were in love, man!”

“Did she know that you knew about her condition when you declared love?”

“She knew it,” Kedar said and slowly walked away.
__END__
Shyam Sundar Bulusu 

No greener pastures

She threw handbag on the next chair as she sat down. Crossing her legs comfortably and leaning back comfortably. Like most women, she knew how to appear feminine while pretending to be innocently unaware of her beauty.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting. I am a chronic procrastinator. Always late”, she proudly announced.

He was instantly smitten by her. Her sudden, unannounced arrival and quick delivery of dialogue gave him no time to fully comprehend his first impression of her. She seemed like a great girl. She sat down and looked around, obviously letting him to look at her.

“This looks like a nice place. Do you come here often?”

“Yes Dyuthi. By the way, I thought you saw me and left. I had been waiting for quite some time.”

“Haha, yes Mahesh. That thought did cross my mind. I have been dreading this meet!” She always expressed anxiety when she was very sure she knew she’d impress him. In fact she knew he was already impressed, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t express denial of interest. She passed it off as anxiety and fear of meeting him to buy herself sometime to try to see if she could like him.

Like any other meeting, they spoke, eat, drank and left. She offered to pay, go Dutch, chuckled when he opened the door for her and joked that she wasn’t used to chivalry. No girl is used to chivalry and even the ones, who declare they don’t like it, can’t help being impressed when they receive it.

Dyuthi wasn’t sure if she always had a problem being honest to herself or was it expected out of her, to not be smitten and act stupid. She always held back her words but that didn’t stop her from waiting for his call nor did it stop her from meeting other prospective grooms. She wasn’t sure what was to happen and she wanted to be smart about it. Or was it the hidden Gemini inside her? Constantly looking out for her prince in a shining armour even if she might already be with one?

She declared it went just “okay” and that her parents could decide. To her friends, she went into elaborate detail about his chivalry and more particularly about how he had been smitten by her. She glorified his virtues and underplayed her impressions about it.  She found herself seeking the opinion and validation of her friends, that meant she wasn’t convinced herself, right? They didn’t seem very excited, so was she making a mistake?  She also complained whether he’d like her the way she’d look when she woke up or if he saw her credit card statements.

Quarter life crisis brought in some maturity, she thought. Or was it her insecurity that made her to accommodate things she wouldn’t have liked some years back? She wasn’t sure. She missed the early twenties. She missed being too young and too stupid. The spontaneity of her likes and dislikes and the consequences it brought. There were tears and laughs; she had to fight to make sure she got to do exactly what she wanted. Today, just a few years later, she was free to do anything, but she was easier on others and on herself. She did many things she didn’t like and worked and lived with many whom she tolerated by choice for no benefit of her own.

The tinkling of the flower girl’s bangles shook her from her pensive state. Neela was twenty. But she seemed younger. She knew Dyuthi from her childhood. She would tag along with her mother to deliver flowers in the morning after which her mother would drop her at school. Early evening she would sit near the gates of the buildings where her mother went to do an afternoon shift of washing dishes in apartments. She would occasionally be asked to undo stitches to loosen up a blouse and get tipped for it. She dreamed of saving up all that and buying her mother a saree. She loved how beautiful some girls looked. Their glowing complexion, immaterial of their obesity or skin tone, made them look prettier.

Dyuthi had teased her for her turmeric stained face and talcum powder. She stopped using them. She knew if she had shampoo, her hair wouldn’t be so oily and would be shiny like the girls in the houses where her mother worked.  But money had never been a constraint, whatever she asked, her mother got for her, if her request was reasonable. She looked up to Dyuthi and watched her study with a table and a mug of tea. She seemed very important when she was on her laptop and seemed popular when she was pacing the balcony on her phone.

One day her mother cursed her for being a girl. She said it didn’t make a difference. Her mother said, someday she would realize why it was a sin to be born as a girl. It conflicted with what she had learned in school, was it Dowry? What was it? “I won’t marry ever, if that makes it easier for you”, she offered to her mother. Her mother shook her head and said, “Marriage, itself. Not the dowry part.”  She was proud of her mother. She never whined to the neighbours and over phone to everybody like the women in the apartments. She would cry a bit and scold or hit her if she came in her way when she was in a foul mood. But soon she would forget it and make a nice, hot meal and tell her how beautiful she is because of her mother’s genes. She was beautiful indeed. She wasn’t fat like the apartment ladies. She was slender and had beautiful features. Sarees draped around her so naturally like as though they were best made for her. She had a particularly lucky day that day, she stitched some buttons and zippers, massaged her mother’s bosses feet and also washed a fungus stained old tiffen box. The lady tipped her a hundred rupees and also some glass bangles. She had been collecting money for a while now. She was baby-sitting when her mother was doing her afternoon shift of dishwashing. She got two hundred rupees per month for baby sitting in the evenings. That day she went and decided to buy a saree for her mother. She picked the cheapest. It was five hundred rupees, in chiffon and comfortable to wear like her mother would. It was a shade of blue, which she thought was elegant. She presented it to her mother who shouted at her for wasting money and threatened her to return it and get money. She thought her mother was teaching her the value of money. She regretted her decision and decided that money was precious and she mustn’t spend it on frivolity that didn’t have a place in their destiny.

Just when she thought she had learned the value of money, her mother died. She committed suicide, they said. She had consumed insecticide and passed away at her workplace. Neela’s world came to an end. She pretended that she still had a roof over her head, she would also work like her mother and manage. She would eat less, and work more to support her education. She didn’t realize by not eating and staying indoors, she still needed money. She didn’t know the asbestos sheet over her head had to be paid for. Her father had another wife, she was unsure when he had remarried. She was to be a cleaner and a flower vendor, like her mother. One by one her dreams were quickly forgotten. But her life was the same. Going every morning, to each house and delivering flowers and admiring the girls who lived in a different world. Going to their houses later to wash their dishes, it was the same life. But just without the dreams.

Dyuthi went up to the door and collected the flowers for the day and paid the advance for the next month. Neela gave her some extra flowers for free. She said a bride to be must be adorned in flowers to make her prettier and seek God’s blessings.

“Was he handsome, ma? What did he say to you?” She inquired excitedly. “Don’t worry, this time, its’ all going to be great.”

“I don’t know if I like him Neela. I don’t know if he likes, I am assuming he does, because he called me after we met.”

“Of course he will like you. You’re perfect ma. But don’t speak much. Men will speak easily and leave easily also. You’re heart is pure ma. You won’t commit easily but when you do, you’re not the type to easily give up”

“I’ve learned my lessons Neela. What about you? You are wearing so many bangles and flowers these days. Are you trying to be pretty for someone?”

“Oh my god, no! I can’t. My uncle has promised to wed me off to his brother’s son. I have seen him once. He works at a restaurant.”

“Do you like him? Does he talk to you?”

“I don’t know many people. So at least I know who he is”

“I hope he will take good care of you and love you a lot, Neela”

Neela blushed and left. This was the best part about getting married, the teasing and importance she received. Some gave her gifts – clothes, bangles, nail polishes. She made the best of it. He was not very handsome, but at least he was willing to marry her. He saw her once and didn’t speak to her. He owed her uncle some money that made him obedient to him. She felt safe, marrying someone who would be under the control of her uncle. Her father would preside over the wedding. She hated him , his wife and their son, but that never stopped her from being excited when she got a chance to meet him. She didn’t belong to her a father. She would at least belong to her husband. Marriage, was all about the identity it would give to her.

Neela remembered Dyuthi in her early twenties- beautiful and confident, condescending even. A few tough years had left her considered and mellowed. She was more tolerant than before, but beautiful as ever. She didn’t look slim and glowy any more, but a calmness about her rendered more beauty. She wasn’t loud and outspoken like before, she wasn’t bold but she was brave. Neela’s former admiration bordering on jealousy of Dyuthi now turned to empathy and hope for Dyuthi.

Dyuthi waited more days for Mahesh’s call. Her parents were even uncertain than her. They didn’t want to lose her to a wrong choice again. Despite waiting, when he did call, she was short and noncommittal in her conversations. Neela’s wedding drew closer and she used to come earlier than usual. She was always in a hurry. Dyuthi was happy Neela was in love, but she envied her ability to smile carelessly and feel happy with a radiance that showed on her face. Dyuthi tried to be happy, looking happy was the secret to looking great. She let life take its flow and let go of the reins with which she controlled the direction of her life.  She let herself feel whatever she did and not what she wanted to be. She no longer cared about society and what they thought. Not that she had ever taken any action based on society’s approval of it, but she did worry about it. Once she decided, she would no longer worry about it, she felt relieved. Inner happiness was subjective to what we decided to make peace with. Love? Or appearing to be in love?

When they met for the fourth time, Mahesh was already aware he was walking on eggshells. He had little time before he could convey his answer to his mother. He wanted to gauge her interest first.

“So, what are your parents saying?”

“About what, Mahesh?”

“Just generally. About your life, wedding and so on”

“Oh, it’s entirely my choice”

“And your choice is?”

“I’d go by what they say”

“Haha. Its going in circles. The first time we met, you claimed you’d leave it to your parents completely and your choice doesn’t matter.”

“Its still something like that”

“Okay. Irrespective of your choice, I agree they will have a decision that will be binding on you. But I am sure you still have a choice, however useless it maybe. I’d like to know that.”

“I haven’t thought like that Mahesh. I am just getting to you as a person”

He figured she was just never going to let down her guard; he had no interest in opening up his feelings for her as well.

“Let me put it this way, assuming your parents take the decision to go ahead with me, are you okay with it?”

“Yes.”

“And that is going to be for any guy they decide, is it”

“Not really”

He laughed and let go of his prodding.

“That makes me very happy to know. At least I am shortlisted.”

“How about you Mahesh?”

“The choice is not just mine, her’s as well.”

“Oh, okay. What are your parents saying”

“Well, its not them. The choice is mine and the girl’s. Mostly if she likes me, I would marry her.”

“And that is going to be for any girl who is willing to marry you, is it?”

“Not really”. 

Sorry….

As if that call has disturbed all my concentration, I paused n then closed the songs I was listening since I started reading my new story collection. Though I continued finishing the story almost done before that call. But realized that I was just grabing the words without getting the sense of the sentence. So closed that application too. Though that call was a normal one by my husband and he was just asking something regarding my son’s admission to a new school. As since last couple of days we both were having a so called Cold and Silent War and each of us was expecting the other one to get down. Well…!! as usual in this case also the Ego won. And none of us tried even to communicate other than some urgent lines and that’s too only on what’s up…..you can call it one of the side effects of getting online whole day.

Anyway!!! Since I was in a try to get myself busy somewhere and not to think about him and which I knew would be a total failure at last…

I was expecting he would say something else but he just ended. I was feeling like on phone we were behaving more politely and were sounding less egoistic though the conversation never lasts more than half a minute.

It has been more than two weeks and due to this feeling like my heart sinking and and feeling an ache in chest which is continuous. I am sure he also would be feeling very low. Even at night I can not have a sound sleep. Though on same bed it seems a big huge wall between us …,not actually one, I must say two walls…walls of fake but monster size Egoes!!! He too don’t seems to have a relaxed n sound sleep these days. Obviously when love tries to ignore and escape from Ego evil there would have been a drastic battle then how the mind can have a relaxed sleep.

Next day Morning-

Today morning I am feeling so fresh n energies and even after getting up from bed no chest aching is there. When I asked him to wake up and take his bed tea, I realized he was in such a sleep that I had to ask him one more time, which perhaps happened after so many nights.

I was wondered just a single word can do the miracle. Yes the word no doubt was “SORRY”.

Flashback-

It was 5 am and finally I decided to say it first. Though I didn’t even remember what was the issue but one thing I was sure I could not survive without his smile and without talking to him. So….! I said it first. 

I Love YOU TOO ! 

Prologue:

Love is like a stranger who happens to go past your home every day but you never recognize him/her until he/she knocks the door of your heart. Same happened with me. She was there, all the time during those two years of my MBA but I never recognized her. One year paased after MBA and I couldn’t get the job I liked so I decided to reach Mumbai to start my career as fashion photographer. One of my close friends of MBA, Vishal used to work in Mumbai as fashion designer. And the girl, Rashi (Same MBA girl), used to be a Garment manufacturer in Mumbai . In this way all of us were connected by our profession. After another year passed in Mumbai, I realized I had fallen in love with Rashi. When I told Vishal about how I felt for her, he cursed me why I never interacted with her when we were classmates. It’s because the love didn’t knock the door then.

####

I was very confused. I just wanted to speak my heart to Rashi but at the same time I was afraid. I gathered some courage and dialed her no.

“Hello,” said a beautiful voice.

“Hi, Rashi!” I paused, “I was thinking if I can meet you today.”

“Yeah sure. Come home, mamma has made rajma-rice for lunch.” She said.

“No not at home. I was thinking if we can meet outside of home at some coffee shop or something.” I said.

“Vibhu,” she spoke my name heavily “are you asking me out?”

“Hmm, kind of.” I said.

“See I would be happy to go with you if you were so sure about taking me out.”

“Sure. I am damn sure. I want to take you out Rashi.”

“I know,” she started grinning “so where should we meet?”

“ is Juhu-Beach okay” I asked.

“It’s perfect! I complete my pending work now and see you at 3 O’clock”

“Alright. I see you then.” I hung up the call.

“What do you think Vishal about Rashi? I mean does she love me, too?” I wanted to know his opinion on our relationship status. He knew both of us more than we knew each other.

“I think she loves you too. But you have to initiate to propose her.” he said.

“I am going to propose her today. It’s a perfect chance,” I paused “just Rashi and me, sitting on Juhu beach. I will do it today.”

“Best of luck,” he said getting ready to go to meet his client.

While I still had three more hours to meet her so I decided to be groomed by reaching a nearby boys’ salon.

“Bhaiya hair style change kar du aapki?” The hairdresser asked me. I thought for a second.

“Okay. But which else will suit me,” I asked in return.

“Aap par Shahrukh wali fit baithegi,” he suggested. He was a big fan of Bollywood as I could see posters of many film stars.

“Okay. Do it,” I said knowing there could be a risk of looking terribly odd, yet I took a chance.

For the next hour or so, he kept applying different materials on my hair that could help me have Shahrukh’s style and then he took another hour in cutting it. I wondered even real Shahrukh Khan might not have spent this much time on his own hairstyle. Finally, after a while he gave me freedom. I rushed to reach Juhu.

####

I reached Juhu Beach, tried to find Rashi around as it was 5 minutes past 3:00. She finally appeared. I saw her from a long distance. I wondered what she would have to say about my new look. I only wished she didn’t make fun of my hairstyle, as she never leaves any chance of Leg-pulling.

“Hey,” she raised her hand finding me from her place. I walked towards her.

“Oohhh,” she said, closely observing my new look. “New hair style, hmm”

“How did you find it?” I asked hoping she didn’t pull my leg. We found a place to sit

“Your hair is like Shahrukh’s and I like Aamir’s.”

“So you want me to have Aamir’s style.”

“When did I say so?”

“But you did mean so.”

“Hello,” she snapped her fingers. “why should I care about your hair style?” she was trying not to laugh. Her leg-pulling session had started.

“Anyway I myself like Aamir. And I am going to keep Aamir’s style soon” I said in my defense.

She stayed quiet, smiling silently.

“I know this hairdresser who can turn my hair into Aamir’s hair,” I said as she started laughing badly. She kept laughing into her for a while until I asked, “Now what?”

“That’s all about hair. But can he also turn your face as handsome as Aamir’s,” she did not stop laughing.

“What do you mean by turning? I am already handsome. More handsome than your Aamir.”

“My Aamir……I wish he was my Aamir,” She heaved deeply pretending to feel so regretted.

“Call your Aamir. I am going Andheri back,” I stood up to leave because no other way could overdo her. I started walking for a while, getting far from her.

“And I am very much of happy with my Shahrukh’s hairstyle,” I shouted turning back to her. She was still laughing.

In real sense, I could not leave her alone like this as I was too doing childish thing with her, so I sat 15-16 steps away from her.

She looked at me and started shouting to tease me “Aamir Aamir.”

I looked at her smiling. I love the way she becomes drama queen

“Aamir khan,” She shouted again. People around her started looking at her surprisingly.

In return, I too shouted, “Priyanka Chopra. Priyanka Chopra.”

Some of the people who were seeing Rashi, turned to me now. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I felt extremely happy to do such a nonsense thing.

She stood up from her place to walk to mine.She sat beside me and said, “see, I’ve called Aamir but he hasn’t come so I am planning my day with you”

“Hmm, in fact I too called Priyanka. She hasn’t come either so I think you are not that bad to spend a day with,” I said as she smiled.

We kept sitting there for a while. All the while, I had one question in my mind – is this the right time to propose her? And I finally decided to do it now.

“Rashi, I want to say something,” I was going to propose her.

“Say it later. Feed me something first. I am too hungry,” she stood up.

“But…..”

“No but…let’s go first,” she pulled my hand up, in order to make me stand and go with her.

I stood up. We walked around to see if there was something Rashi might like to eat. She said she would eat Paani-Puri.

I loved the way she ate Paani-Puri. Her facial expressions told that it was too spicy for her, yet she loved it.

After a while, we thought to have regular meal for the lunch. Rashi had come by car, and I had come by Vishal’s bike. We let the bike remain parked in the parking, and sat in Rashi’s car, reaching to Smokin’ Joe’s at Rose Apartment, Juhu Gaothan. Rashi just loved the pizza by Smokin’ Joe’s. We ordered a medium Chicken Mexicana Pizza for us.

“Rashi, you look nice in this black dress!” I said to fill the time gap between ordering the pizza and getting it.

“You too,” she said. I still could not initiate to propose her. When she said ‘you too’ I thought of a way I might propose her easily.

“Rashi, shall I ask something?” I had to pretend I didn’t understand ‘you too’.

“What?” she said as the waiter arrived with our pizza

“I really don’t understand what ‘you too’ means,” I said pretending as if I really didn’t know it.

“You are kidding me. How come you don’t know this,” she said in way of humor. She didn’t believe I didn’t get this.

“I seriously don’t get these two words together ‘you too’. It okay if you don’t want to make me get this,” I said. I was just waiting for her to start explaining this.

“See ‘you too’ is a phrase of complimenting people back for whatever they had complimented us,” she really gave a good explanation. Yet I had to show I didn’t get it.

“What?….I still can’t get it.”

“Ohh ho,” she showed her disappointment. “Say, if you tell me that I am the most beautiful girl in this world then I would say ‘you too’ that means YOU are the most handsome boy in this world, TOO”

“I agree with the later part,” I said mischievously.

“We only agree with something we have doubt. The former part is a fact.” She said, not letting her down.

“I guess someone is praising herself,” I said as she smiled.

We had finished our pizza. We left the place. Coming out, I said Rashi to bring the car here from parking. I kept standing at Joe’s while she stepped few meters towards parking.

“Hey,” I shouted from the same place. She turned back. “You really are the most beautiful girl in this world.”

“You too,” she said coming closer to me. “So now you get what ‘you too’ means.”

“Let’s check it,” I said. “If I say you made my day!”

“Then I would say you too!”

“If I say you make my heart beat faster.”

“You too,” she said smiling.

“If I say you make me feel happy.”

“You too,” she was smiling.

“If I say you make me love you,” I finally said for which I created this ‘you too’ scene

“You too,” it unknowingly came out of her. Her expressions confirmed that knowingly she would have said the same. She just ran towards parking, blushing.

“Rashi,” I asid as she stopped running. I started walking towards her.

“I love you Rashi,” I bent down on my knee “I will be the luckiest person if you say yes!”

“I love you too.” she said holding my hand. I hugged her. 

Angel and Deamon 

“Men are more moral than they think and far more immoral than they can imagine.”

Sigmund Fraud

Though it was evening the sun really shined bright through the cloudless sky. The trees protected the garden using their leaves from the heat. Spring time made the garden a heaven compared to the hectic city around it. I looked at my watch. It was 4.35. She was agreed to come on 4’O clock. Little disappointed I thought about ways to make her make up for being late. They made a mischievous smile on my face.

She came around 4.50.Sweating and panting a little. She must have been rushing a bit… “It was a hard time in the office. Boss gave me a last minute assignment. I had no excuse. I skipped lunch to mange time to meet you.”… She sat on the bench I was sitting nearly touching me…

The branded cloths and the new body spray I brought by seeing the advertisement of girls flocking a guy like he is a magnet gave me the confidence to take her hand and caress them on placing my lap right away. Her hand were little sweaty…I looked at her. She had simple make up. But still…I felt beauty thriving in her…

“Had your lunch? Her voice waked me up from thoughts. “I hadn’t touched my lunch box do you want to eat??”…she asked in concern. I looked at her little harsh. As though she is spoiling the moment…

“I had a dream about us yesterday night” she said as I was cuddling her. I told her that I had a dream too…I thought about the scenes in the dream. They made me excited…made me look at her in a different way… A LUST full way…
It made my eyes and hands moved a little out of bounds on her body. As though she instinctively knew my intention…She went defensive and stopped me from cuddling. I was desperate and a bit too angry. And tuned away from her…

After some moment of silence I looked at her. Saw her uptight. To break the ice I asked her about her dream…seeing reluctant. I pressured her. “Tell me dear…”I insisted.

“Okay. Okay” Her eyes moved to a corner remembering the dream.

“You were sick at the hospital. It was kidney failure. I had to give mine to save your life.” She said…

I felt something move inside me. The feeling was so strong that it made my eyes wet. I looked at the angel sitting in front of me… and looked back at the daemon inside me…It was an eye opener. I realized the difference between lustful love and true meaningful love…

“I believe I can sleep comfortably beside you” she said by placing her head on my shoulder…

“You will dear…safe and sound…”I assured her by putting my hand around her and held her with no intention of letting go… 

Bold and Beautiful

She opened her diary, it was her daily routine to note down how her day had passed. This habit was imbibed in her by her father and she will be always thankful to him. Tonight there was a smile. She started.

“Dear Diary,

Thank you for this beautiful day. The classes continued as usual. The boys won’t stop playing fool at the language class but had a hearty laugh. And today was special, he smiled . I could feel my heart skipping a beat. Can’t wait for tomorrow.

Love PJ”

Her mother called her twice. The dinner was tabled and everyone was waiting for her.  That night it was difficult to sleep. She has been continuously thinking about him. Teenage is difficult. It adds more to it when you think about a guy and smile. She still wondered if he had noticed her. The clock stuck 1. She distracted her mind and went off to sleep.

Pooja was a popular girl, loved by her teachers and friends and that adds a lot more people who envied her.  But she was not self obsessed. She was jolly and fun loving. She could see him in the school campus. He was charming and could make others smile. “Why he would turn to me? There are lots of beautiful girls her”, she thought. This kind of thoughts strikes our mind when we are at least 14 years old. But to her surprise he looked straight to her eyes and smiled. She skipped a beat. It was another wonderful moment in her life. She is blessed, she thought.

Slowly and gradually their conversations started. They now felt much comfortable. People started noticing their company. The texting and phone calls increased. It was a like a dream to her. She never thought Rohan could be so humble and loving. He sang songs to her and she kept listening. And knowingly or unknowingly her grades in the class was decreasing. She tried concentrating but it was only Rohan who kept controlling her mind but she didn’t mind. She smiled.

One fine day she couldn’t wait more, she had to tell him how she felt. May be its infatuation but he needs to know. She has been drowning in the so called ‘river of love’. But to her amazement he responded positively. She was in cloud nine today. She couldn’t express how she felt. Her eyes were moist.

Everything was going smooth until she became a little obsessed about him. But, Rohan on the other side was an outgoing guy. He loved to hang out with his friends. Slowly these were increasing more and Pooja find it quite difficult to digest. Her grades were decreasing now at a faster rate. She had swollen eyes often and dark circles were visible. She couldn’t take it more. She decided to confront him.

Rohan was sitting in the tree shade with his friends. Pooja walked to him but he did not seem to care a bit. She was shocked. Pooja started, “Rohan, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now Pooja I’m busy. Let’s discuss everything over the phone after we reach home after school. Okay? Now please go!”

Pooja couldn’t believe his words. He never behaved this way in the last six months. She started crying and ran away. Today it was the last day at school as from tomorrow the summer break starts. She was in mood for enjoyment. That day she waited all long but he didn’t care to call. She was feeling a little offended. She decided not to call him first. Days rolled but there was still no initiative from his side. He did not even care to normalise things between them. Her dream was starting to break. She felt as if someone is waking her up from a deep slumber, a six month’s long. She felt heartbroken.

She unlocked her phone and dialled his number. He didn’t pick it up. She rang him for the second time. The call was responded, “Hello! What is it? Why are you disturbing me? Can’t you see I don’t want to be with you anymore?”

These words went through her like a knife tearing her flesh apart. Her heart was broken. Completely.

“I love you Rohan. Please don’t do this to me. I beg of you. Please” ,said Pooja crying her whole heart out .

But Rohan turned out to be a completely different person. She couldn’t imagine this in her worst nightmare. “You know what Pooja, you are such an idiot. I have never met a person like you (laughs). You are so easy to fool. Thank you for entertaining me.”

She couldn’t believe it was him. She stood still. She went in a trauma. Her parents were worried what had happened to their child. She didn’t laugh anymore. But she then decided its over, there’s no point of crying for someone who least deserves it. It was difficult for her but she managed to get over him. She didn’t give a damn to anyone.

The school started. Everyone has only one story to repeat “Rohan dumped Pooja”. She thought ‘oh! C’mon get a life!’ She digested everything. Now no force can defeat her. She achieved victory over him. But still there was something, a soft corner. She loved him. How can he be so carefree? She could not take it. How can she suffer alone when they both enjoyed some moments together.

She walked to him,” I want to have a word with you.”

Everyone’s eye was staring them. He stood up, she smiled at him. “I have to return you a favour”, said Pooja.

“What now!”

She smiled even more and BANG! Everyone was shocked. “THIS!” she smiled and went away. He stood still with his hand on the cheek.

“It was cool, Pooja” exclaimed her friends.

“I know. I was too good for him.” They laughed and the lunch break got over.

A true Love story……………………….. Must read!!

A boy and a girl were in love.

When the girl’s father came to know about their love, he did not like it at all, and so began to protest about it.

Now it happened that the two lovers decided to leave their homes for a happy future.

The girl’s father started searching for the two lovers but could not find them .

At last, he accepted their love and asked them to come back home thru a local newspaper. Her father said “If you both come back I will allow you to marry the guy you love, I accept that you loved each other truly.”

So in this way, their love won and they returned home.

The couple next day went to town to shop for the wedding dress. He was dressed in a white shirt that day. While he was crossing the road to the other side to get some drinks for his wife, a car came and hit him and he died on the spot.

The girl was devastated and lost her senses. It was only after sometime that she recovered from her shock.

The funeral and cremation was the very next day because he had died horribly.

Two nights later, the girl’s mother had a dream in which she saw an old lady. The old lady asked her mother to wash the blood
stains of the guy from her daughter’s dress as soon as possible. But her mother ignored the dream.

The next night her father had the same dream , he also ignored it. Then the girl had the same dream the next night, she woke up in fear and told her mother about the dream. Her mother asked her to wash the clothes with the blood stains immediately.

She washed the stains but some remained. Next night she again had the same dream. She again washed the stains but some still remained.  But again the next night she had the same dream and this time the old lady gave her a last warning to wash the blood stain, or else something terrible would happen. 

Destiny drives love

She tip toed in the dark room, grabbing a hot cup of coffee she rambled towards the large window pane of her living room. And with it, in seconds she went into seclusion where only her thoughts could be her companion. For the first time in five years her emotions became alive, she shivered a bit when the flowing wind engulfed her but cold was not worth her attention. Sipping her coffee she stood there for long, enticed in the beauty of glistening moon she lost track of time. After a lot of thinking she came back to square one , reiterating the same questions to herself. Why does our past always follow us? When will the toucher of these haunted fears stop ? Why the hell I am always deprived of happiness?

Her complaints choked her. Her eyes drenched in tears deprived her of any blessing she could have cherished. Neither she could hold on to her past and nor she could let it go. She found herself stuck in the dilemma, minute by minute her turmoil increased to zenith. She was all tormented when the destiny planned to give her another roller coaster. She picked her vibrating phone after ignoring it for fifteenth time. And then in the next second all she could do was grab her keys and rushed towards her car.

When on the road all she did was cry, wretched in pain. He was all she had lived for and now if anything happened to him she will never be able to make it back to life. She found herself nostalgic, her childhood fears haunted her.

It was a bright sunny morning when she woke up with jitter. The first thing she did was search for her mother. She hastily ran towards her room in her search but all she found, were suitcases. Not one or two but seven big suitcases all packed.

“Mumma, are we going for a vacation?” a ten year old feebly asked.

“No beta, only papa and mumma are going for work. Aanya will stay here with her dadi.”

“Mumma, Why can’t we go along with you?”

“No Aanya. You have school, friends over here and you love dadi so much”.

Her parents left, saying “Papa mumma loves you, we will be back soon.”

And the little Aanya spend the whole night in her grandmother’s lap wondering why her parents had to leave? When will they come back? Had the little soul realized the reality she would have been able to grab the present more wisely. Initially she felt out of the place, though everything was same but the minute she entered her home she felt different, alone. The only tangible family she had was her grandmother, her parents, siblings all resided in one soul and the other person she showered love upon was her best friend Shivika, who was always by her side no matter what. Gradually she adjusted with what life served her with a hope that someday good things will come up. And it did happen, once again she started to believe in life. She felt the luckiest person alive.

It was her college’s cultural pro gramme and as usual being a bright and obedient child she was put on with a bucket full of responsibilities. It was something she liked doing and was now used to it. Having plethora of chores she remained the busy bee. And that was when she met Gaurav. It was not like that he became her addiction at prima facie. On the contrary she loathed him more than anything. But she had to work with him because he was punished to do so and she felt that his punishment is ruining her leisure. The way he talked chewing gum, his casual attitude, frivolous approach annoyed her. And the water crossed its brim when one day he labeled her jealous because she asked him to do his work rather than flirting. That was the day she made a common conclusion about rich brats.

And all Shivika did was laugh about her statements about him as she already predicted the future. Her hatred started to dwindle when one day Gaurav begged her for help. He asked her to teach him so that he could at least pass or otherwise his luxurious life would be snatched away. Witnessing him pleading she could not resist and she melted. Their bond strengthened within days of knowing each other and with that in no time Aanya could deny her wrong judgments.

And then she wondered how easily we develop hatred or liking towards people without actually knowing them only on the basis of what other people think about them. We never bother to see the other side of things that he might be misunderstood, he may not have till date found anyone he could behave differently with or may be all his actions has a positive side but just because we don’t like him already, we absolutely refuse to accept him as a better person. But on the other side if we love somebody we start admiring all his unacceptable actions too, we fall in love with his every habit and if someone contradicts them we turn blind only because we love them they become inappropriate to do something unreliable. How funny humans are she laughed.

The final day was the result Aanya stood second but this time she was glad to let go of her topper tag because for her Gaurav’s distinction mattered more. No doubt she was elated but a second later sadness wrapped her realizing that he could not see him anymore, she already started to miss him and then she decided that it is high time to confess and for the first time in life she decided to do something without bothering about the future results. That was the second time life mocked on her. She can still remember each and every word he said,

“Aanya you are my most faithful friend. I can do anything for you but I am not sure about us. You are so different, special, you need to conquer the world and I don’t know if you need my help. Things happen for a reason and this too had something though we can’t guess it yet but someday we will. Even if I love you I cannot have you… please forgive me if you can”

They both had tears that day, feelings were crushed so badly that no one could ever feel the sunshine of next day. It was all a black dark night. Aanya cried in her grandmother’s lap that day just like she did when her parents abandoned her but that was the last time. After a few months her grandmother too died and she did not shed a single tear. She did not had any emotions or feelings or anything. Everything went cold dead since that day. Her boss admired her for her dedication and colleagues envied her for she was the example of successful business woman, they thought she had a perfect life had they only known the miseries behind the curtain.

She pulled her car in and ran in the hospital like a maniac. Hospitals have always made her nausea as if they exists just to snatch people’s life, the feeling of between medicines made her sick. But this was not the time she could let her hatred pile up.

She stuck her eyes at the small window which led her to him after five long years. Tears refused to stop, it seemed the much defrosted ice melted just a yet. Her emotions clogged, this was not supposed to happen. She knew he might not love her but why she could not resist herself, the questions, reasons everything was blur. Hapless she found her, the enormous efforts of her mind of being practical failed to calm her inner anxiety. She always wanted to be the lightening by his side, get a glimpse of his cheer and hold his hand in the darkness, glorify their journey of togetherness, to explore the tacit side of his actions. She had her own endless vows but if she said words could describe that, it would be an understatement.

A masculine hand rested on her shoulder, she turned it was Dheeraj. She gulped the water he gave and made her sit without exchanging a word.

“I has heading towards home after the meeting with him when I received a call about his accident and the immediately I ran towards the hospital. And then all I did was trying your number until you picked.”

“I…”

He hushed her down as if he could understand all her reasons. “You do not need to give any explanations Aanya I know what you might be going through. Shivika told me everything. It’s okay just know I am there and I am not leaving you any soon.” He said and smiled.

The words he spoke out could not do anything other than loathe herself even more. She wondered why mutual feelings arise so rare. She knew Dheeraj loved her but why she could not give him a chance. Her experience had made her so feeble that there is nothing left inside her to give, the only reason she gave herself to water her own satisfaction. When we fall short of reasons to explain our actions how easily we make them up just a give self satisfaction. A truth we fail to accept. In case her reasons were true then how come today her love was pouring for the one who left her long back. How could this be explained.

“Who is she?” she pointed to the girl just sitting adjacent to Dheeraj.

“She is Agrima, Gaurav’s daughter” he did want to confide in her with this.

But this was not his choice, she had the right to know. He knew what she will have to go through but he also admired the strong Aanya in her and he will stood always by her side to watch her stumbling steps.

“ Hey Agrima, you have a very pretty name. Where is your mother?”

The small little girl first looked at the stranger and then answered what she knew “Papa says she resides with in us and one day she will meet us.” the innocent answer was all she could utter.

Aanya did not knew what was she supposed to believe. It was now easy to grasp his family for she knew not everyone could wait for their love. Yes, she was tarnished, it broke her to imagine him with any other woman but all her fears vanish in the wake of leashing out two letters A and G together. There was an unusual happiness she felt. Dheeraj could only smile for she knew this was the first thing she would notice. He loved her what his love was selfless without any conditions to get back.

The doctor broke the silence and with that the little angle run towards her father. Aanya was dubious in confronting the one she thought she would never met mortally. But her wait was beyond eternity, it wanted to end soon now. Dheeraj gave her assurance she needed. The sound of the the opening door diverted the four eyes to it. Gaurav exclaimed it to be his illusion for he had no reason to admire such a beautiful reality. For him Aanya was an unforgettable past because of which he felt blessed.

“Aanya” the pale face uttered. Aanya stood by his bed, the formal conversation showed their separation of ages and when Dheeraj escorted Agrima the dead silence killed them.

“Aanya I am sorry, I did not let you know that I had a meeting in your office because I knew what your reaction will be. I realize that I hurt you in past but it was not easy for me too. When you cut all contacts with me I realised your importance, it was a very difficult phase for me too, I did not knew that you played such an imperative role in my life, I tried to contact you but Shivika did not let me. She was right I was no good for you. And then with in year my parents forced me to marry Riddhima, our family friend. She was pretty, smart but I could never get over you, I failed be a good husband. I know she deserved all the happiness but I could not give her. I was weak Aanya. And when I was first handed my princess I trembled, I named her Agrima the first moment I saw her because all I could see in her was you but then I was suspicious about my role as a father and then I pledged to give her all the happiness of the world. But now I do not see that happening, I could not able to beautify any life on this earth. I was failed and mocked on every stage.”

The tears were his accumulated pain she let them go, it was necessary. Aanya felt in dilemma whether to slap him or to cry with him. She chose the second as sometimes letting go is better than holding on. Both of them cried endlessly. She could not spoke a single word neither the words were needed. The pain was so immense that it would became difficult to count on its reasons. It seemed that the bright golden light absorbed them in after a century of darkness. For the mortal world he was gone but still Aanya had part in her in which he lived forever.

“Aanya are you okay?” the only consoling hand was of Dheeraj.

“Dheeraj I have decided something I have decided to adopt Agrima.” the words were not astonishing for he knew that she could see a little ten year old in Agrima and she could not let her history repeat itself. Her scratches were still alive. She could not let Gaurav fail this time.

“Aanya can I ask you something?” though she was amazed by this response, he was not startled, he understood her more than she think he does. “Aanya can we raise her together?”

If we want we may lighten the lamp of our lives our blew it in seconds. It depends on us and yes it does. The full fled family of Dheeraj, Aanya and Agrima is a true example.

Stone Paper Scissors and our Love

Stone-

The best moral story I liked as a kid was,” The fox and the grapes”. The fox after all its attempts realised that the grapes were not worth its effort. Similarly despite my attempts to outshine Divyanth I finally realised that it was not worth it. Divyanth! Oh! How she hated that name! I did not know whether the fox developed a deep frown between its eyes whenever “Grapes” were mentioned but I did whenever his name was mentioned. This meant most of the times when I was in my colony and always when I was with my Mother. Most of the times I felt that I was talking to Divyanth’s mother and not to Roshni (my) mother.

My mother had transferred all the love she had had once felt for the unborn boy child to the colony hero,”Divyanth”.
Divyanth! Though I had never seen him. I was sure I could be able to shoot arrows of anger at him (Like in those mythological movies and Animax cartoons) if I encounter with him face to face . So What if he was admitted to the prestigious St.Victor’s School I was in the second best Mother Theresa School. What if he had won maths Olympiad three years in a row I was the runner up of Science Olympiad four years of now. So what if he had been interviewed by “The Hindu” I had been interviewed by our local” Gangapur Times”. So what if he had been offered an acting offer from MVA Studios to act as a younger version of the Super Star in his next film. The seventh standard Abhijeet living next door said I looked better than all the actresses put together in his mis spell love letter. And now I was eagerly waiting for the results of the Twelfth Board that am sure could get me admission in the best colleges.

“Yeah! You are better than Divyanth. Don’t keep in mind the things that Mom, Aunt Leila and Aunt Sheila were bragging about him. You can do it. I am the best” I said aloud to my image in the mirror. I tucked that stray adamant hair back into my ear and checked myself in the mirror. I went through the list of things to be packed for the retreat that we were to go with our locality. I was to be the Monitor of all the girls in our locality. There were in total 25 girls and 20 boys. Divyanth was to be the Monitor for the boys.

The retreat had gone mostly smoothly. It was fun going for ski rides with my friends. It was fun playing in the snow with the kids. It was fun throwing them at the boys when they passed by. It was fun watching the couple games being played by our parents. It was even fun trying to scold the kids when they did something wrong.

But all the fun, my happiness, my enjoyment came crashing down with one instant and with one throw of a stone.
It was the last day of the retreat. There was just 6 hours left before we could pack our bags. And 12 hours left for our train journey to our home. I looked once again at the snow clad mountains. There is something indescribable about snow, rain, the early morning sun and dew. It just fills your heart with contentment and bliss that can’t be paralleled by any movie, book, series, and food.

I sighed aloud. I wished I could stay here forever. I don’t know how long I had zoning back like this. But I was brought back to earth by an ear splitting cry.

“JUST GET LOST YOU DEVIL” six year old Akshay was pulling the pigtails of five year old Anjali who was weeping silently. I rushed to the spot cursing myself for not minding them earlier. I tried to separate those two who seemed determine to rip off each other‘s head or at least hair.

For a boy who was just a scrawny- pesky -six year old Akshay got out of my grasp each time I tried to pull him away from Anjali. My frustration was increasing while my strength was decreasing. The fact that toddlers who were with Akshay and Anjali were cheering for their respective counterparts made me lose every bit of patience I had. I was just one second away from swearing in the worst language I had learned. Then suddenly out of nowhere Divyanth out of nowhere and picked up Akshay as though he were a doll.

“Hey. Hey break it up Akshay. What’s going on here?” he said. He managed to calm the rebellious toddlers and proceeded to hear the reason for fight.

Though I was acting all cool inside I was seething with anger. I knew I had to be glad that he had come here to control the situation. But for some reason I wished I had been able to control the situation without his help. Maybe I could have done a better chance handling the situation if only I had been given five minutes more. I don’t know how he was making sense of their childish word and reasoning. I was not able to understand the reason of their fight at all but he was nodding patiently all the while patting Anjali’s head in an affectionate manner.

After listening to their babyish talk I concluded that the fight had started with a cricket game. When the boys were playing cricket they were disturbing the girls playing hopscotch nearby. The infuriated girls under Anjali’s captainship had successfully stolen their ball. And in a fight I still don’t understand this part they had hurled the stone at the nearby cottage.

So the conclusion of the fight was that Akshay now had to apologise to Anjali and the owners of the cottage who could come back in the evening.

I was just about to use my favourite quote on mistakes and forgiveness thereby persuading Akshay to regret his mistakes and make him a better person.

But once again Divyanth beat me to it.

In a playful voice he ruffled Akshay’s voice and said, “You seriously have gotten angry for a small thing, Akshay. Now apologise to her for messing up her pigtails (here he affectionately pinched Anjali’s cheeks). Come on. Then I will go with Anjali so she can explain about this mess to the cottage owners.”

“What” I asked surprised at his ridiculous handling,“Why should Anjali ask sorry to the owners?” I asked

“Because she threw the ball at the window” he said in an obvious manner.

“Yeah. But if Akshay had not irritated her she could never have done that.” I argued my tone rising a bit higher.

“Well. If they did not irritate the “Young Challengers” (name of their cricket team) by taking the ball. This could not have happened.” He replied his voice also rising higher.

“WHAT IRRITATE!!! They were the ones who started the fight when they marked the place where the girls playing as FOUR. And purposely aimed their shots there.” I said as my nose begun to flare up.

“For heaven’s sake it’s not FOUR. Its BOUNDARY. And why were they playing in the place the boys were using as BOUNDARY.” His ears were turning a deep shade of pink.

“Because they came here first.”

In five minutes we had forgotten the reason why we had started the fight. We were arguing back and forth with no end watched keenly by the toddlers like audience watching opposing tennis players moving back and forth across the net.
My voice was turning hoarse and tears were starting to form. I was restraining my tear glands which could start functioning any second. I was at my wits end. I had no intention of continuing the fight. But neither had I the intention of giving up to him. I wanted to win this argument and finally make him see the right thing. Maybe it could work…

“Okay! Fine!” He said holding up his hands in surrender.

“Hey!! “ I rejoiced in my mind.

“Let’s do stone paper scissors and settle this “He said holding up his right hand.

“What! Are you FIVE?” I asked surprised at this immature suggestion from Divyanth. Divyanth who according to my mother had dealt with many troubled issues at his him in a matured manner. Was STONE,PAPER,SCISSORS his mature way??

“Why Not?” He snarled back.

We started arguing again and we settled only when the cottage owners came in the view. And I hastily prepared for my first ever stone paper scissors game. We agreed that the one who lost could have to go and say sorry to the cottage owner.

“Stone Paper Scissors. Start” said Akshay appearing in between as the referee as in a boxing match.

I put forth my fist. Divyanth stretched his palm.

“Yeah .I won” He laughed out loud as his paper engulfed my stone.

I glared as much as I could at him.

The “Gangapur Local Retreat Of 2000” does not remind me off the snowy mountains or the funny childish games. It reminds me of the day I stood embarrassed in front of the cottage owners apologising for the wrong doing. Their prickly comment to me about the reckless younger generation of these days (meaning me) still makes me purse my lips.

The Paper-

“We are surely going to lose it,” whispered my pessimistic partner Alisha into my ears. The tears that I had locked up were slowly starting to well up. I tried best to put them back as we watched the stage that we had put up together fall apart. We had spent sleepless days trying to think of the stage and the costumes that could fit the concept of “Shakespearian Era” for the intercultural Theatrical Competition. But now everything was ruined. All thanks to the miserliness of our Professor who had refused to lend the funds at the last minute. Due to lack of funds we had to finish the stage with some beg, borrowed and stolen sticks. And despite our numerous prayers and assurances from many classmates of who claimed that the “Stick was strong. It will last through the show”, the logs had snapped. The theatrical classic of “Macbeth “had turned into comedy as the stage shook and rumbled for every slight movement of the actors.

I was sitting trying to gulp down the 7 Up that a flirty senior had passed me. But anger, resentment, depression blocked it. And I chocked.

“Careful, Hansa.” Said Alisha patting me on the back. The people at the table briefly stopped their chatter and looked at me. I wiped the water drops clinging to my mouth with my kerchief. And resumed my drinking as though nothing had happened. They also turned their head and resumed their chatter.

“You still upset?” whispered Alisha in ears. “No one is exactly blaming you. They know it was the ‘Barrel Professors’ fault. It’s just that they wish you could somehow have thought of a solution as you were in charge of that.” She lamely concluded her consolation which did not really serve its purpose. Not realising that she had no aptitude for consolations she made another jab at consoling me.

“And moreover everyone has forgotten about it already. Look they are all just yapping, yelling and cheering Divyanth’s race with Ashok.” She said, turning her attention back to the race. Ashok and Divyanth were having “One Shot Race” The one who could take most one shot of the soft drinks.

Divyanth! My anger entered a new dimension. Why is he here? I get that Charu one of my juniors and a part of the cast was his girlfriend. But for that why should he drop by? I had breathed a sigh of relief when he had graduated out of MIT after one year of my joining. That one year was the most depressing year I had ever experienced. I had to deal with the worship of my peers towards Divyanth as if he were the Hero, the Professors references towards him as if he was the one who had literally moved the college to the centre of the world through his excellent academic records.

Despite all these nonsensical worship for our “Bestest Student Leader”,fortunately ,I never got a chance to encounter him face to face during my First Year. But now thanks to his flirty nature which had never seen any of his girlfriend last more than 6 months, I had to put up with his presence now at my Final Year

The race ended in a comic turn of events as a Sprite bottle was opened up under pressure drenching everyone in the carbonated content. I woke up disgusted and made my way for the hotel room leaving the joyous Divyanth and his fangirling crowd.

I walked back to the hotel. I was just making my way to my room after getting the room key when a shy little boy enquired,” Mam, Do you know Priya from WBT college?”.

“Priya?” I wondered, trying to recollect if I had encountered her. Ah! Yeah! The long legged girl form WBT who had did a belly dance during the Dance Round. I nodded.

“Divyanth sir asked me to pass it on to her as soon as the WBT students arrive” He said in a memorised way and thrust the paper into my hands and scampered off. Well! Well! Well! Divyanth was delivering a supposedly romantic chit to belly dance Priya while Charu his So- Called-Girlfriend was here.

I opened the note

“Meet at the usual place. Don’t let them know.”
Luvs,
D.

The charismatic Divyanth! The mesmerising Divyanth! He had been praised all his life to the extent that his flirtish ways were looked upon as a charm . Oh, He can be flirty but he can’t be a flirt and a cheat.

“This can’t be” cried Charu in anguish.

“Are you sure the kid said “Divyanth”” asked Alisha for the third time.

“Yes. Alisha. He said Divyanth. And I am sure. It could not be a mistake or a plot to undermine his relationship with you. And I checked out. There really is a girl named Priya and she has been secretly slipping out since we came here. But her roommate does not know where. His entire caring facade when he came here specifically to celebrate your birthday has a double purpose to it. So you need to snap out of it and show him you are above his filthy dirty ways. You give him a piece of your mind so that he understands that girls are not fools to be cheated on.” I practically yelled at the end of our two hour long session of anguish, crying and consolation.

“Yes. You are right. “Said Charu getting up wiping her kajal smeared face. She squared her shoulders. She made up her mind with a defiant expression. Then turned to me and said in a pleading voice, “But will you come with me, SIS?”

I had finished reading the menu for the third time.

“Why is he taking so long? “ I groaned looking at Charu. She paused in the middle of her phone conversation with one of her friends about her “Being cheated story”, and said, “He is usually a half hour or so late for our dates?”

“Then why did you bring me here one hour before?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“This was the place where we started our relationship.” She said and resumed her conversation of” How Pitiable She Was”.

I slumped lower in the chair and tried to catch up some sleep that I had lost last night due to Charu’s crying session. I had barely closed my eyes when Divyanth burst through the open door with his famous one cheek dimpled smile.
As soon as he reached Charu (as per my many suggestions) slapped him hard against the face. She then followed it up with a string of bad words and complaints about the relationship. She finished it up by crumpling the note and throwing it across his face. Then forgetting her pillar of support (aka me) she stormed out resuming her teary phone conversation.

“Ah, Bye!” I said lamely as Divyanth glanced at me. I picked up my bag and was about to leave.

Divyanth had opened up the note and was scrutinizing it. I was about to head out when he said,
“This is not my handwriting.”He said slowly.

I turned and looked at him baffled.

“Were you the one who gave this note to Charu?” He asked arching his eyebrow.

“ Yeah. A kid of 5 or 6 years old near our hotel asked me to deliver it to Priya of WBT College. He said it was from you” I said in a dignified voice praying that I had not blundered.

“WHAT! Priya’s boyfriend name is Dibyanth and not Divyanth.”

“Ah! You are bluffing “. I replied in a not-so-sure voice.

“I know this because Dibyanth shares the next room in the hotel. And you were supposed to deliver it to Priya and not to Charu. Did you open the chit? “He asked in a dangerously slow voice.

“Mmm. That… Yeah. I opened it because I wanted to protect my junior in case her boyfriend was bluffing.” I replied back in a noble way.

“Stop acting concerned. First try to learn some manners and then act noble.” He said and was about to leave the place in a huff.

But my ego was hurt even though it was my fault so I continued,” Oh, as if you are concerned about her. If you had even a tiny bit of concern to your relationship, you could have stopped her and explained the situation to her instead of asking me to learn manners.”

“Don’t comment on my relationship as if you know about it” he said his anger slowly seeping into his slow voice.

“The whole world knows about your skittish relationship” I shot back

“Yeah! And the whole world also knows about your earth quaky stage “he shot back. His temper rising by the minute.
Soon we were taking pot-shots at each other and abusing each other verbally on academic, cultural, gender and what –not grounds.

People were pointing at us openly. Waiters were hurriedly whispering to the manager. Our angry argument was continuing. And I realised he was not going to give up. I also knew that I was to blame. I wanted to retort to his hurting pot shots on my failure at the Student Council election, but, I decided to put an end to this.

“Okay. Let’s just stop this. Let’s do “Stone Paper Scissors”. Whoever wins says ‘Sorry’, since we both are to blame.” I said in a matter- of-fact tone.

A glimpse of recognition crossed his eyes. He recounted a similar experience in the Local Retreat with a fiery feminist girl. The same girl who was now using his tactic.

“Okay. Lets do it. But instead of Sorry let’s just say the one who loses has to hug the other.”

“What?” I asked looking at him incredulously.

“What? A hug adds a year to your life and all that screaming and arguments just subtracted one form mine. So let’s just level it.”

I don’t know what made me agree to this stupid suggestion.

Stone. Paper. Scissors.

I put forth scissor.

He put forth stone.

He winked at me as his stone crushed my scissor.

We got up. I awkwardly put my arms around his muscular figure and pulled apart as soon as my head bumped into his shoulder. The colour in my cheeks were rising as I rushed out of the hotel.

“See you around” Divyanth’s parting words were reverberating in my mind for a very long time. But I did not see him around for years till my unluckiest day.

Love at First Sight….Romantical Disorder!!!

It is an aberrant celebration, my first heart break with my wretched loneliness…drunk thoroughly and wishing if she could come again and we will become together like we were in past. I found myself probably be a culprit of romantical disorder,a situation in which you tends to give condolence to your scattered heart that one day someone better will come for you to entrench your heart with love. It took eight years four girls and one heart break to feel the immortal meaning of four letters LOVE and then I realized the pain felt by those girls whom I ditched deceptively with As if care philosophy. I always succeeded in finding escape route in every relationship but somehow today feeling besmirch for these routes. I closed my eyes and lock myself into past lives I absconded in my life…..

Shweta(2004,Lucknow)

First love is moreover a attraction with toppings of foolishness and real ingredients of curiosity tastes best when served hot. I was in 10th std and every other guy in our class found himself to be very close to Raj of DDLJ looking for his Simran in every other girl so how come I remained untouched from this midas touch, infact I tagged my nickname as Sid which looks cool instead of Siddharth that sounds a little boring to me. Shweta aka my Simran, although she was real love of my life until she got married, was my first love of first sight.

Our story took pace from cricket ground and got a dead end at boards result. I was sports captain of school which made me popular among girls but my dream girl was Shweta, exactly opposite to me she was school captain & won many accolades in math & science olympiads but somehow our chemistry of understanding with each other and mathematics of love kept relationship balanced although she always used to helped me out in studies and moreover she act as moral booster for me. It was my last cricket match and I was bit emotional for this although our school was already out of tournament but I wanted to make it better for her as she came first time to saw me as a sportsperson and also it was our last day in school before boards, I scored some boundaries but got out early then I ran towards her..

“So Mr. Cricketer got out……I believed it’s the time….you should have to be serious for the studies and better to focus on boards …Already wasted too much time for this tournament. I am telling you..You have to score good marks and compete for engg. entrance otherwise it becomes a dark future for both of us “ She said in one go.

“dark future…what’s that…are you alright or got insane…I haven’t wasted my time, its more like an achievement for me like engg. entrance to you…and I thought we had lot of time for future management “I replied

“Siddharth let me clear to you…life is fun filled entertainment for you may be it’s the way you want to live but my perception is different, its more on practical approach and if you really love me then you have to make it for entrance.”She said

“If I will not then…”I gigled

“Then I would never like to see your face….it will be painful and hurt me more but enough for you to remember me for lifelong”She said and left the place and since my destiny was somewhere else I was never be able to met her again as neither I scored good in boards nor in any competitive entrances. I got news of her marriage after some years from my fellows.There is no difference between a wise man and a fool when they fall in love and I chose to be a wise man.

Palak(2006,Lucknow)

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged cupid painted blind…I took this statement with my heart and moving ahead. I was going through a bad phase as I lose girl with a handful of bad results in boards that left me in devastated state of mind…then I saw Palak…again love at first sight. Her charismatic presence in small town bus stand made my cupid blew again for sometime and coincidentally I felt more blessed by god as she chose to sit besides me in bus. Now,it was my turn as I knew there’s never a second chance…she was feeling little uncomfortable of remaining cupids of bus staring at her as they haven’t saw a girl before.

“If you don’t mind….you can come and sit here”I said offering her window seat

“Hmmmm…..thanks, its alright”she paused

“Well!..Sorry to bother you…I am not comfortable here…can I sit at your place” she whispered and signaling her eyes towards those lusty poor eyes that were tucked on her.

“I understand..”I replied and it was a bingo notion for me…green signal I was looking for.

“Lucknow…I mean you’re going to lucknow”I took responsibility on my shoulders for initiating conversation

“Obviously, yes…that’s a non-stop bus to Lucknow”she replied annoyingly

Her rough statement made my cupid looks like stupid and I thought as if why I offered her seat, it also gave a 100 watts glow to faces of the rest of cupids those were still staring her. For next two hours I felt like I got caged in a cell for some hours with penalty on letting any word from my vocal chords. Bus halted for dinner and this time she came to me as I was still sitting quite on my place.

“I am really extremely very sorry for my behavior…I hope you understand…can we go out for dinner” she said and smiled all the way

A man is already halfway done if women sounds sweet….i already got the music of cupid conspiracy again.

“Well!..it would be my pleasure having date on first meeting with a stranger at strange place like dhaba”I replied with mix of naugty voice

“Stranger…no…I am Palak…friends..”She replied and forwards her soft touch of hands

“Siddharth…..friends call me Sid” I answered and banged on

“Are you like this or is there anything special today…”she laughed

“It happens often with me but it seems to me we can make this conversation even more spicy with hot meal”I replied and she laughed loudly

Then we had dinner at dhaba and I experienced one the most romantic and unusual date of my life. We shared every part of our life for whole night and I was hoping that this night will never get dawn. We reached to our destination and shared the contact details and then she used to call me everyday using his uncle’s mobile. Things were like sweet songs for me till the day she reacted like a girl and asked for our future plans. Girls are sweet but when questioning for future plans like job and marriage it’s a signal of danger and all sweetness turned into bitterness that isn’t easy to swallow. While going through to this filmy love story we met and spent a lot of day & nights too & the time has came for me to say bye to her and I started avoiding her but she sticks to me like quick fix bond and soon I cleared her everything as I got admission in mass com college in Delhi.

My phone was ringing continuously and finally I picked…

“I am busy in making projects….why are you calling me continuously, will call you as soon as I will get free” I said annoyingly

“you will never……..I thought you forgot me and trying to avoid me, you are similar to those boys who use girls and play with their emotions…why you done this to me, I only need a reason?” She questioned

That’s a moment I was waiting for….a perfect moment to finish everything.

“Yes, you are right…I am among those who use girls like chewing gum first I chew until its sweet then threw it away….happy you….now please stop this all non sense and let me live happily” I cleared her in one go

“No….i will not…will not leave you easily…what the hell you think of yourself”….she replied and meanwhile I drop the call.

She messaged me continuously with all her sentimental enchants but I already made my mind and shared her contact info with my friends and after some days she called me with some other contact no.

“Listen to me you ba**ard….i am getting calls from so many boys talking cheaply with me and you are the only guy with whom I shared my contact number..you are really a waste guy…now listen to me very clearly..”She paused while talking and I sensed the notion of her low voice mingled with a ton of tears
“you are the biggest mistake of my life and request you to never do this with anyone in future and keep one thing in your mind that you will never get a real love in life ever…….you will feel my words one day and I promise… that day, you will feel what you really did with our relationship and to me……Good bye & I wish you will take care of yourself” She completed and ended her finishing speech.

Although I knew practically I should felt guilty for what I did with her but I celebrated that night with drinks and thanked all friends for supporting me in this needful cause. Love at first sight is possible but it always pays to take a second look.

Parul (Ambala 2009)

It was my cousin’s wedding at Ambala and unfortunately I met with Parul as I was trying to get rid of curse of being single. She was relative of my dear sister’s friend came here to attend wedding but I was ready and cautious too because she was very close to my sister and within a span of day became close my family and specially my mother. My uncle gave me responsibility of taking care of all the guests and outdoor works despite of this I was rather keen on my target. It was wee hours of night and I managed to found a corner of roof for my dear cigarettes those were uttering to lit. I was feeling as if I partaked the heaven after every puff and all of sudden a flash of heavy light striked on my face and I felt like as if I was in hell.

“hmmmmmm…smoking, every single person of your family thought you a very gentle guy,what if I show them these pics….you are really looking like a gentleman in these pics”she threaten me

“Oh! Really…can I have a look on these pics.I never saw myself smoking even in front mirror or in dreams”I replied

“very smart…you can have a pleasure of looking yourself while smoking and don’t worry your smartness won’t worked here as I already locked the pics….poor boy …couldn’t be deleted anymore “She said very smartly

“What do you want…”I asked

“nothing…just throw away the rest of pack and I will delete the pictures that’s my promise”she replied

I heard somewhere never listen to women if you are in trouble unfortunately rest of my life was in her mobile although I never followed the command of girl in my life but its always a first time so I responded to her order and threw the pack.

“Happy!…”I said showing my displeasure

“No…promise me you will never smoke again, then…”She responded to my ugly expressions with sweet smile

“okay!…Thats because I always respect and value the advice of good girls.I will not promise you but will try..thats a gentle promise from a gentle person whom you found very gentle a moment ago..”I answered

“So..Gentleman its time to say good night…see you in morning”She waved her hands and left with smile

Her smile was enough for my lost morale booster and the next morning came with a new story….

“Siddharth….are you going somewhere”she asked to me

“Yeah…going to pick vegetables for evening event”I replied

“Actually…if you won’t mind..i want to buy some stuff from market,you know its famous for Lehangas and all”She said

“Oh! Really,that’s great….come and why should I mind..we have enough space in car but in ten minutes”I replied and my heart was beating more than thousand beats per second now

“thanks a lot..will come in five minutes”she replied and hugged me

Her hugged made my heart beats ten times more than previous and I started making plans for next few hours.

I accompanied her in shopping as it was a hurricane task…she almost took four hours for choosing a Lehanga which made me little helpless although it gave me opportunity to spent more time with her,we did lunch together and shared our views with each other.She got excited when I let her my hobby of writing poems and stories that’s other thing it was playing guitar with Palak so I added a new feather to my hat for Parul…what to do she was fond of reading novels and poems.

Now onwards that roof corner place became our meeting place and I used to show her my poems with the help of almighty google clicks that helped me a lot. She came closer to me in few days and with more closeness finally it came the final day….years after years and girls after girls it’s the only question that made me freaked out the best….what about future plans?…

It is said that There is a women behind every successful men because women prefer a secured future and its always with successful men and my future till the date showing no success plans so when she asked for my future plans… I chose to follow my best plan….Escape route policy and it works much better in more worst conditions.

I was feeling tired after vidai event and all family members were busy in packing their stuffs meanwhile she called me at same place the roof corner and gave me a pen…

“Finally my searches for best thing for you ended with this pen…keep this with you and I hope one day you will write something original of your own and don’t forget to send those stories & poems to me. I shared the best of my life’s time with you in these few days and I hope one day someone will really make you a gentle guy,someone for whome you want to be a gentle one….that’s it” she completed and left the place without giving me a chance for explanation.
A woman has got to love a bad man once in her life to be thankful for a good one.

Mitali(2012..Delhi)

Its more than three years since I fell in enigma of love as I decided never to fall in love at first sight if anything comes to me I should have looked twice thrice or as many times I could try also I became more mature, career oriented and It was a good first opportunity I received on the professional front and indeed a opportunity on personal front too may be because it was not planned by me may be because it was planned by destiny to teach me a lesson for lifetime.

My life was going absolutely good until I met with Mitali. She was the first girl for whom my heart for the first time in life said Love at first sight as anyone can catch your eye but it takes something special to catch your heart. My mind always yelling for a try but my heart wanted to be real in front of her as there was some magic in her simplicity,a aura of beauty that makes her different from other girls. We worked into same organization and with the passage of time we became good close friends.She changed me completely and then she changed.

My mornings commuted with her greetings and nights called off with her wishes. I felt finally something that I never with any girl in my life but I was in dilemma whether to let these feelings to her as I there was always fear of losing her and one day finally I said whatever in my heart.

“Hey…Mitali,I want to say something to you..Please don’t mind” I said

“As if I ever mind…stupid I don’t have mind, tell me” She replied

“Nothing…there is something like burden on me, just thought… would share with you but its not that important “I said after a pause

“OK….will not force you but still if you have something that you want to share then feel free to share it”she replied

“hmmmmm…..see its just…want to tell you that I respect you and had lot of care for you…..”I paused after few words

“so that’s you want to share with me..”She asked me

“I like you as a person”I replied in one go

“anything else…its alright..i am in rush…leaving”she replied

That was our last friendly conversation…..friendly means after that converstion,she bothered and ignored me so much that gave me feeling of dejection…no wonder I tried so much to cleared the things to secure our friendship but the relation got devastated. Finally I asked her the reason of bothering me..

“Why are you doing all this…what the hell I did that changed you?…..tell me whatever you feel…truth”I questioned

“I never see you like this…..and moreover I feel uncomfortable with you and now when you have asked so let me clear you….I thought if we continue with this friendship…you will again feel whatever you felt before and I don’t want you to feel bad again and again….so better is to leave everything here and move forward to our ways”She answered

“I just let my feelings in front of you….i just said I like you….ok..ok..so it means we are friends no more?”I said aguishly

“Yes…..and its not necessary that the person will feel that you feel for him/her and please don’t questioned me again”she replied and leave

I was expecting some thunderstorm…heavy wind, rain with boring heart breaking background score that seemed to be happens in our movies in real heart break situations. I kept shouting on her for whatever she did with me then i remembered the golden words of all girls in quick sequence somewhere back on mind.

May be a woman never forgets the men she could have had but a man never forgets the woman he couldn’t.

A steer noise of continuous knocking on door unlock my eyes…Its already eight of morning and I am lying like a nauseous and tingly over romantical disorder man on chair .

“Sid…open the door”Its Swati knocking the door

Swati is my new collegue in office…..I am getting late,let me open the door for her.
Finally I realized something in life that honesty is the key to relationship but if you can fake it, you are in.

15th of February

There are certain days in life, that are more beautiful than others. Arun and Vaisya had reasons to hope that, the 15th of February 2014, being their wedding day, would be one such day. It was early morning and almost time for the ceremony to begin. All the nervousness and wedding jitters gave way to excitement and expectation from the day.

Vaisya was at the mandapam, almost ready with her make-up, and being clicked by the now fashionable candid photographers. Arun preferring to spend the last night of bachelorhood at his house with friends, was starting his wedding day accompanied by the usual adult jokes about marriage and honeymoon.

Arun and Vaisya were always destined to be together. They had known each other from childhood, as their families were friends and very distant relatives. It was neither a love nor an arranged marriage strictly. It was probably a marriage by de-fault. It was bound to happen as both parents had always wanted it.

Arun, amidst all the hurry of getting ready, had some time for himself only in the shower where he started acknowledging the biggest day of his life. Right from his first crush at std.IV, his entire life of flirts, romance and love flashed before him. He was happy about getting married to Vaisya, but still she wasn’t his first love.

Arun then wore the traditional dress and started giving his final touch-ups while his friends left to get the prestigious groom’s car ready. “Come soon, we will wait down” said his friends.

Arun tried his best to not remind himself about certain things, but, the more he wanted to forget it, especially on the day of his wedding, the more he was remembering it.

15th of February 2010

Arun had  completed college and was yet to place himself in a job. That day he had gone to the beach as usual to meet his friends and there stood Janavi, the girl he loved the most and the girl who understood him the most. They were just friends, after Janavi turned down Arun’s proposal on the farewell day a few months ago. It was her birthday and Arun had deliberately not wished her.

She stood there surrounded by all of Arun’s friends. For the sake of decency, Arun wished her for the birthday. Just like that, when he least expected, Janavi hugged him  with all the friends cheering on.

Janavi looked onto Arun’s eyes and said  “if you ask me the same question again, my answer is yes”.

Arun was in disbelief and ecstasy at the same moment.

Arun was never lost like that before. His mind was full of thoughts from why she had earlier declined his proposal, and why she was accepting it now, what role his friends had in this turnaround, and many many more questions. However, none of it really mattered.

Arun coming to terms with the reality of having got what he wanted the most in his life, well apart from a job, hugged back Janavi and said :

” Two years and you will be my wife, I promise”.

15th of February 2012

Gone are the days, when the date of marriage was determined by the astrologer. Gen-next have their date of marriage fixed much before, as a part of the wedding dreams. Be it the date of their parents’ wedding, first meeting, proposal date or like Janavi wanted, her birthday.

The biggest deviance from Janavi’s wedding dreams though was that it wasn’t Arun that she was getting married to. When her parents said they were getting her the best life, all that they ever meant was that her husband earned well and yes, in american dollars.

Only one year or so after graduation, Janavi was introduced in the marriage market by her parents. They received heavy bids, and Arun was no match to any of the contenders. Janavi though gave him the wild card entry, and the girl’s father–girl–girl’s boyfriend–boyfriend’s friends meeting happened. The meeting went as usual. The boyfriend was declared the low earning, careless, joyful, irresponsible youth who corrupted the girl.

Really, Arun had no where to go. Arun and Janavi had long decided that they would not be the “run-from-house” lovers. Further, Arun’s parents also shut him up by asking to get a job first and without their support and recommendation, he could never get placed as a husband in the recruitment process of Janavi’s parents.

Earlier, when the marriage talks first surfaced, Janavi wanted to buy time for Arun to get settled. But then, she never got a choice in determining when she wanted to get married. When a probable spouse was identified, Janavi dropped the bombshell about Arun. She did not get a choice of whom she wanted to get married to either.

Right to choose when to get married, and to whom, is probably the largest violated personal right in our country.

Arun was everything he could be, everything that Janavi wanted her husband to be. Yet, her parents decided that he was not suited and can’t be trusted with Janavi’s life, a decision they arguably had no capacity to make in the first place.

Janavi got to choose the wedding date, colour of dresses, theme of the marriage hall, and a host of other trivial stuff, and at the end, the parents had the better bargain. They succeeded in not only getting Janavi married to a person of their choice, but  also in making Janavi understand and accept their decision.

This change of Janavi confused, startled and broke Arun. Janavi was taken to her relative’s place in another city for a few months, brainwashed and when she came back, it was as if, her entire college life and the months with Arun was erased from history.

When Arun saw Janavi with her groom on stage in her wedding, he really wished to kill her. He anyways had enough reasons and motives to do so. He did attend Janavi’s wedding with his friends, which was celebrated on exactly the same date he promised to marry her. On the stage, everyone including Janavi were all smiles and lovely. Even Janavi’s parents greeted Arun and he said to himself “Yes, after all, her college life is deleted”. Janavi deliberately avoided even an eye-contact with Arun even as he tried to, in the few minutes on stage as Janavi’s groom was introducing himself to all the other friends with the brightest of smiles.

15th of February 2014

Arun couldn’t be sure as to why tears rolled down. Having moved on with life, having settled down, and getting married today, a date he intentionally chose, he felt that this probably was the position that Janavi was in on her wedding day. He felt very guilty that he thought very bad of Janavi as to how she could marry someone else. Arun himself was to be married to Vaisya today, but couldn’t stop thinking of Janavi. He thought that Janavi would have also felt the same on her wedding day. He left for the mandapam collecting himself and trying to focus on the wedding.

Janavi, now settled in Manhattan, was woken up from her sleep on the buzz of her mobile. She received a message which read:-

” hi. Hope all is well. just thought u should know. Arun is getting married today. Some distant relative gal. We are on the way to the mandapam. Will send pics soon. Tc ”

Janavi was silenced for a while. She was aware of the date today. She just kept looking at her mobile. This emotion of Janavi had no name or description. She smiled a little and cried a little. She then ran to the balcony, stood there just by herself and kept looking east.

Arun reached the mandapam, greeted everybody and was to join the wedding ceremony. Janavi came back to her room, checked on her six month old baby, and proceeded to the kitchen.

Both of them were in different parts of the world and in completely different situations where different duties of life were ahead of them, but they were united at the present moment in their thoughts.

Arun’s thought before getting on the wedding dias was that when Janavi accepted his proposal, along with the hug, she could have probably given a small peck on his cheeks. Janavi came running back from the kitchen to the room, lifted her baby, smiled, cuddled, gave a peck on its cheeks and said “Arun pappa, I love you” .

Arun and Janavi will certainly get back to their lives, get back to the commitments they made with their spouses, adhere to social values and norms and basically live the life which is forced upon them.

But, the thoughts and feelings that they share today and those that they certainly will share in the future years, is one that defies reason, logic, decency, values, customs, practicality and therefore is perhaps the best expression of LOVE which is at its best when it’s true and most potent when separated !!!

A kiss along the rain

“I can never be 22 again”, she said to the mirror. A new wrinkle at the corner of her eye added strength to the fact that she was ageing.

Anne was in her favorite white sleeveless shirt and lilac garden skirt that overflown upto her knees. Grabbing her hat from the curtain pole she stole a glance through the window. David was by the fence with his eyes stuck on the waves. No matter how busy and tired he was, Sunday evening was reserved for some time at the beach.’Though he cannot be the same David again’,she thought to herself. She couldn’t remember the last time when his lips were on hers.

David was in his worn-out jeans and grey T-shirt that made him look more older than he was. Sensing the footsteps behind, he moved forward. She felt a bit disappointment but faking a smile she struggled to keep up to his pace.
Every time his hand brushed against her own she felt a sudden impulse which failed to produce goose-bumps;because she knew they were getting older and romance had bid good-bye to him(but not to her).

“Lets not go too far”, said he looking away from her. She talked to him continuously to which he replied in ‘Ahs’ and ‘Hmms’.

It was early June but the rain hadn’t made its entry.

Wiping the sweat pearls on her forehead she gave up talking as she knew she was making him bored. She moved towards the ocean.

Suddenly David took a step ahead of her and stared in her eyes. His hands interlocked around her waist and pulled her towards him.

The breeze threw her hat off and her hair danced to the inaudible music. She shuddered and David tightened his grip.
He traced her cheek bone and removed a strand of hair from her face. “You are beautiful”, he whispered in her ears. Anne could find herself on toes and her lips shivered.

He leaned in to kiss her and it was raining heavily.

The Man I Always Wanted

I met a guy yall, a guy that is for me . Designed for me. It was written for me to end up with him and no one else. He is not just a guy or any guy for that fact, but a man. This man ummm. He has charm , he is smart and so handsome. When I see him he gives me chills. He is a God souled man who sinned all his life til now. Since he changed his life he now he wants a wife , a family , a future and with me and my child . I prayed for this man all my days.

Since I was 13 I wanted a man like this yet could never find him anywhere. Not at home, not at school, not at work, not on the block. No where. Till I got my divorce and gave my life to God and began going to church with my son faithfully every Sunday. I loved Sundays. Sundays I heard the word of God from a preacher that I swore spoke to me only.

He once said God blesses a woman who is scorned. The good Lord knows I have been scorned time and time again. I have been used , cheated on. I have been forced to be a prostitute, I have had men who slept with my friends, I have had men who will say they love me and hurt me with fists and words in the same minute. I have been called every name in the book by a man. Well I shouldn’t describe any of my ex’s as men they are nothing, but childish boys who God will deal with in his own way in his own time.

I wish no harm on anyone who did me wrong. The Lord knows my heart. Through my cries, my pain, my depression , my heartache, my sorrow, my lost, the backstabbing I endured. I never wish harm on these people. I know the best revenge is to live well. Though they may say this new God souled love may hurt me. Only God knows. I rather take my chances on a man of God then with a man of the devil.

It took many many years for me to realize it was time to walk out on my last so called love. The one who I thought was the one and whom I wanted to marry , have kids and spend the rest of my life with. I don’t question God. I know he puts people in our lives for a reason and many times I said why these ex’s came in my life and hurt me instead of some many others out there. I know that is not a way to think. Blessed indeed I am they did enter my world with out them I would never knew what real love feels like. A man can buy me things, cook for me and it means nothing if they can not treat a woman the way she wants to be treated.

This God souled handsome man calls me every day, texts me and asks how my day is going. He tells me Im gorgeous even though my past relationship broke me to the point I had no self esteem and made me feel I was nothing with out him. This new love is fresh and we can hold hands and walk together. He brags about me and dislike men who hit or hurt women. Don’t get me wrong we have plently of disagreements. There is also things about eachother we don’t like. When it comes to communication though we both talk in soft voices and listen to the other and wait til the other is finished to get our point across. We tell each other nicely what we need to work on and we compliment each other and encourage each other every day. The best part is he loves my son.

I am not at all in a rush for my son to call him dad. I am however in a rush to start my family with him. It feels as if I was missing him my whole life. I need this. I haven’t cried , no headaches, no stress, not worried about other women , and not worried about him putting his hands on me. I need this life of peace and content. My friends and family love him. My son loves him. All I needed was the strength to walk away from the past to gain the best future. I should have been left that old life. Sometimes things need time to fall into place and it finally falling into place for me.

I love my guys ..my son and my man my God souled man. It’s us forever . Praise the Lord and thank you Father God. Amen.

Eliza Riley

Return to Paradise

Lisa gazed out over the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face - eyes shut, the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here.

     She had married James right here on this spot three years ago to the day. Dressed in a simple white shift dress, miniature white roses attempting to tame her long dark curls, Lisa had been happier than she had ever thought possible. James was even less formal but utterly irresistible in creased summer trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His dark hair slightly ruffled and his eyes full of adoration as his looked at his bride to be. The justice of the peace had read their vows as they held hands and laughed at the sheer joy of being young, in love and staying in a five star resort on the Caribbean island of the Dominican Republic. They had seen the years blissfully stretching ahead of them, together forever. They planned their children, two she said, he said four so they compromised on three (two girls and a boy of course); where they would live, the travelling they would do together - it was all certain, so they had thought then.

     But that seemed such a long time ago now. A lot can change in just a few years - a lot of heartache can change a person and drive a wedge through the strongest ties, break even the deepest love. Three years to the day and they had returned, though this time not for the beachside marriages the island was famous for but for one of its equally popular quickie divorces.

     Lisa let out a sigh that was filled with pain and regret. What could she do but move on, find a new life and new dreams? - the old one was beyond repair. How could this beautiful place, with its lush green coastline, eternity of azure blue sea and endless sands be a place for the agony she felt now?

     The man stood watching from the edge of the palm trees. He couldn't take his eyes of the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water's edge, gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something - or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the colour of the sea itself. It wasn't her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women in his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could meet.

<  2  >

     Lisa sensed the man approaching even before she turned around. She had been aware of him standing there staring at her and had felt strangely calm about being observed. She looked at him and felt the instant spark of connection she had only experienced once before. He walked slowly towards her and they held each other's gaze. It felt like meeting a long lost friend - not a stranger on a strange beach.

     Later, sitting at one of the many bars on the resort, sipping the local cocktails they began to talk. First pleasantries, their hotels, the quality of the food and friendliness of the locals. Their conversation was strangely hesitant considering the naturalness and confidence of their earlier meeting. Onlookers, however, would have detected the subtle flirtation as they mirrored each other's actions and spoke directly into each other's eyes. Only later, after the alcohol had had its loosening effect, did the conversation deepen. They talked of why they were here and finally, against her judgement, Lisa opened up about her heartache of the past year and how events had led her back to the place where she had married the only man she believed she could ever love. She told him of things that had been locked deep inside her, able to tell no one. She told him how she had felt after she had lost her baby.

     She was six months pregnant and the happiest she had ever been when the pains had started. She was staying with her mother as James was working out of town. He hadn't made it back in time. The doctor had said it was just one of those things, that they could try again. But how could she when she couldn't even look James in the eye. She hated him then, for not being there, for not hurting as much as her but most of all for looking so much like the tiny baby boy that she held for just three hours before the took him away. All through the following months she had withdrawn from her husband, family, friends. Not wanting to recover form the pain she felt - that would have been a betrayal of her son. At the funeral she had refused to stand next to her husband and the next day she had left him.

<  3  >

     Looking up, Lisa could see her pain reflected in the man's eyes. For the first time in months she didn't feel alone, she felt the unbearable burden begin to lift from her, only a bit but it was a start. She began to believe that maybe she had a future after all and maybe it could be with this man, with his kind hazel eyes, wet with their shared tears.

     They had come here to dissolve their marriage but maybe there was hope. Lisa stood up and took James by the hand and led him away from the bar towards the beech where they had made their vows to each other three years ago. Tomorrow she would cancel the divorce; tonight they would work on renewing their promises.

Anton Chekhov

Lady with Lapdog

It was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a beret; a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her.

     And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same beret, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was, and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog."

     "If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected.

     He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long ago -- had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account, almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his presence, used to call them "the lower race."

     It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him, too, to them.

<  2  >

     Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people -- always slow to move and irresolute -- every intimacy, which at first so agreeably diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing.

     One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the beret came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and that she was dull there. . . . The stories told of the immorality in such places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of him.

     He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his finger at it again.

     The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes.

     "He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed.

     "May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?"

     "Five days."

<  3  >

     "And I have already dragged out a fortnight here."

     There was a brief silence.

     "Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at him.

     "That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada."

     She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow. . . . And from her he learnt that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S---- since her marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and fetch her. She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown Department or under the Provincial Council -- and was amused by her own ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna.

     Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel -- thought she would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen. As he got into bed he thought how lately she had been a girl at school, doing lessons like his own daughter; he recalled the diffidence, the angularity, that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of talking with a stranger. This must have been the first time in her life she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed, looked at, and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to guess. He recalled her slender, delicate neck, her lovely grey eyes.

<  4  >

     "There's something pathetic about her, anyway," he thought, and fell asleep.

II

A week had passed since they had made acquaintance. It was a holiday. It was sultry indoors, while in the street the wind whirled the dust round and round, and blew people's hats off. It was a thirsty day, and Gurov often went into the pavilion, and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup and water or an ice. One did not know what to do with oneself.

     In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, bringing bouquets. And two peculiarities of a well-dressed Yalta crowd were very conspicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, and there were great numbers of generals.

     Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then she dropped her lorgnette in the crush.

     The festive crowd began to disperse; it was too dark to see people's faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without looking at Gurov.

     "The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? Shall we drive somewhere?"

     She made no answer.

     Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the fragrance of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously wondering whether any one had seen them.

<  5  >

     "Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly.

     The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous phrases, affectedly, hysterically, with an expression that suggested that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression -- an obstinate desire to snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred, and the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales.

     But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of consternation as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The attitude of Anna Sergeyevna -- "the lady with the dog" -- to what had happened was somehow peculiar, very grave, as though it were her fall -- so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down mournfully; she mused in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a sinner" in an old-fashioned picture.

     "It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now."

     There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of silence.

     Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary candle burning on the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was very unhappy.

<  6  >

     "How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are saying."

     "God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's awful."

     "You seem to feel you need to be forgiven."

     "Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt to justify myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented by curiosity; I wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live! . . . I was fired by curiosity . . . you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I told my husband I was ill, and came here. . . . And here I have been walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; . . . and now I have become a vulgar, contemptible woman whom any one may despise."

     Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the naive tone, by this remorse, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a part.

     "I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?"

     She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him.

     "Believe me, believe me, I beseech you . . ." she said. "I love a pure, honest life, and sin is loathsome to me. I don't know what I am doing. Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled me.' And I may say of myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me."

<  7  >

     "Hush, hush! . . ." he muttered.

     He looked at her fixed, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety returned; they both began laughing.

     Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The town with its cypresses had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still broke noisily on the shore; a single barge was rocking on the waves, and a lantern was blinking sleepily on it.

     They found a cab and drove to Oreanda.

     "I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the board -- Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?"

     "No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox Russian himself."

     At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did not stir on the trees, grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke of the peace, of the eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more. And in this constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so lovely, soothed and spellbound in these magical surroundings -- the sea, mountains, clouds, the open sky -- Gurov thought how in reality everything is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher aims of our existence.

<  8  >

     A man walked up to them -- probably a keeper -- looked at them and walked away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn.

     "There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence.

     "Yes. It's time to go home."

     They went back to the town.

     Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the same questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or gardens, when there was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he looked round in dread of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently passionate, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful.

     They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste to go.

     "It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger of destiny!"

<  9  >

     She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when the second bell had rung, she said:

     "Let me look at you once more . . . look at you once again. That's right."

     She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face was quivering.

     "I shall remember you . . . think of you," she said. "God be with you; be happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever -- it must be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you."

     The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium, that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And he thought, musing, that there had been another episode or adventure in his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a memory. . . . He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, his tone, and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony, the coarse condescension of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had unintentionally deceived her. . . .

     Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold evening.

<  10  >

     "It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. "High time!"

III

At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains.

     Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him. Little by little he became absorbed in Moscow life, greedily read three newspapers a day, and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle! He already felt a longing to go to restaurants, clubs, dinner-parties, anniversary celebrations, and he felt flattered at entertaining distinguished lawyers and artists, and at playing cards with a professor at the doctors' club. He could already eat a whole plateful of salt fish and cabbage.

     In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day before. And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything would rise up in his memory: what had happened on the groyne, and the early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the steamer coming from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his room, remembering it all and smiling; then his memories passed into dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams, but followed him about everywhere like a shadow and haunted him. When he shut his eyes he saw her as though she were living before him, and she seemed to him lovelier, younger, tenderer than she was; and he imagined himself finer than he had been in Yalta. In the evenings she peeped out at him from the bookcase, from the fireplace, from the corner -- he heard her breathing, the caressing rustle of her dress. In the street he watched the women, looking for some one like her.

<  11  >

     He was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to some one. But in his home it was impossible to talk of his love, and he had no one outside; he could not talk to his tenants nor to any one at the bank. And what had he to talk of? Had he been in love, then? Had there been anything beautiful, poetical, or edifying or simply interesting in his relations with Anna Sergeyevna? And there was nothing for him but to talk vaguely of love, of woman, and no one guessed what it meant; only his wife twitched her black eyebrows, and said:

     "The part of a lady-killer does not suit you at all, Dimitri."

     One evening, coming out of the doctors' club with an official with whom he had been playing cards, he could not resist saying:

     "If only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in Yalta!"

     The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned suddenly and shouted:

     "Dmitri Dmitritch!"

     "What?"

     "You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit too strong!"

     These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what people! What senseless nights, what uninteresting, uneventful days! The rage for card-playing, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or getting away from it -- just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison.

     Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation. And he had a headache all next day. And the next night he slept badly; he sat up in bed, thinking, or paced up and down his room. He was sick of his children, sick of the bank; he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk of anything.

<  12  >

     In the holidays in December he prepared for a journey, and told his wife he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young friend -- and he set off for S----. What for? He did not very well know himself. He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna and to talk with her -- to arrange a meeting, if possible.

     He reached S---- in the morning, and took the best room at the hotel, in which the floor was covered with grey army cloth, and on the table was an inkstand, grey with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback, with its hat in its hand and its head broken off. The hotel porter gave him the necessary information; Von Diderits lived in a house of his own in Old Gontcharny Street -- it was not far from the hotel: he was rich and lived in good style, and had his own horses; every one in the town knew him. The porter pronounced the name "Dridirits."

     Gurov went without haste to Old Gontcharny Street and found the house. Just opposite the house stretched a long grey fence adorned with nails.

     "One would run away from a fence like that," thought Gurov, looking from the fence to the windows of the house and back again.

     He considered: to-day was a holiday, and the husband would probably be at home. And in any case it would be tactless to go into the house and upset her. If he were to send her a note it might fall into her husband's hands, and then it might ruin everything. The best thing was to trust to chance. And he kept walking up and down the street by the fence, waiting for the chance. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds were faint and indistinct. Probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing. The front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could not remember the dog's name.

<  13  >

     He walked up and down, and loathed the grey fence more and more, and by now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and was perhaps already amusing herself with some one else, and that that was very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning till night but that confounded fence. He went back to his hotel room and sat for a long while on the sofa, not knowing what to do, then he had dinner and a long nap.

     "How stupid and worrying it is!" he thought when he woke and looked at the dark windows: it was already evening. "Here I've had a good sleep for some reason. What shall I do in the night?"

     He sat on the bed, which was covered by a cheap grey blanket, such as one sees in hospitals, and he taunted himself in his vexation:

     "So much for the lady with the dog . . . so much for the adventure. . . . You're in a nice fix. . . ."

     That morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his eye. "The Geisha" was to be performed for the first time. He thought of this and went to the theatre.

     "It's quite possible she may go to the first performance," he thought.

     The theatre was full. As in all provincial theatres, there was a fog above the chandelier, the gallery was noisy and restless; in the front row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the performance, with their hands behind them; in the Governor's box the Governor's daughter, wearing a boa, was sitting in the front seat, while the Governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his hands visible; the orchestra was a long time tuning up; the stage curtain swayed. All the time the audience were coming in and taking their seats Gurov looked at them eagerly.

<  14  >

     Anna Sergeyevna, too, came in. She sat down in the third row, and when Gurov looked at her his heart contracted, and he understood clearly that for him there was in the whole world no creature so near, so precious, and so important to him; she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lorgnette in her hand, filled his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy, the one happiness that he now desired for himself, and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra, of the wretched provincial violins, he thought how lovely she was. He thought and dreamed.

     A young man with small side-whiskers, tall and stooping, came in with Anna Sergeyevna and sat down beside her; he bent his head at every step and seemed to be continually bowing. Most likely this was the husband whom at Yalta, in a rush of bitter feeling, she had called a flunkey. And there really was in his long figure, his side-whiskers, and the small bald patch on his head, something of the flunkey's obsequiousness; his smile was sugary, and in his buttonhole there was some badge of distinction like the number on a waiter.

     During the first interval the husband went away to smoke; she remained alone in her stall. Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile:

     "Good-evening."

     She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. Both were silent. She was sitting, he was standing, frightened by her confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her. The violins and the flute began tuning up. He felt suddenly frightened; it seemed as though all the people in the boxes were looking at them. She got up and went quickly to the door; he followed her, and both walked senselessly along passages, and up and down stairs, and figures in legal, scholastic, and civil service uniforms, all wearing badges, flitted before their eyes. They caught glimpses of ladies, of fur coats hanging on pegs; the draughts blew on them, bringing a smell of stale tobacco. And Gurov, whose heart was beating violently, thought:

<  15  >

     "Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra! . . ."

     And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would never meet again. But how far they were still from the end!

     On the narrow, gloomy staircase over which was written "To the Amphitheatre," she stopped.

     "How you have frightened me!" she said, breathing hard, still pale and overwhelmed. "Oh, how you have frightened me! I am half dead. Why have you come? Why?"

     "But do understand, Anna, do understand . . ." he said hastily in a low voice. "I entreat you to understand. . . ."

     She looked at him with dread, with entreaty, with love; she looked at him intently, to keep his features more distinctly in her memory.

     "I am so unhappy," she went on, not heeding him. "I have thought of nothing but you all the time; I live only in the thought of you. And I wanted to forget, to forget you; but why, oh, why, have you come?"

     On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands.

     "What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing him away. "We are mad. Go away to-day; go away at once. . . . I beseech you by all that is sacred, I implore you. . . . There are people coming this way!"

     Some one was coming up the stairs.

     "You must go away," Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper. "Do you hear, Dmitri Dmitritch? I will come and see you in Moscow. I have never been happy; I am miserable now, and I never, never shall be happy, never! Don't make me suffer still more! I swear I'll come to Moscow. But now let us part. My precious, good, dear one, we must part!"

<  16  >

     She pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs, looking round at him, and from her eyes he could see that she really was unhappy. Gurov stood for a little while, listened, then, when all sound had died away, he found his coat and left the theatre.

IV

And Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow. Once in two or three months she left S----, telling her husband that she was going to consult a doctor about an internal complaint -- and her husband believed her, and did not believe her. In Moscow she stayed at the Slaviansky Bazaar hotel, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went to see her, and no one in Moscow knew of it.

     Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning (the messenger had come the evening before when he was out). With him walked his daughter, whom he wanted to take to school: it was on the way. Snow was falling in big wet flakes.

     "It's three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing," said Gurov to his daughter. "The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the atmosphere."

     "And why are there no thunderstorms in the winter, father?"

     He explained that, too. He talked, thinking all the while that he was going to see her, and no living soul knew of it, and probably never would know. He had two lives: one, open, seen and known by all who cared to know, full of relative truth and of relative falsehood, exactly like the lives of his friends and acquaintances; and another life running its course in secret. And through some strange, perhaps accidental, conjunction of circumstances, everything that was essential, of interest and of value to him, everything in which he was sincere and did not deceive himself, everything that made the kernel of his life, was hidden from other people; and all that was false in him, the sheath in which he hid himself to conceal the truth -- such, for instance, as his work in the bank, his discussions at the club, his "lower race," his presence with his wife at anniversary festivities -- all that was open. And he judged of others by himself, not believing in what he saw, and always believing that every man had his real, most interesting life under the cover of secrecy and under the cover of night. All personal life rested on secrecy, and possibly it was partly on that account that civilised man was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected.

<  17  >

     After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since the evening before. She was pale; she looked at him, and did not smile, and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast. Their kiss was slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for two years.

     "Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?"

     "Wait; I'll tell you directly. . . . I can't talk."

     She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.

     "Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and he sat down in an arm-chair.

     Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank his tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him. She was crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves from people, like thieves! Was not their life shattered?

     "Come, do stop!" he said.

     It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over, that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable to say to her that it was bound to have an end some day; besides, she would not have believed it!

     He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something affectionate and cheering, and at that moment he saw himself in the looking-glass.

<  18  >

     His hair was already beginning to turn grey. And it seemed strange to him that he had grown so much older, so much plainer during the last few years. The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. He felt compassion for this life, still so warm and lovely, but probably already not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own. Why did she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once loved; it was anything you like, but not love.

     And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in love -- for the first time in his life.

     Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past, they forgave everything in the present, and felt that this love of theirs had changed them both.

     In moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared for arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere and tender. . . .

     "Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's enough. . . . Let us talk now, let us think of some plan."

<  19  >

     Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how to avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in different towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How could they be free from this intolerable bondage?

     "How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?"

     And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning.

Thomas Hardy

An Imaginative Woman

When William Marchmill had finished his inquiries for lodgings at the well-known watering-place of Solentsea in Upper Wessex, he returned to the hotel to find his wife. She, with the children, had rambled along the shore, and Marchmill followed in the direction indicated by the military-looking hall-porter.

     "By Jove, how far you've gone! I am quite out of breath," Marchmill said, rather impatiently, when he came up with his wife, who was reading as she walked, the three children being considerably further ahead with the nurse.

     Mrs. Marchmill started out of the reverie into which the book had thrown her. "Yes," she said, "you've been such a long time. I was tired of staying in that dreary hotel. But I am sorry if you have wanted me, Will?"

     "Well I have had trouble to suit myself. When you see the airy and comfortable rooms heard of, you find they are stuffy and uncomfortable. Will you come and see if what I've fixed on will do? There is not much room, I am afraid; but I can light on nothing better. The town is rather full."

     The pair left the children and nurse to continue their ramble, and went back together.

     In age well-balanced, in personal appearance fairly matched, and in domestic requirements conformable, in temper this couple differed, though even here they did not often clash, he being equable, if not lymphatic, and she decidedly nervous and sanguine. It was to their tastes and fancies, those smallest, greatest particulars, that no common denominator could be applied. Marchmill considered his wife's likes and inclinations somewhat silly; she considered his sordid and material. The husband's business was that of a gunmaker in a thriving city northwards, and his soul was in that business always; the lady was best characterised by that superannuated phrase of elegance "a votary of the muse." An impressionable, palpitating creature was Ella, shrinking humanely from detailed knowledge of her husband's trade whenever she reflected that everything he manufactured had for its purpose the destruction of life. She could only recover her equanimity by assuring herself that some, at least, of his weapons were sooner or later used for the extermination of horrid vermin and animals almost as cruel to their inferiors in species as human beings were to theirs.

<  2  >

     She had never antecedently regarded this occupation of his as any objection to having him for a husband. Indeed, the necessity of getting life-leased at all cost, a cardinal virtue which all good mothers teach, kept her from thinking of it at all till she had closed with William, had passed the honeymoon, and reached the reflecting stage. Then, like a person who has stumbled upon some object in the dark, she wondered what she had got; mentally walked round it, estimated it; whether it were rare or common; contained gold, silver, or lead; were a clog or a pedestal, everything to her or nothing.

     She came to some vague conclusions, and since then had kept her heart alive by pitying her proprietor's obtuseness and want of refinement, pitying herself, and letting off her delicate and ethereal emotions in imaginative occupations, daydreams, and night-sighs, which perhaps would not much have disturbed William if he had known of them.

     Her figure was small, elegant, and slight in build, tripping, or rather bounding, in movement. She was dark-eyed, and had that marvellously bright and liquid sparkle in each pupil which characterises persons of Ella's cast of soul, and is too often a cause of heartache to the possessor's male friends, ultimately sometimes to herself. Her husband was a tall, long-featured man, with a brown beard; he had a pondering regard; and was, it must be added, usually kind and tolerant to her. He spoke in squarely shaped sentences, and was supremely satisfied with a condition of sublunary things which made weapons a necessity.

     Husband and wife walked till they had reached the house they were in search of, which stood in a terrace facing the sea, and was fronted by a small garden of windproof and salt-proof evergreens, stone steps leading up to the porch. It had its number in the row, but, being rather larger than the rest, was in addition sedulously distinguished as Coburg House by its landlady, though everybody else called it "Thirteen, New Parade." The spot was bright and lively now; but in winter it became necessary to place sandbags against the door, and to stuff up the keyhole against the wind and rain, which had worn the paint so thin that the priming and knotting showed through.

<  3  >

     The householder, who had been watching for the gentleman's return, met them in the passage, and showed the rooms. She informed them that she was a professional man's widow, left in needy circumstances by the rather sudden death of her husband, and she spoke anxiously of the conveniences of the establishment.

     Mrs. Marchmill said that she liked the situation and the house; but, it being small, there would not be accommodation enough, unless she could have all the rooms.

     The landlady mused with an air of disappointment. She wanted the visitors to be her tenants very badly, she said, with obvious honesty. But unfortunately two of the rooms were occupied permanently by a bachelor gentleman. He did not pay season prices, it was true; but as he kept on his apartments all the year round, and was an extremely nice and interesting young man, who gave no trouble, she did not like to turn him out for a month's "let," even at a high figure. "Perhaps, however," she added, "he might offer to go for a time."

     They would not hear of this, and went back to the hotel, intending to proceed to the agent's to inquire further. Hardly had they sat down to tea when the landlady called. Her gentleman, she said, had been so obliging as to offer to give up his rooms three or four weeks rather than drive the newcomers away.

     "It is very kind, but we won't inconvenience him in that way," said the Marchmills.

     "O, it won't inconvenience him, I assure you!" said the landlady eloquently. "You see, he's a different sort of young man from most - dreamy, solitary, rather melancholy - and he cares more to be here when the south-westerly gales are beating against the door, and the sea washes over the Parade, and there's not a soul in the place, than he does now in the season. He'd just as soon be where, in fact, he's going temporarily to a little cottage on the Island opposite, for a change." She hoped therefore that they would come.

<  4  >

     The Marchmill family accordingly took possession of the house next day, and it seemed to suit them very well. After luncheon Mr. Marchmill strolled out toward the pier, and Mrs. Marchmill, having despatched the children to their outdoor amusements on the sands, settled herself in more completely, examining this and that article, and testing the reflecting powers of the mirror in the wardrobe door.

     In the small back sitting room, which had been the young bachelor's, she found furniture of a more personal nature than in the rest. Shabby books, of correct rather than rare editions, were piled up in a queerly reserved manner in corners, as if the previous occupant had not conceived the possibility that any incoming person of the season's bringing could care to look inside them. The landlady hovered on the threshold to rectify anything that Mrs. Marchmill might not find to her satisfaction.

     "I'll make this my own little room," said the latter, "because the books are here. By the way, the person who has left seems to have a good many. He won't mind my reading some of them, Mrs. Hooper, I hope?"

     "O, dear no, ma'am. Yes, he has a good many. You see, he is in the literary line himself somewhat. He is a poet - yes, really a poet - and he has a little income of his own, which is enough to write verses on, but not enough for cutting a figure, even if he cared to."

     "A Poet! O, I did not know that."

     Mrs. Marchmill opened one of the books, and saw the owner's name written on the title-page. "Dear me!" she continued; "I know his name very well - Robert Trewe - of course I do; and his writings! And it is his rooms we have taken, and him we have turned out of his home?"

     Ella Marchmill, sitting down alone a few minutes later, thought with interested surprise of Robert Trewe. Her own latter history will best explain that interest. Herself the only daughter of a struggling man of letters, she had during the last year or two taken to writing poems, in an endeavour to find a congenial channel in which let flow her painfully embayed emotions, whose former limpidity and sparkle seemed departing in the stagnation caused by the routine of a practical household and the gloom of bearing children to a commonplace father. These poems, subscribed with masculine pseudonym, had appeared in various obscure magazines, and in two cases in rather prominent ones. In the second of the latter the page which bore her effusion at the bottom, in smallish print, bore at the top, in large print, a few verses on the same subject by this very man, Robert Trewe. Both of them, had, in fact, been struck by a tragic incident reported in the daily papers, and had used it simultaneously as an inspiration, the editor remarking in a note upon the coincidence, and that the excellence of both poems prompted him to give them together.

<  5  >

     After that event Ella, otherwise "John Ivy," had watched with much attention the appearance anywhere in print of verse bearing the signature of Robert Trewe, who, with a man's unsusceptibility on the question of sex, had never once thought of passing himself off as a woman. To be sure, Mrs. Marchmill had satisfied herself with a sort of reason for doing the contrary in her case; since nobody might believe in her inspiration if they found that the sentiments came from a pushing tradesman's wife, from the mother of three children by a matter-of-fact small-arms manufacturer.

     Trewe's verse contrasted with that of the rank and file of recent minor poets in being impassioned rather than ingenious, luxuriant rather than finished. Neither symbolist nor decadent, he was a pessimist in so far as that character applies to a man who looks at the worst contingencies as well as the best in the human condition. Being little attracted by excellences of form and rhythm apart from content, he sometimes, when feeling outran his artistic speed, perpetrated sonnets in the loosely rhymed Elizabethan fashion, which every right-minded reviewer said he ought not to have done.

     With sad and hopeless envy Ella Marchmill had often and often scanned the rival poet's work, so much stronger as it always was than her own feeble lines. She had imitated him, and her inability to touch his level would send her into fits of despondency. Months passed away thus, till she observed from the publishers' list that Trewe had collected his fugitive pieces into a volume, which was duly issued, and was much or little praised according to chance, and had a sale quite sufficient to pay for the printing.

     This step onward had suggested to John Ivy the idea of collecting her pieces also, or at any rate of making up a book of her rhymes by adding many in manuscript to the few that had seen the light, for she had been able to get no great number into print. A ruinous charge was made for costs of publication; a few reviews noticed her poor little volume; but nobody talked of it, nobody bought it, and it fell dead in a fortnight - if it had ever been alive.

<  6  >

     The author's thoughts were diverted to another groove just then by the discovery that she was going to have a third child, and the collapse of her poetical venture had perhaps less effect upon her mind than it might have done if she had been domestically unoccupied. Her husband had paid the publisher's bill with the doctor's, and there it all had ended for the time. But, though less than a poet of her century, Ella was more than a mere multiplier of her kind, and latterly she had begun to feel the old afflatus once more. And now by an odd conjunction she found herself in the rooms of Robert Trewe.

     She thoughtfully rose from her chair and searched the apartment with the interest of a fellow-tradesman. Yes, the volume of his own verse was among the rest. Though quite familiar with its contents, she read it here as if it spoke aloud to her, then called up Mrs. Hooper, the landlady, for some trivial service, and inquired again about the young man.

     "Well, I'm sure you'd be interested in him, ma'am, if you could see him, only he's so shy that I don't suppose you will." Mrs. Hooper seemed nothing loth to minister to her tenant's curiosity about her predecessor. "Lived here long? Yes, nearly two years. He keeps on his rooms even when he's not here: the soft air of this place suits his chest, and he likes to be able to come back at any time. He is mostly writing or reading, and doesn't see many people, though, for the matter of that, he is such a good, kind young fellow that folks would only be too glad to be friendly with him if they knew him. You don't meet kind-hearted people everyday."

     "Ah, he's kind-hearted . . . and good."

     "Yes; he'll oblige me in anything if I ask him. 'Mr. Trewe,' I say to him sometimes, you are rather out of spirits.' 'Well, I am, Mrs. Hooper,' he'll say, 'though I don't know how you should find it out.' 'Why not take a little change?' I ask. Then in a day or two he'll say that he will take a trip to Paris, or Norway, or somewhere; and I assure you he comes back all the better for it."

<  7  >

     "Ah, indeed! His is a sensitive nature, no doubt."

     "Yes. Still he's odd in some things. Once when he had finished a poem of his composition late at night he walked up and down the room rehearsing it; and the floors being so thin - jerry-built houses, you know, though I say it myself - he kept me awake up above him till I wished him further . . . . But we get on very well."

     This was but the beginning of a series of conversations about the rising poet as the days went on. On one of these occasions Mrs. Hooper drew Ella's attention to what she had not noticed before: minute scribblings in pencil on the wallpaper behind the curtains at the head of the bed.

     "O! let me look," said Mrs. Marchmill, unable to conceal a rush of tender curiosity as she bent her pretty face close to the wall.

     "These," said Mrs. Hooper, with the manner of a woman who knew things, "are the very beginnings and first thoughts of his verses. He has tried to rub most of them out, but you can read them still. My belief is that he wakes up in the night, you know, with some rhyme in his head, and jots it down there on the wall lest he should forget it by the morning. Some of these very lines you see here I have seen afterwards in print in the magazines. Some are newer; indeed, I have not seen that one before. It must have been done only a few days ago."

     "O, yes! . . . "

     Ella Marchmill flushed without knowing why, and suddenly wished her companion would go away, now that the information was imparted. An indescribable consciousness of personal interest rather than literary made her anxious to read the inscription alone; and she accordingly waited till she could do so, with a sense that a great store of emotion would be enjoyed in the act.

<  8  >

     Perhaps because the sea was choppy outside the Island, Ella's husband found it much pleasanter to go sailing and steaming about without his wife, who was a bad sailor, than with her. He did not disdain to go thus alone on board the steamboats of the cheap-trippers, where there was dancing by moonlight, and where the couples would come suddenly down with a lurch into each other's arms; for, as he blandly told her, the company was too mixed for him to take her amid such scenes. Thus, while this thriving manufacturer got a great deal of change and sea-air out of his sojourn here, the life, external at least, of Ella was monotonous enough, and mainly consisted in passing a certain number of hours each day in bathing and walking up and down a stretch of shore. But the poetic impulse having again waxed strong, she was possessed by an inner flame which left her hardly conscious of what was proceeding around her.

     She had read till she knew by heart Trewe's last little volume of verses, and spent a great deal of time in vainly attempting to rival some of them, till, in her failure, she burst into tears. The personal element in the magnetic attraction exercised by this circumambient, unapproachable master of hers was so much stronger than the intellectual and abstract that she could not understand it. To be sure, she was surrounded noon and night by his customary environment, which literally whispered of him to her at every moment; but he was a man she had never seen, and that all that moved her was the instinct to specialise a waiting emotion on the first fit thing that came to hand did not, of course, suggest itself to Ella.

     In the natural way of passion under the too practical conditions which civilisation has devised for its fruition, her husband's love for her had not survived, except in the form of fitful friendship, anymore than, or even so much as, her own for him; and, being a woman of very living ardours, that required sustenance of some sort, they were beginning to feed on this chancing material, which was, indeed, of a quality far better than chance usually offers.

<  9  >

     One day the children had been playing hide-and-seek in a closet, whence, in their excitement they pulled out some clothing. Mrs. Hooper explained that it belonged to Mr. Trewe, and hung it up in the closet again. Possessed of her fantasy, Ella went later in the afternoon, when nobody was in that part of the house, opened the closet, unhitched one of the articles, a mackintosh, and put it on, with the waterproof cap belonging to it.

     "The mantle of Elijah!" she said. "Would it might inspire me to rival him, glorious genius that he is!"

     Her eyes always grew wet when she thought like that, and she turned to look at herself in the glass. His heart had beat inside that coat, and his brain had worked under that hat at levels of thought she would never reach. The consciousness of her weakness beside him made her feel quite sick. Before she had got the things off her the door opened, and her husband entered the room.

     "What the devil - "

     She blushed, and removed them.

     "I found them in the closet here," she said, "and put them on in a freak. What have I else to do? You are always away!"

     "Always away? Well . . ."

     That evening she had a further talk with the landlady, who might herself have nourished a half-tender regard for the poet, so ready was she to discourse ardently about him.

     "You are interested in Mr. Trewe, I know, ma'am," she said; "and he has just sent to say that he is going to call tomorrow afternoon to look up some books of his that he wants, if I'll be in, and he may select them from your room?"

     "O, yes!"

     "You could very well meet Mr. Trewe then, if you'd like to be in the way!"

<  10  >

     She promised with secret delight, and went to bed musing of him.

     Next morning her husband observed: "I've been thinking of what you said, Ell: that I have gone about a good deal and left you without much to amuse you. Perhaps it's true. Today, as there's not much sea, I'll take you with me on board the yacht."

     For the first time in her experience of such an offer Ella was not glad. But she accepted it for the moment. The time for setting out drew near, and she went to get ready. She stood reflecting. The longing to see the poet she was now distinctly in love with overpowered all other considerations.

     "I don't want to go," she said to herself. "I can't bear to be away! And I won't go."

     She told her husband that she had changed her mind about wishing to sail. He was indifferent, and went his way.

     For the rest of the day the house was quiet, the children having gone out upon the sands. The blinds waved in the sunshine to the soft, steady stroke of the sea beyond the wall; and the notes of the Green Silesian band, a troop of foreign gentlemen hired for the season, had drawn almost all the residents and promenaders away from the vicinity of Coburg House. A knock was audible at the door.

     Mrs. Marchmill did not hear any servant go to answer it, and she became impatient. The books were in the room where she sat; but nobody came up. She rang the bell.

     "There is some person waiting at the door," she said.

     "O, no, ma'am. He's gone long ago. I answered it," the servant replied, and Mrs. Hooper came in herself.

     "So disappointing!" she said. "Mr. Trewe not coming after all!"

<  11  >

     "But I heard him knock, I fancy!"

     "No; that was somebody inquiring for lodgings who came to the wrong house. I tell you that Mr. Trewe sent a note just before lunch to say I needn't get any tea for him, as he should not require the books, and wouldn't come to select them."

     Ella was miserable, and for a long time could not even reread his mournful ballad on "Severed Lives," so aching was her erratic little heart, and so tearful her eyes. When the children came in with wet stockings, and ran up to her to tell her of their adventures, she could not feel that she cared about them half as much as usual.

     "Mrs. Hooper, have you a photograph of - the gentleman who lived here?" She was getting to be curiously shy in mentioning his name.

     "Why, yes. It's in the ornamental frame on the mantelpiece in your own bedroom, ma'am."

     "No; the Royal Duke and Duchess are in that."

     "Yes, so they are; but he's behind them. He belongs rightly to that frame, which I bought on purpose; but as he went away he said: "Cover me up from those strangers that are coming, for God's sake. I don't want them staring at me, and I am sure they won't want me staring at them." So I slipped in the Duke and Duchess temporarily in front of him, as they had no frame, and Royalties are more suitable for letting furnished than a private young man. If you take 'em out you'll see him under. Lord, ma'am, he wouldn't mind if he knew it! He didn't think the next tenant would be such an attractive lady as you, or he wouldn't have thought of hiding himself, perhaps."

     "Is he handsome?" she asked timidly.

     "I call him so. Some, perhaps, wouldn't."

     "Should I?" she asked, with eagerness.

<  12  >

     "I think you would, though some would say he's more striking than handsome; a large-eyed thoughtful fellow, you know, with a very electric flash in his eye when he looks round quickly, such as you'd expect a poet to be who doesn't get his living by it."

     "How old is he?"

     "Several years older than yourself, ma'am; about thirty -one or two, I think."

     Ella was a matter of fact, a few months over thirty herself; but she did not look nearly so much. Though so immature in nature, she was entering on that tract of life in which emotional women begin to suspect that last love may be stronger than first love; and she would soon, alas, enter on the still more melancholy tract when at least the vainer ones of her sex shrink from receiving a male visitor otherwise than with their backs to the window or the blinds half down. She reflected on Mrs. Hooper's remark, and said no more about age.

     Just then a telegram was brought up. It came from her husband, who had gone down the Channel as far as Budmouth with his friends in the yacht, and would not be able to get back till next day.

     After her light dinner Ella idled about the shore with the children till dusk, thinking of the yet uncovered photograph in her room, with a serene sense of in which this something ecstatic to come. For, with the subtle luxuriousness of fancy in which this young woman was an adept, on learning that her husband was to be absent that night she had refrained from incontinently rushing upstairs and opening the picture-frame, preferring to reserve the inspection till she could be alone, and a more romantic tinge be imparted to the occasion by silence, candles, solemn sea and stars outside, than was afforded by the garish afternoon sunlight.

     The children had been sent to bed, and Ella soon followed, though it was not yet ten o'clock. To gratify her passionate curiosity she now made her preparations, first getting rid of superfluous garments and putting on her dressing-gown, then arranging a chair in front of the table and reading several pages of Trewe's tenderest utterances. Next she fetched the portrait-frame to the light, opened the back, took out the likeness, and set it up before her.

<  13  >

It was a striking countenance to look upon. The poet wore a luxuriant black moustache and imperial, and a slouched hat which shaded the forehead. The large dark eyes described by the landlady showed an unlimited capacity for misery, they looked out from beneath well-shaped brows as if they were reading the universe in the microcosm of the confronter's face, and were not altogether overjoyed at what the spectacle portended.

     Ella murmured in her lowest, richest, tenderest tone: "And it's you who've so cruelly eclipsed me these many times!"

     As she gazed long at the portrait she fell into thought, till her eyes filled with tears, and she touched the cardboard with her lips. Then she laughed with a nervous lightness, and wiped her eyes.

     She thought how wicked she was, a woman having a husband and three children, to let her mind stray to a stranger in this unconscionable manner. No, he was not a stranger! She knew his thoughts and feelings as well as she knew her own; they were, in fact, the self-same thoughts and feelings as hers, which her husband distinctly lacked; perhaps luckily for himself, considering that he had to provide for family expenses.

     "He's nearer my real self, he's more intimate with the real me than Will is, after all, even though I've never seen him," she said.

     She laid his book and picture on the table at the bedside, and when she was reclining on the pillow she re-read those of Robert Trewe's verses which she had marked from time to time as most touching and true. Putting these aside she set up the photograph on its edge upon the coverlet, and contemplated it as she lay. Then she scanned again by the light of the candle the half-obliterated pencillings on the wallpaper beside her head. There they were - phrases, couplets, bouts-rimes, beginnings and middles of lines, ideas in the rough, like Shelley's scraps, and the least of them so intense, so sweet, so palpitating, that it seemed as if his very breath, warm and loving, fanned her cheeks from those walls, walls that had surrounded his head times and times as they surrounded her own now. He must often have put up his hand so - with the pencil in it. Yes, the writing was sideways, as it would be if executed by one who extended his arm thus.

<  14  >

     These inscribed shapes of the poet's world, "Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality," were, no doubt, the thoughts and spirit-strivings which had come to him in the dead of night, when he could let himself go and have no fear of the frost of criticism. No doubt they had often been written up hastily by the light of the moon, the rays of the lamp, in the blue-grey dawn, in full daylight perhaps never. And now her hair was dragging where his arm had lain when he secured the fugitive fancies; she was sleeping on a poet's lips, immersed in the very essence of him, permeated by his spirit as by an ether.

     While she was dreaming the minutes away thus, a footstep came upon the stairs, and in a moment she heard her husband's heavy step on the landing immediately without.

     "Ell, where are you?"

     What possessed her she could not have described, but, with an instinctive objection to let her husband know what she had been doing, she slipped the photograph under the pillow just as he flung open the door with the air of a man who had dined not badly.

     "O, I beg pardon," said William Marchmill. "Have you a headache? I am afraid I have disturbed you."

     "No, I've not got a headache," said she. "How is it you've come?"

     "Well, we found we could get back in very good time after all, and I didn't want to make another day of it, because of going somewhere else tomorrow."

     "Shall I come down again?"

     "O, no. I'm as tired as a dog. I've had a good feed, and I shall turn in straight off. I want to get out at six o'clock tomorrow if I can . . . . I shan't disturb you by my getting up; it will be long before you are awake." And he came forward into the room.

<  15  >

     While her eyes followed his movements, Ella softly pushed the photograph further out of sight.

     "Sure you're not ill?" he asked, bending over her.

     "No, only wicked!"

     "Never mind that." And he stooped and kissed her. "I wanted to be with you tonight."

     Next morning Marchmill was called at six o'clock; and in waking and yawning he heard him muttering to himself. "What the deuce is this that's been crackling under me so?" Imagining her asleep he searched round him and withdrew something. Through her half-opened eyes she perceived it to be Mr. Trewe.

     "Well, I'm damned!" her husband exclaimed.

     "What, dear?" said she.

     "O, you are awake? Ha! ha!"

     "What do you mean?"

     "Some bloke's photograph - a friend of our landlady's, I suppose. I wonder how it came here; whisked off the mantelpiece by accident perhaps when they were making the bed."

     "I was looking at it yesterday, and it must have dropped in then."

     "O, he's a friend of yours? Bless his picturesque heart!"

     Ella's loyalty to the object of her admiration could not endure to hear him ridiculed. "He's a clever man!" she said, with a tremor in her gentle voice which she herself felt to be absurdly uncalled for. "He is a rising poet - the gentleman who occupied two of these rooms before we came, though I've never seen him."

     "How do you know, if you've never seen him?"

     "Mrs. Hooper told me when she showed me the photograph."

     "O, well, I must up and be off. I shall be home rather early. Sorry I can't take you today dear. Mind the children don't go getting drowned."

<  16  >

     That day Mrs. Marchmill inquired if Mr. Trewe were likely to call at any other time.

     "Yes," said Mrs. Hooper. "He's coming this day week to stay with a friend near here till you leave. He'll be sure to call."

     Marchmill did return quite early in the afternoon; and, opening some letters which had arrived in his absence, declared suddenly that he and his family would have to leave a week earlier than they had expected to do - in short, in three days.

     "Surely we can stay a week longer?" she pleaded. "I like it here."

     "I don't. It is getting rather slow."

     "Then you might leave me and the children!"

     "How perverse you are, Ell! What's the use? And have to come to fetch you! No: we'll all return together; and we'll make out our time in North Wales or Brighton a little later on. Besides, you've three days longer yet."

     It seemed to be her doom not to meet the man for whose rival talent she had a despairing admiration, and to whose person she was now absolutely attached. Yet she determined to make a last effort; and having gathered from her landlady that Trewe was living in a lonely spot not far from the fashionable town on the Island opposite, she crossed over in the packet from the neighbouring pier the following afternoon.

     What a useless journey it was! Ella knew but vaguely where the house stood, and when she fancied she had found it, and ventured to inquire of a pedestrian if he lived there, the answer returned by the man was that he did not know. And if he did live there, how could she call upon him? Some women might have the assurance to do it, but she had not. How crazy he would think her. She might have asked him to call upon her, perhaps; but she had not the courage for that, either. She lingered mournfully about the picturesque seaside eminence till it was time to return to the town and enter the steamer for recrossing, reaching home for dinner without having been greatly missed.

<  17  >

     At the last moment, unexpectedly enough, her husband said that he should have no objection to letting her and the children stay on till the end of the week, since she wished to do so, if she felt herself able to get home without him. She concealed the pleasure this extension of time gave her; and Marchmill went off the next morning alone.

     But the week passed, and Trewe did not call.

     On Saturday morning the remaining members of the Marchmill family departed from the place which had been productive of so much fervour in her. The dreary, dreary train; the sun shining in moted beams upon the hot cushions; the dusty permanent way; the mean rows of wire - these things were her accompaniment: while out of the window the deep blue sea-levels disappeared from her gaze, and with them her poet's home. Heavy-hearted, she tried to read, and wept instead.

     Mr. Marchmill was in a thriving way of business, and he and his family lived in a large new house, which stood in rather extensive grounds a few miles outside the midland city wherein he carried on his trade. Ella's life was lonely here, as the suburban life is apt to be, particularly at certain seasons; and she had ample time to indulge her taste for lyric and elegiac composition. She had hardly got back when she encountered a piece by Robert Trewe in the new number of her favourite magazine, which must have been written almost immediately before her visit to Solentsea, for it contained the very couplet she had seen pencilled on the wallpaper by the bed, and Mrs. Hooper had declared to be recent. Ella could resist no longer, but seizing a pen impulsively, wrote to him as a brother-poet, using the name of John Ivy, congratulating him in her letter on his triumphant executions in meter and rhythm of thoughts that moved his soul, as compared with her own brow-beaten efforts in the same pathetic trade.

     To this address there came a response in a few days, little as she had dared to hope for it - a civil and brief note, in which the young poet stated that, though he was not well acquainted with Mr. Ivy's verse, he recalled the name as being one he had seen attached to some very promising pieces; that he was glad to gain Mr. Ivy's acquaintance by letter, and should certainly look with much interest for his productions in the future.

<  18  >

     There must have been something juvenile or timid in her own epistle, as one ostensibly coming from a man, she declared to herself; for Trewe quite adopted the tone of an elder and superior in this reply. But what did it matter? He had replied; he had written to her with his own hand from that very room she knew so well, for he was now back again in his quarters.

     The correspondence thus begun was continued for two months or more, Ella Marchmill sending him from time to time some that she considered to be the best her pieces, which he very kindly accepted, though he did not say he sedulously read them, nor did he send her any of his own in return. Ella would have been more hurt at this than she was if she had not known that Trewe laboured under the impression that she was one of his own sex.

     Yet the situation was unsatisfactory. A flattering little voice told her that, were he only to see her, matters would be otherwise. No doubt she would have helped on this by making a frank confession of womanhood, to begin with, if something had not appeared, to her delight, to render it unnecessary. A friend of her husband's, the editor of the most important newspaper in their city and county, who was dining with them one day, observed during their conversation about the poet that his (the editor's) brother the landscape-painter was a friend of Mr. Trewe's, and that the two men were at that very moment in Wales together.

     Ella was slightly acquainted with the editor's brother. The next morning down she sat and wrote, inviting him to stay at her house for a short time on his way back, and to bring with him, if practicable, his companion Mr. Trewe, whose acquaintance she was anxious to make. The answer arrived after some few days. Her correspondent and his friend Trewe would have much satisfaction in accepting her invitation on their way southward, which would be on such and such a day in the following week.

<  19  >

     Ella was blithe and buoyant. Her scheme had succeeded; her beloved though as yet unseen was coming. "Behold, he standeth behind our wall; he looked forth at the windows, showing himself through the lattice," she thought ecstatically. "And, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."

     But it was necessary to consider the details of lodging and feeding him. This she did most solicitously, and awaited the pregnant day and hour.

     It was about five in the afternoon when she heard a ring at the door and the editor's brother's voice in the hall. Poetess as she was, or as she thought herself, she had not been too sublime that day to dress with infinite trouble in a fashionable robe of rich material, having a faint resemblance to the chiton of the Greeks, a style just then in vogue among ladies of an artistic and romantic turn, which had been obtained by Ella of her Bond Street dressmaker when she was last in London. Her visitor entered the drawing room. She looked toward his rear; nobody else came through the door. Where, in the name of the God of Love, was Robert Trewe?

     "O, I'm sorry," said the painter, after their introductory words had been spoken. "Trewe is a curious fellow, you know, Mrs. Marchmill. He said he'd come; then he said he couldn't. He's rather dusty. We've been doing a few miles with knapsacks, you know; and he wanted to get on home."

     "He - he's not coming?"

     "He's not; and he asked me to make his apologies."

     "When did you p-p-part from him?" she asked, her nether lip starting off quivering so much that it was like a tremolo-stop opened in her speech. She longed to run away from this dreadful bore and cry her eyes out.

<  20  >

     "Just now, in the turnpike road yonder there."

     "What! he has actually gone past my gates?"

     "Yes. When we got to them - handsome gates they are, too, the finest bit of modern wrought-iron work I have seen - when we came to them we stopped, talking there a little while, and then he wished me goodbye and went on. The truth is, he's a little bit depressed just now, and doesn't want to see anybody. He's a very good fellow, and a warm friend, but a little uncertain and gloomy sometimes; he thinks too much of things. His poetry is rather too erotic and passionate, you know, for some tastes; and he has just come in for a terrible slating from the ---- Review that was published yesterday; he saw a copy of it at the station by accident. Perhaps you've read it?"

     "No."

     "So much the better. O, it is not worth thinking of; just one of those articles written to order, to please the narrow-minded set of subscribers upon whom the circulation depends. But he's upset by it. He says it is the misrepresentation that hurts him so; that, though he can stand a fair attack, he can't stand lies that he's powerless to refute and stop from spreading. That's just Trewe's weak point. He lives so much by himself that these things affect him much more than they would if he were in the bustle of fashionable or commercial life. So he wouldn't come here, making the excuse that it all looked so new and monied - if you'll pardon -- "

     "But - he must have known - there was sympathy here! Has he never said anything about getting letters from this address?"

     "Yes, yes, he has, from John Ivy - perhaps a relative of yours, he thought, visiting here at the time?"

     "Did he - like Ivy, did he say?"

     "Well, I don't know that he took any great interest in Ivy."

<  21  >

     "Or in his poems?"

     "Or in his poems - so far as I know, that is."

     Robert Trewe took no interest in her house, in her poems, or in their writer. As soon as she could get away she went into the nursery and tried to let off her emotion by unnecessarily kissing the children, till she had a sudden sense of disgust at being reminded how plain-looking they were, like their father.

     The obtuse and single-minded landscape-painter never once perceived from her conversation that it was only Trewe she wanted, and not himself. He made the best of his visit, seeming to enjoy the society of Ella's husband, who also took a great fancy to him, and showed him everywhere about the neighbourhood, neither of them noticing Ella's mood.

     The painter had been gone only a day or two when, while sitting upstairs alone one morning, she glanced over the London paper just arrived, and read the following paragraph:--

     "SUICIDE OF A POET - Mr. Robert Trewe, who has been favourably known for some years as one of our rising lyrists, committed suicide at his lodgings at Solentsea on Saturday evening last by shooting himself in the right temple with a revolver. Readers hardly need to be reminded that Mr. Trewe recently attracted the attention of a much wider public than had hitherto known him, by his new volume of verse, mostly of an impassioned kind, entitled 'Lyrics to a Woman Unknown,' which has been already favourably noticed in these pages for the extraordinary gamut of feeling it traverses, and which has been made the subject of a severe, if not ferocious, criticism in the ---- Review. It is supposed, though not certainly known, that the article may have partially conduced to the sad act, as a copy of the review in question was found on his writing-table; and he has been observed to be in a somewhat depressed state of mind since the critique appeared."

     Then came the report of the inquest, at which the following letter was read, it having been addressed to a friend at a distance: --

<  22  >

     "Dear ---- , Before these lines reach your hands I shall be delivered from the inconveniences of seeing, hearing, and knowing more of the things around me. I will not trouble you by giving my reasons for the step I have taken, though I can assure you they were sound and logical. Perhaps had I been blessed with a mother, or a sister, or a female friend of another sort tenderly devoted to me, I might have thought it worthwhile to continue my present existence. I have long dreamt of such an unattainable creature, as you know; and she, this undiscoverable, elusive one, inspired my last volume; the imaginary woman alone, for, in spite of what has been said in some quarters, there is no real woman behind the title. She has continued to the last unrevealed, unmet, unwon. I think it desirable to mention this in order that no blame may attach to any real woman as having been the cause of my decease by cruel or cavalier treatment of me. Tell my landlady that I am sorry to have caused her this unpleasantness; but my occupancy of the rooms will soon be forgotten. There are ample funds in my name at the bank to pay all expenses. R. TREWE."

     Ella sat for a while as if stunned, then rushed into the adjoining chamber and flung herself upon her face on the bed.

     Her grief and distraction shook her to pieces; and she lay in this frenzy of sorrow for more than an hour. Broken words came every now and then from her quivering lips: "O, if he had only known of me - known of me - me! . . . O, if I had only once met him - only once; and put my hand upon his hot forehead - kissed him - let him know how I loved him - that I would have suffered shame and scorn, would have lived and died, for him! Perhaps it would have saved his dear life! . . . But no - it was not allowed! God is a jealous God; and that happiness was not for him and me!"

<  23  >

     All possibilities were over; the meeting was stultified. Yet it was almost visible to her in her fantasy even now, though it could never be substantiated - "The hour which might have been, yet might not be, Which man's and woman's heart conceived and bore, Yet whereof life was barren."

     She wrote to the landlady at Solentsea in the third person, in as subdued a style as she could command, enclosing a postal order for a sovereign, and informing Mrs. Hooper that Mrs. Marchmill had seen in the papers the sad account of the poet's death, and having been, as Mrs. Hooper was aware, much interested in Mr. Trewe during her stay at Coburg House, she would be obliged if Mrs. Hooper could obtain a small portion of his hair before his coffin was closed down, and send it her as a memorial of him, as also the photograph that was in the frame.

     By the return-post a letter arrived containing what had been requested. Ella wept over the portrait and secured it in her private drawer; the lock of hair she tied with white ribbon and put in her bosom, whence she drew it and kissed it every now and then in some unobserved nook.

     "What's the matter?" said her husband, looking up from his newspaper on one of these occasions. "Crying over something? A lock of hair? Whose is it?"

     "He's dead!" she murmured.

     "Who?"

     "I don't want to tell you, Will, just now, unless you insist!" she said, a sob hanging heavy in her voice.

     "O, all right."

     "Do you mind my refusing? I will tell you someday."

     "It doesn't matter in the least, of course."

     He walked away whistling a few bars of no tune in particular; and when he had got down to his factory in the city the subject came into Marchmill's head again.

<  24  >

     He, too, was aware that a suicide had taken place recently at the house they had occupied at Solentsea. Having seen the volume of poems in his wife's hand of late, and heard fragments of the landlady's conversation about Trewe when they were her tenants, he all at once said to himself, "Why of course it's he! How the devil did she get to know him? What sly animals women are!"

     Then he placidly dismissed the matter, and went on with his daily affairs. By this time Ella at home had come to a determination. Mrs. Hooper, in sending the hair and photograph, had informed her of the day of the funeral; and as the morning and noon wore on an overpowering wish to know where they were laying him took possession of the sympathetic woman. Caring very little now what her husband or any one else might think of her eccentricities, she wrote Marchmill a brief note, stating that she was called away for the afternoon and evening, but would return on the following morning. This she left on his desk, and having given the same information to the servants, went out of the house on foot.

     When Mr. Marchmill reached home early in the afternoon the servants looked anxious. The nurse took him privately aside, and hinted that her mistress's sadness during the past few days had been such that she feared she had gone out to drown herself. Marchmill reflected. Upon the whole he thought that she had not done that. Without saying whither he was bound he also started off, telling them not to sit up for him. He drove to the railway-station, and took a ticket for Solentsea.

     It was dark when he reached the place, though he had come by a fast train, and he knew that if his wife had preceded him thither it could only have been by a slower train, arriving not a great while before his own. The season at Solentsea was now past: the parade was gloomy, and the flys were few and cheap. He asked the way to the Cemetery, and soon reached it. The gate was locked, but the keeper let him in, declaring, however, that there was nobody within the precincts. Although it was not late, the autumnal darkness had now become intense; and he found some difficulty in keeping to the serpentine path which led to the quarter where, as the man had told him, the one or two interments for the day had taken place. He stepped upon the grass, and, stumbling over some pegs, stooped now and then to discern if possible a figure against the sky. He could see none; but lighting on a spot where the soil was trodden, beheld a crouching object beside a newly made grave. She heard him, and sprang up.

<  25  >

     "Ell, how silly this is!" he said indignantly. "Running away from home - I never heard such a thing! Of course I am not jealous of this unfortunate man; but it is too ridiculous that you, a married woman with three children and a fourth coming, should go losing your head like this over a dead lover! . . . Do you know you were locked in? You might not have been able to get out all night."

     She did not answer.

     "I hope it didn't go far between you and him, for your own sake."

     "Don't insult me, Will."

     "Mind, I won't have anymore of this sort of thing; do you hear?"

     "Very well," she said.

     He drew her arm within his own, and conducted her out of the Cemetery. It was impossible to get back that night; and not wishing to be recognised in their present sorry condition he took her to a miserable little coffee-house close to the station, whence they departed early in the morning, travelling almost without speaking, under the sense that it was one of those dreary situations occurring in married life which words could not mend, and reaching their own door at noon.

     The months passed, and neither of the twain ever ventured to start a conversation upon this episode. Ella seemed to be only too frequently in a sad and listless mood, which might almost have been called pining. The time was approaching when she would have to undergo the stress of childbirth for a fourth time, and that apparently did not tend to raise her spirits.

     "I don't think I shall get over it this time!" she said one day.

     "Pooh! what childish foreboding! Why shouldn't it be as well now as ever?"

     She shook her head. "I feel almost sure I am going to die; and I should be glad, if it were not for Nelly, and Frank, and Tiny."

<  26  >

     "And me!"

     "You'll soon find somebody to fill my place," she murmured, with a sad smile. "And you'll have a perfect right to; I assure you of that."

     "Ell, you are not thinking still about that - poetical friend of yours?"

     She neither admitted nor denied the charge. "I am not going to get over my illness this time," she reiterated. "Something tells me I shan't."

     This view of things was rather a bad beginning, as it usually is; and, in fact, six weeks later, in the month of May, she was lying in her room, pulseless and bloodless, with hardly strength enough left to follow up one feeble breath with another, the infant for whose unnecessary life she was slowly parting with her own being fat and well. Just before her death she spoke to Marchmill softly: --

     "Will, I want to confess to you the entire circumstances of that - about you know what - that time we visited Solentsea. I can't tell what possessed me - how I could forget you so, my husband! But I had got into a morbid state: I thought you had been unkind; that you had neglected me; that you weren't up to my intellectual level, while he was, and far above it. I wanted a fuller appreciator, perhaps, rather than another lover--"

     She could get no further then for very exhaustion; and she went off in sudden collapse a few hours later, without having said anything more to her husband on the subject of her love for the poet. William Marchmill, in truth, like most husbands of several years' standing, was little disturbed by retrospective jealousies, and had not shown the least anxiety to press her for confessions concerning a man dead and gone beyond any power of inconveniencing him more.

     But when she had been buried a couple of years it chanced one day that, in turning over some forgotten papers that he wished to destroy before his second wife entered the house, he lighted on a lock of hair in an envelope, with the photograph of the deceased poet, a date being written on the back in his late wife's hand. It was that of the time they spent at Solentsea.

<  27  >

     Marchmill looked long and musingly at the hair and portrait, for something struck him. Fetching the little boy who had been the death of his mother, now a noisy toddler, he took him on his knee, held the lock of hair against the child's head, and set up the photograph on the table behind, so that he could closely compare the features each countenance presented. By a known but inexplicable trick of Nature there were undoubtedly strong traces of resemblance to the man Ella had never seen; the dreamy and peculiar expression of the poet's face sat, as the transmitted idea, upon the child's, and the hair was of the same hue.

     "I'm damned if I didn't think so!" murmured Marchmill. "Then she did play me false with that fellow at the lodgings! Let me see: the dates - the second week in August . . . the third week in May. . . . Yes . . . yes. . . . Get away, you poor little brat! You are nothing to me!"