Hey Honey Bunch

She finally sat down on the damp pavement

  Deep in a reverie, she suddenly smiled

  For once - what a killer smile it was.

  As my heart started connecting with hers,

  It seemed to give me a sweet yet sour feeling;

  On one end, she inspired me somewhere deep down,

  And on the other, she confused me further by not being open.

  As I tried approaching her, slowly and calmly

  She got up and hastened towards a safer place

  “I won’t harm you”, I cried loudly

  But one.two.three, she just simply vanished.

  As I tried to move further,

  I banged my head against something hard,

  I should have realized that I was just

  Standing in front of my room’s mirror.

  Anonymous

  Belief

  The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Pushkar

  Faith and belief are so entwined with each other. I had so much faith and belief in Neelima. In our bond, our hearts almost perpetually connected. But was it reciprocated? Did she feel the same as I did? Now that I look back I confess I have doubts. Did she not believe me when I said, “You mean a lot to me?”

  Did she not believe in me, when I said I will never be purposefully rude to her?

  Did she not believe me when I said I will be concerned for her always?

  Did she not believe in me, when she decided to stay silent when I needed her to speak the most?

  No, she didn’t. She had not belief in me. She knew I would be a loser in life who could never reach her station.

  But when I look back I also see the faith she had in me, when she asked me to write her story.

  She knew, somewhere deep down, I could be trusted with her story. Didn’t she?

  Neelima

  Faith and belief are subjective in nature. It’s all in the mind. Pushkar might think I never believed in him but the truth is, that I have loved no one as I loved him. And no one has disappointed me as he did. I paid a heavy price for my love. Belief does not just about trust a secret with someone. I put my faith in love and friendship with Pushkar. He came out to be worthy of none. Even today I would say my belief in him is as strong as was when we met. Probably I expected too much from him.

 

  Neelima

  I can’t understand why sex is such a big deal in any relationship. If I had to make a list of men who have shown willingness to get into my pants, several books could be easily filled. No wonder Pushkie wanted to get his share of physical love from me. To say I find it gross would be an understatement. Here I am, running from one sex starved animal to another finally to the man I love. He makes me feel safe and warm with his gruff voice and protective attitude and what does he want? Of course, Sex.

  Pushkie likes to be chivalrous when he wants to. Which is like most of the times. So, he leaves it on me, making it a big deal that it all has to be my choice. I mean, you can smell the pheromones off his horny self from far away. If he could eat me and chew me alive, I think he would do that in a record time. He also likes sniffing my hair. That is gross at so many levels. Although I have to admit that it pleases me too in a non-descript way.

  But still, it is not a subject which is easy to deal with. How do you decide the frequency of the act?How do I make a choice in a way to please both of us? Whatever happens, one of us would be disappointed. Men don’t understand, do they?

  Pushkar

  While Neelima does get bothered by the ‘sex talk’, I like to emphasize on intimacy. In the context that is. Okay, I know if I say I never wanted to get into her pants, you won’t believe me. And hey, it’s not me. It's a basic biology and hormones thing. A young man sees lays his eyes on the perfect pair of eyes and a hot body, and oh what a body. Add to that, the fluttering of the heart, the turmoil in the brain. You get the scene.

  But I try to downplay it as much as I can. Sex is great. But do you know what is best? The intimacy. The knowledge that she is right next to you. Her hair smelling as heavenly as they always do. Her hands tousling your hair for a moment that you wish would last forever. Her long and bony fingers, interlinking your fingers as we stroll around in a market. Her chest giving you a strange warmth as she hugs you tight. (The hair smells awesome again.)

  There is nothing like that intimacy with the one you love and who makes your heart lurch. The way she bakes a cake for you and feeds you like you are an invalid. You just wish your hands away so that she keeps on feeding you forever. The way she keeps always saves the last bite for you. The way she keeps her head on your shoulders as you listen to the songs which you love (or in this case, she loves.) The intimacy which happens when you try to match steps as both of you walk along a deserted footpath, her toes gleaming with a silver nail polish that pleases you to no end. And she secretly smiles for she knows and your heart is the only one to feel that smile. For it is meant only for it.

  Sex can never give you this feeling. Sex can never make you want to pull each other’s cheeks for the heck of it. But wanting her, makes me love her more. The feelings, the arousal might not be as great as love but that makes love all the more special.

  Dreams & Reality

  I thought I could live in that

  beautiful world forever

  but just when I felt so...

  I realized it was just a dream

  when I thought I could treasure it

  as a memory...

  it hurt me like a wound

  for the reality said something else

  when I thought I could forget it

  I realized it had become a part of me

  something beautiful things are just

  meant to be like that...

  Anonymous

  Neelima

  People tell you that two young people of opposite sex cannot be best friends. You can read truckloads of literature and watch cart full of drama which portrays romance taking over friendship and ruining or bettering it. I think it might be true. I don’t know. Pushkar always had this idea that we were friends first and would remain friends forever. Even if we fell in love and broke up, according to him it didn’t matter as our hearts were bonded forever. (His cheesy words not mine). It was not a casual approach of his, but an inherent fear of losing me. I understood his insecurities to an extent but was it altogether fair on me? Shouldn’t someone ask me, what I wanted or not?

  It is true I fell in love with him. It is also true that he is someone special to me. But friends? How can you take up all that shit and make sense of it? His reasoning to his lax behavior or lose words always is that we are always quite casual without words when talking to our friends. Which makes me wonder are we friends or one-time lovers?

  All I can think about his, how could I just keep Pushkar close to me without assigning any labels? How can I make him believe that there was a time when I was madly in love with him? That the labels of friendship and love just attempt to stereotype our relationship into clichés.

  I have moved on but he hasn’t. I don’t need him any longer in my life but that doesn’t mean I won’t need him ever. All this causes a huge turmoil in my mind. I know Pushkie deserves better than this. I know I deserve better than to hope that he will be at my side forever.

  Coming back to being friends and friends with benefits. This is what scares me. The thought of disappointing Pushkie is too painful to me. I can’t bear to look at him without seeing through his hatred of me. That I failed in love he will be able to take it but that I no longer love him as a friend, perhaps never did will destroy him.

  Boundaries to any relationship are intangible; you cannot take a pen and paper and draw them. You need to create your comfort zones and boundaries. But then you want to cross the boundaries and expan
d your horizons. To merge emotions and to erase those boundaries.

  The fear confuses me, befuddles me, my love for him scares the shit out of me. To me loving him was important as a lover not necessarily as a lifelong friend. I don’t even know if I am cut out for it. I don’t know if I can give him back the care and support he has always given me.

  This time around I decided to cook for Pushkar and myself. I asked him politely if I could use his kitchen and before he could answer, I barged in to cook some food. It was a Sunday morning and when I rang the bell, Pushkar had a towel hung around his shoulder. Good, the guy seemed to be headed to the bath. I could cook in peace without him hovering over me.

  I took out a packet of mushrooms from my bag, cleaned and diced them into thin slice. Then I sautéed them slightly with generous amount of butter and milk in a frying pan. I added some spices, cashews, and salt and then let it warm a bit. I am not an expert cook, so I decided to put up some sandwiches for us. I looked for another pan but could not find any. I put the mushrooms on a plate, then clean wiped the pan and toasted bread slices over it. Then I spread some cheese over the slices and poured over the mushrooms and covered with more cheese and another bread slice. It was not a very neat preparation, but it would do.

  While the mushrooms were getting cooked, I had thought about pouring some drinks. But then I made the mistake of looking at my watch. It said it was noon. It would not be a good idea to start drinking at noon when you knew you would be drinking till night. Maybe we should wait for an hour or so. I looked for milk in the refrigerator and prepared milky tea, with extra tea leaves to make it strong.

  Pushkar was by this getting ready in his room and hollered me to bring food in his room. I got everything on a tray and brought to his room where he was sitting comfortably in a sea of papers. I could understand it was painful for Pushkar. To pour down the feelings and reading aloud from the various papers he has stored all these years. I had really thought he remembered everything by heart, the stories, and the anecdotes he was narrating to me. But no, this guy has penned down a lot of the stuff he felt for Neelima. I try to take some papers from him to read but no he won’t show them to me. Then I felt guilty for intruding into his private space.

  We talked for a while and were hungry soon. Pushkar dished out a plate of Fried Chicken and I donned the bartender hat. Except that I was never good at this. I added a finger of Old Monk to a finger each of Blender’s Pride and Rockford. I topped it up with loads of ice. Pushkar saw this and gave me a devilish laugh.

  “You want to have a look?” He asked me.

  “No dude. Love letters may sound juicy but I don’t want to get into them.”

  “Here. Read this one. You remember we used to have a social networking site called Orkut?”

  “Yeah, I remember. Facebook came on the scene and Google acquired and bulldozed it.”

  “She wrote this for me on Orkut.” He pushed a paper towards me

  “And you saved this all this time. Moron.” I wanted to take the paper from his hand, but my hands were occupied with amazing fried chicken and the cocktail of two whiskeys and rum I had blended together.

  I guess the idea of blending whiskeys and rum was a good one. Apart from the fried chicken, Pushkar had whipped up a coleslaw salad. Even though I am not a salad fan, I loved it. As I asked him to read out aloud whatever Neelima had written for him or about him, I knew he would need something strong to go through it. Guess, the cocktail wasn’t a bad idea after all.

  4th June 2007

  Chalo jie..Finally, I am rytin a testimonial 4 yu...so...letz c...Pushkar..!!...I am totally speechless.dat meanz...testimonial khatam...chalo bbye..lolz...jus kidin...but rytin a testimonial 4 dis mahaan aatma...is a tough job...yeah..guyz..he is a mahaan aatama...iseliye mere blog shuru kar vaye the...gandaaa...lolz...but m enjoying it...newazz...Pushkar is dam cute guy..olwaz ready 4 help...luv you 4 dis...dere is no need 4 me 2 tell him dat I am in problem...he noz it very well...datz d best striking feature abt him..nd he noz very well wat 2 do...achaa bachaa hai...kaafi massuum lagta hai..but hai nhin..haha...just kidding...newaa...luv you 4 what u r...and don’t change no matter wateva happenz...abhi to itna hi..But baad me...will write a big testimonial for you...newaz..bye..cya..TC.. God, bless you.

  “That’s it? It is over,” I spoke with a mouth full of chicken. It has hot and it was spicy.

  “Yes.”

  “The lady specifically said, don’t change. Did you turn naughty Pushkie Boy? Did you change?”

  “Well, she complained a lot about my way of speech, my sarcastic nature.”

  “So, you changed for her. Tried to become a better man,” I sneered at him.

  “Well, what would you have done,” he shot back.

  “I would have gotten rid of her. She has complaints; she can keep it to herself. Don’t want a nagging finger at my face.”

  “Well, she was my friend. We were lovers later, friends first. That’s what we always agreed on.”

  “As it turns out to be, you were just a stuff toy which she clearly did not like to take to bed. Maybe keep in the almirah and play for some time.”

  “I was a putty in her hands. I daresay this whiskey experiment works. We should name this cocktail.” He was clearly getting drunk. It was a cue for me to move. Eti wanted me to escort her to a late-night play. I told her no. I was not a for hire bodyguard for females partying late night in a place like Delhi (Usually, the scene is like a zombie movie, replace zombies with sex starved punks and you get the idea). She said it was a play and one of her friends was acting in it. I refused and she called me names, but we knew I would be going with her anyway.

  “Why don’t you name it Honey Bunch?” I suggested.

  “But there is no Honey in the recipe.”

  “That is exactly the point, Pushkie Boy.”

  Why?

  Why does a child have to fall before he can walk?

  Why does the sun have to rise when you can barely close your eyes?

  and why is it so tough to close your eyes when the night falls?

  Why do people come into your life when all you want is to be alone and enjoy the solitary bliss...

  And why do they have to leave when you start loving them?

  Why do tears come out of your eyes when you are the happiest?

  And alternatively why is it so hard to cry when you are grieving?

  Why do you always learn from your mistakes, when you have been warned about them so many a times?

  Why does a journey have to end when you start enjoying it?

  Why does opportunity always have to knock on your door when you are tired of trying?

  And why can I just sit down here and write this when in the end I'll have to tell my own self that you can’t truly cherish the happy moments unless you've seen the lows?

 

 

  Pushkar

  I can live with the thought that she no longer loves me. I know it’s difficult but doable. What kills me every day is the complete callousness that arises when two people part ways in such a fashion. Like an appendix which you no longer need, you ask the surgeon to carve and dump it out.

  But what pierces my heart the most is the fact that she felt the need to hide things from me. We spent almost a decade together. Most of our growing up years were spent on each other’s side. All failures and successes shared, we know so much about each other. Yet, finally death of our friendship/ relationship comes on the day, she decides she can’t share things with me anymore. Not those trivial things, but major big things. For once the introvert me did all the talking and the extrovert part of us chose silence as the ultimate weapon to kill it all. The trust, the belief all gone in a jiffy. The moments we drew together, the dreams we spun, the memories shared, all set ablaze and ashes buried.

  I was so dazed, so disoriented, that I did not know what I was thinking. I told her, if she did not tell me what was bothering her, it would end all that was ever between us. To my utter sho
ck, she was okay with it. To keep one thing secret from me, she was ready to let go of everything. Our memories, our moments spent together. Everything. I was an idiot to stake it all, over confident of my love, my heart, her love, her heart. And once you stake it all, how do you go back? We met for three days continuously, with me begging her, shouting at her, intimidating her, trying everything I could to get her to speak. To severe everything was a threat I played, not knowing how badly I had overplayed my hand. As every gambler, would tell you, you never win all your stakes.

  I lost, lost very badly. She won’t tell me, and I couldn’t live with it. I could live with her seeing another man; I could live with not seeing her for months, even live with not talking to her for ages. It would hurt yes, but I could survive by knowing my Neelu would still be close by. That she is okay. But she chose to leave her Pushkie, her best friend, her lover of past, her once upon a mentor, for some random thing that happened which even I could not fathom.

  I hated myself for not knowing. Didn’t I always know from her voice, what kind of mood was she in? Even while texting, I would know how was she feeling. And here is something so damn important and I can’t even finger it. Is it a boy? I ask her. Did she get pregnant? Was she sick? I kept hammering questions at her, looking for that emotion, movement of her eyes, curling of her fingers.

  Finally, she said,

  “It is because of a joke you cracked years ago, it was a bad joke”.

  “A joke for which I am sure you would have made me apologize. Do you even remember the joke? And how long ago was it anyway?”

  “It was a joke I am telling you. There is nothing else.”

  “You say it was a joke. You don’t remember anything about it. I don’t do either. So how does it become so big to end everything we have?”

  She looked away and said nothing.

  “Fine then, we end it, just like that. For a joke.” I tried to laugh, bitterness cracking up my throat.

  “Let’s just meet for the last time tomorrow. I have to come down with a friend to the market. She has some work; we can just hang out for half an hour. Not more than that.”