~~ Hues of Romance ~~

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake….

-Romance by Edgar Allan Poe


DEEPLY dipping décolletage, dinner by candlelight and ardour in his eyes… Romance?
Yes, of course.

Walking hand in hand by the seaside, silhouetted against the sunset as you murmur sweet nothings to each other… Romance?
Sure.

Giggling together over nothing; shared chocolates, songs heard and sung together; fingers touched and snatched away; champagne and roses…Romance?
Mmmmm, YES!

Time spent together, full of love and mischief, but parting to go your separate ways, love locked deep in your hearts; a baby’s quivering dimpled bottom, pitter patter of rain, streaks of sunset colour in the sky… Romance?
May…be...

A glimpse of knickers under Anna Kournikova’s tennis skirt; loving more than one person at a time, having no-strings-attached *** with a friend once in a while… Romance?
Ouch! Spicy-Cheeni kum hai…But hey, WHY NOT?

Why must romance necessarily be something to do with love, togetherness and spending time with your lover? Like most things in life, why must romance be bound by definitions and limits? To the extent that when a website asked a number of romance writers to post their definitions of romance, each one defined it as the love story of a man and woman, their strength of character, trials and tribulations, and how they overcome these. Each author specified that a romance could only possibly have a happily-ever-after ending!

But how realistic is that? The definition of romance changes with time. From medieval to Gothic to 18th century romantic poetry to early 20th century War romances, onto the Harlequin series and realistic romances - what a world of difference!

One way to measure this is to flick through a few romance novels. Pick up the all-time favorite Mills & Boons, for instance. A few years ago, virginity was a pre-requisite and the main characters verbally sparred their way through the story till the end when they discovered their all-encompassing love and were allowed the first kiss… Swoon, swoon… how sweetly romantic!

Today, they start off as ‘buddies’, move in together and the idea of marriage and happily-ever-after comes almost as a surprise! Virginity is not even considered, though fidelity is still a requisite.

Medieval romances were all about quests and adventure. Modern romance too is about quest - but an internal quest, a quest to discover yourself. Romance today is as much about your journey inwards - a relationship with self - as it is a loving relationship with another.

Romance is no longer about waiting for the right time or opportunity; it’s about the here and now. It’s for you to find romance in every moment, every thought and every word. For, romance emanates from within you. If you keep waiting for the right time and place, it will just pass you by.

What are the feelings a romantic situation arouses? Romance is when you feel good about yourself and everyone around; when your good hormones are flowing and you love the whole world. If knickers peeking out from beneath a skirt seem kinda cute to you, then that’s your kind of romance! If you get addicted to exercise and look forward to your early morning walks, even that could be your experience of romance. Glaze gazing far out into the horizon with a blank mind could be as romantic as a bubble bath with your lover. Anything and everything that helps you connect with joy of living is romantic.

If you are willing to stretch your definition of it, romance is always in the air around you; you just have to sniff it out. It’s there in the leaf that just dropped to the ground; the trees laden with droopy, bright yellow amaltas; in the colors of dawn and dusk. It’s actually nowhere without; it’s within you.

The Universe beckons

Unable to comprehend infinity, we invented God.
Unable to experience God, we invented Religion.
In religion we found a graspable rope that reached all the way up to an imagined heaven.

Religion packages spirituality, that experience of the dazzling oneness with the universe, into something we can touch, feel, pray to, dress up for and fast in the name of. Religion is the most successful packaged good in the world, bar none.

The trouble with spirituality is that it is too raw, too freely available and too overwhelming. Without a label, it is a contagious form of madness that threatens the order implicit in the formation of the societies. Religion organises the quest for the spiritual even as it reduces it. A cursory look at the structure of most religious tells us their packaged nature. Most religions have a centralised text, one or a set of hallowed locations, a hierarchy of middlemen who interpret the religion for the layman, prescribed rituals that pave the way for divine access, a tangible form in which what it sells can be experienced, vast “showrooms” where the magnificence of the product is enthrallingly on display and a set of everyday rules that convert the abstraction of divinity into simple precepts of behaviour.

Steeples that touch the sky, temples that dwarf us with their grandeur, bells that advertise the presence of something otherwise ineffable, smells that wrap themselves around us; religion uses all our senses to speak to us. We not only consume religion, but are in turn consumed by it. We “become” the religion for we give it the status of carrying our primary identities. The social uses of religion go way beyond the spiritual; it allows for societies to be structured around a powerful organising principle.

For all the undeniable uses, religion fractures even as it heals. On the one hand, it allows millions of people a taste of the infinite and on the other hand it divides them, often into implacably opposed rituals. Because of its deeply embedded legitimacy, religion has the potential to override humanism and allow us to feel that we have a right, nay, a responsibility to defend our faith at all costs.

On the other hand, spirituality is an elusive experience. Without religion as our vehicle, we struggle to find other means of reaching there. We try and shrug off everything that is material and worldly in the hope that we can find this apparently pervasive but frustratingly evasive ladder. Unable to listen to the sound of the wholeness amidst the clamour of our lives, we escape to a place where we can focus on the sounds from within. This is often useful and is perhaps a less divisive way than religion. But if to be spiritual is to be whole then the material cannot be the opposite of the spiritual; it has to be its ingredient. The quest for oneness cannot lay down as a pre-requisite for the shedding of anything for how is one whole then?

At a personal level, there have often been times when one has caught a fleeting glimpse, a tantalizing flash of what it must be to feel this surging sense of oneness with the universe. Religion for me raises too many questions for it to be a vehicle of choice. Music or poetry, on the other hand, somehow allows me to transcend the “here-and-now ness” of one’s everyday existence and offers a connection to something universal. It is as if we forego our belongingness to this world for a temporary citizenship of the universe. Mountains too have the same effect for somehow they re-scale human beings into the puny things we are.

Every road to the infinite comes with its own constraints. To reach the infinite though the finite, can never be easy. We all look our own ways and as the noise in the world grows to cacophonic proportions, this quest will only grow.

My preferred way – music and mountains. Preferably music in the mountains. Or perhaps contemplating poetry under the serenading blue sky.

~~ I am unwritten ~~

I am unwritten, can't read my mind,
I'm undefined
I'm just beginning,
The pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find

I break tradition,
Sometimes my tries,
Are outside the lines
We have been conditioned not to make mistakes,
But I can't live that way
Live my life with arms wide open
Today is where my book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Believe me,
The rest is still unwritten...

~~ Three and a half love poems ~~

1

He writes for me.
His love poems are superior poems.
Critics say,
Stunning language, spectacular expressions.
But I know him beyond his poems.
He writes well.
I feel no connections.
Because I know him beyond his poems.

2

Lines from poems, famous poems.
He knows, I know.
Many of such poems he talks, I talk, we share.
Bond of common taste, sharing is a thrill, of course.
Something is missing somewhere,
Beyond this bond we go nowhere.
He knows, I know.

3

He completed my poem.
My half-done poem.
He read my mind, knew my feelings, spoke my heart.
He did the poem. Entire poem. Just the way I wanted.
He sent me a poem.
His half-done poem.
I can finish it, the way he wants it.
That's for sure.
I know the expressions he's searching for.

3.5

I did the poem.
His half-done poem.
Between the lines,
Dropped a line (demurring) - I am yours,
Lovingly and passionately yours...

Are you free to fall?

So you want a soul mate do you? Okay not necessarily something that big and cosmic but "happily ever after" would suffice just fine. Maybe you have somewhat of an idea the type of person you're looking for and you want to place your order with the cosmos - "one true love meant for only me, please and thank you." Let me ask you this - are you ready? Are you worthy? Do you have the freedom to fall madly head over heals in love? Have you made a space for that one true love to fit so beautifully nested into your life? Don't be foolish and assume that all things will just naturally fall into place once they show up. Come on now, you know better than that. Life doesn't play like that.

The rules of manifesting dictate that you have to make room for that which you are wanting to attract into your life. You know that two things cannot occupy the same space. When we want new clothes, we have to first clear out the old ones from our closets as part of letting the universe know that we are making ready a space for that new wardrobe. Nature abhors a vacuum; something will come to fill that space. The closet never stays empty for very long does it?

So have you made a space for your beloved? Are you single and free? Free to fall doesn't just mean that you are technically not dating or married. You can be married to your job, your hobbies, your workout routine, your children, your pets, your church, your parents, or the memories of someone you are no longer intimate with. You can have these things in your life and walk within balance knowing that they are not the one true love that feeds that place in your soul that only a romantic partner can fill. However, when you replace the love of 'happily ever after' with your career or with parenting, then you have given your beloved's special place away to another. You are married in essence to that which has taken the place of a strong romantic bond.

Are you married or involved with someone else while calling your soul mate to you? Perhaps you want your new love to rescue you from your current situation. Perhaps you feel too vulnerable and afraid to be single until the right one comes along. Perhaps you are simply selfish and don't want to do without someone in your life. Whatever the reason, you want to create a new love before leaving the failed relationship.

It's no good. You are telling the universe that you do not trust it to provide you with real love. You are also telling the universe that you are not strong enough to hold up your end of a relationship. If you cannot show integrity towards the one you are ending with, then how are you supposed to be honest with the new one? If you are not strong enough to be single and walk alone until the right one comes along, then you do not deserve your soul mate’s presence. Soul mates are not magical healers and fixers of life. They are your twin soul. They are you in a second body. If you are not strong enough to wait for that one, then you cannot have that one.

"Okay," you say, "then just give me a really nice person that I can happily spend the rest of my life with. You are right, I'm not all that strong and I'm not really able to be alone for any length of time. So, just give me a very nice person that's not quite a soul mate." Relationships created in desperation, need, and greed very rarely work out. What you've just told the world is that you're desperate and anyone will do. And that's what you'll get, anyone - not "the one". You must be romantically unattached when you begin your search for love. It's karma, its trust, its morals, it's only fair.

And what of your overall worthiness - are you worthy? This is not a beat yourself up question. Imagine that special person is alive and real flesh and blood person out in the world searching this very moment for "happily ever after" just like you are. Are you the kind of person that you would spend time searching for? If the person meant for you was indeed your perfect match, what would they look like? How would they behave? How would they feel and respond? Look into the mirror my friend - are you what you are looking for? Until the person you see in the mirror is worthy of your love and attention, then you will not recognize your own twin soul. For they share your essence. Become the type of person that you would want to find and in so doing so you will become the kind of person that your rightful partner wishes to find. Now you will be able to recognize each other and accept each other. Trust me, there is nothing worse than finding your soul mate when you are both screwed up and dysfunctional - intense and ugly, rather than intense and beautiful.

If you want to call a magical cosmic kind of love into your life, then you must look at what your life is now. Is it inviting and warm? Would it nurture or challenge true love's growth? Are you ready, really ready? Is the space in your heart, in your life, in your bed where only one's most treasured beloved belongs cleared out and available for them to lay their weary head once they do find you? My father used to tell me that he had pockets sewn all over his heart and each of us had a special pocket in which nobody else could fill. Is the "happily ever after" pocket of your heart big enough and ready? Is there space for real love in your life? Are you free to fall?

CHEEKS, BUTTERFLIES, CHOCOLATE AND CONFESSIONS

It was New Year's Eve. There she sat, all dressed up, in the company of many friends. The setting was an exquisite New York style upscale bar. Tuxedos and glittering cocktail dresses were abound. All the pretty people from the city wearing seasonal styles and seasonal smiles. Flashing gold cards were frequently passed about for a round of cocktails. There were low whispers and soft, melodic jazz tinkling in the background.

She sat there on a high bar stool. She could feel the soft silk of her chocolate satin gown flowing against her body. In the glow of the candlelit table, she lazily drank a vodka martini, heavy on the olive juice, while slowly puffing a miniature cigar. Those around her were patiently waiting for the arrival of new expectations, the arrival of new goals, new faces and new places. They secretly and silently dreamed of another chance at another year.

This year, she was alone. She wasn't alone at the table, but simply alone. The dashing young attorney at her side, who politely bought her drinks, belonged to someone else. The others at the table were paired. She tossed back her mane of dark curls and looked around the room but nothing caught her attention. Too many pretty boys with too much arrogance, she thought. Her own big, dark eyes seemed to penetrate the room, the walls, the facade that hung heavy in the air.

Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming desire to flee. It came from nowhere. All she knew was that she had to get out. It was 11:30 p.m. She felt stifled. She felt captured. She had to leave immediately. After asking a bewildered couple for a ride, her destination was one of impulsive glee.

It was a dark, seedy lounge. Most of the crowd there were regulars -- women with big hair and tight jeans; men with beards, cowboy boots and hungry eyes. She walked through the crowd knowing no one. She could feel the eyes upon her. Her appearance was not easily concealed.

She pulled out a cigarette and asked a guy in a cut-off denim shirt for a light. An announcement was made in a husky voice, "TEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT." At that moment, she realized she would be standing alone in another place, but alone. Hastily, she put out her cigarette and decided to head out the door and welcome in the New Year on the nearby railroad tracks by herself. She wanted to just stand and listen to the city celebrate. This year, that would be enough.

Her last lover had left her in September. It was the night of her birthday. He never called. He never called again. Sometimes she missed his unshaven face, dark, sad eyes and tangled mess of dirty blonde hair. But he was committed to something with which she could not compete. He had not left her for another woman nor his work. His work had suffered too. He was out there somewhere celebrating with an old, Irish friend he fondly called "James." James lived in a bottle.

It was at the exit that he caught her eye. He was standing by the door, drinking a longneck beer. She was almost startled by the fact that this man looked like something out of a movie. He didn't belong here. He was a strong, well-built, tall, handsome man. He had those sharp facial features typical of his ancestral family males. He had a huge frame but there was something very gentle and soft about him. He had that deadly combination of mischief and mystery about him. He seemed absolutely fearless in any situation, physical or spiritual. He had an absolutely unshakable attitude which didn't remain concealed from others either. He did not have the slightest doubt as to his purpose in life. He was alone. His straight, short hair was the colour of dark brown silk.

"FIVE MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT," came the announcement.

Then she did something so spontaneous, so irrational, so impulsive, it took her by surprise. She walked up to him.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

He nodded "yes."

"Why don’t you join us?" she said.

He smiled. He nodded. He bought her a beer.

She barely remembered the countdown. She barely remembered the cheers, the fireworks, the noise. All she remembered were his lips, and the huskiest voice coming out of those sensual lips.

He looked into her big eyes and kept talking. He was a stranger and in town connected to his work, but only for a few days. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt and spoke with the most exotic foreign accent she had ever heard. He was the most beautiful man she had ever met. His clear, hazel eyes and strawberry blonde hair reminded her of mountains, fresh air and sunshine.


She laughed. For the next two hours, they talked, laughed and looked into each other's eyes as though they had always known each other. She never felt so high.

Initially he seemed to be a nobody. He did turn out to be one, but my dearest Cheryl acted so stupidly that night, I couldn't understand why. Was she testing my temper ratio, or was she really interested? I know her; passion fuels everything she does. Without it she will try to look for it anywhere out of this world: she will either attract some unfortunate disease and die or eventually kill herself. She's been my girlfriend for quite some time now, but I never know what to expect from her. If you ask her, she doesn't even know what she's going to do next! Everything was so terrible that night; I'll never forget what happened...

*** Love ***

"So, what do you do Bob?" He asked me with his stupid mannerism.
"Oh, yes, I thought I already told you that, I'm a director." I never believed she would be so radiantly surprised: "Oh my God! A theater director or a movie director?

Theater of course.

Oh my God! Honey, did you hear that?" He barely smiled to her when she said that. "It's is so wonderful... I love theater," she went on. "It's a passion, you know what I mean, it's a bit more than a hobby...Oh I'm so thrilled to be chatting with a director! What was your last play?

Oh... An Awaited death.

Oh my God! It's my favorite this year! I love it I just loved it, it was so brilliant... Congratulations, oh I have to tell you I came out completely mesmerized..." But he had to interrupt her."I don't seem to remember that play my darling.

"Of course you don't... it's the one I went to see with my sister, you were busy." She said in the sweetest viperous way. Thank God this made him shut up and leave her alone! So I quickly engaged in a conversation about the issue:

"So, since you loved it so much, why don't you tell me what you really liked and disliked about it?" Yeah right...Just go on...try to get her to like you more! Play the modest! You're a director, so this means you're a better actor than all the ones who work for you!

And there she was talking to me...yes to me and me alone. It was as if she had completely forgotten about her partner. Objectively, I really mean objectively he's a boring creature! I don't seem to know what this princess is doing with him. What does she see in him? He doesn't even accompany her all the time, so why doesn't he leave now? She's so different. Is she the one? Yes, she's the one I saw a couple of days ago. Maybe I should ask her! Yes, I will as soon as she finishes talking about theatre. My God I could spend the whole night just listening to her, to the music in her voice, to the trills of her laugh. It was as if she was telling me things about my job that I had never heard before. She talked about my play criticizing it in a very delightful manner.

"In that case," I ingeniously proposed, "would you like to come and see the actors, you know talk to them, maybe give us some new ideas? Or even help me in my next play... I'm in the process of writing and directing a new one. Would you like to help me? I could use a female touch..."
Had I offered her the world, she wouldn't have been so amazed. She blushed. She really blushed, too much I believe. Then she threw me a "this is too much for me" smile. It wasn't too much for her; it was too much for me. The more she spoke, the more I dreamt. I was very conscious of what she was saying and yet in my head all the crazy, weird ideas were flashing. This blush...it was her at the café the other day.

It was a very usual Thursday morning. Really, nothing was happening. Nobody was even writing a critique about my play in the paper anymore. I passed by this café. It looked nice. Suddenly, it didn't just look nice, but rather spectacular. My focal point zoomed to a particular spot in the scenery. She was there...alone reading the paper...a cup of coffee, or was it chocolate? Yes, it was chocolate...she had dense hair, I don't remember...but the sunlight added glow to its ribbons. She was wearing this blue silk shirt... she looked so fresh like she was covered in the petals of a violet. I found myself standing right at her table. She didn't even realize I was there. She was so busy reading a specific article. Then I said: "Excuse me miss, would you mind if I sat here?" She looked at me, then with a blush "Of course not, please do." But she kept reading and didn't speak to me once! I sat there amazed by her. Do you think she didn't realize that? She didn't seem to. She wasn't that beautiful! But there was something about her. This divine air, this peaceful agitation in her being...Oh, she just sipped her chocolate. I was afraid with every sip she took: this meant she would be leaving soon! Mary...no, no too banal. So Jennifer. No, too modern. Annabelle! Too silly...what could possibly be her name? She inspired something, but what name does this belong to? I wish I could talk to her, say something you silly fool! I just couldn't. I am not the shy kind! Was it this first sight they talk about so much? Or was it her? She seemed to enjoy being alone, I felt I had no right to enter this "secret garden" of hers. Suddenly, my daydream was interrupted by a slight horn. It was a beautiful black car. She jumped off her chair with the most admirable lightness, finished her chocolate quickly and ran to the car. Oh, her bag, she forgot it. This was my chance! As I was getting up to fetch it and run after her, I barely saw her running back and leave with it again. She seemed to be from another planet where time is much ahead of mine! I couldn't follow up with her. She was much too quick a vision. Was it he in the car? I think so; he keeps spoiling our moments!

"Tell me something, I said again, were you by any chance at the café de Paris on Thursday morning? "
"Yes, I was actually. I always go there in the morning; it's such a lovely place to be in. Why do you ask? "
"Oh, well I think you're the one I sat at the table with." She tried to remember... Oh, so it wasn't her! Never mind she's better anyway.
Then she said,"Oh! Thursday morning! Yes, yes it was you then? Oh, it's such a small world! I'm sorry I didn't remember you. Usually in the mornings I don't pay much attention to anything..." She was justifying herself. She didn't have to. She likes me.

The music played: "Heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek...Oh, I'd love to climb a mountain and to reach its highest peak, but it doesn't thrill me half as much as dancing cheek to cheek"...
I was dying to dance with her; if only I could talk to her...I was waiting, ardent for her to look at me with those long eyelashes like wings of a butterfly clapping against each other. I was waiting for someone to introduce us...for me to be able to touch her hand so delicate... The first day I met Cheryl, she was wearing her pink dress: she had her hair up, thus uncovering a spectacular neck that millions of sculptors sought to carve. As for her dress, it only teasingly uncovered a side of her shoulder, leaving the rest mysterious; then float fairly until her knees paving the way to impeccable legs, carefully finished with slightly varnished toes. It was hopeless. This girl of my dreams was to remain a vision, until: "Excuse me, could you please pass me one of the glasses next to you?" Finally, the butterflies flew towards me.

"Of course, what would you like to drink?
Oh, some wine...
Back then, she wasn't on very good terms with her boyfriend, and I became her friend and confidant: all the little untamed secrets were revealed to me. This intimacy-loving creature would tell me everything. She became a friend, an excellent friend I would say. I was hoping for more, and yet, she was just perfect that way, she would laugh at my jokes, listen to what I have to say, make me have the greatest times of my life...by just being my friend. She never saw my intentions, and if she did, she had a great way of concealing it. The D-day came. This was the day when she broke up. It was the happiest day of my life, because she cried on my shoulder. That was the New Year Eve. Then, as the time passed, we gradually became lovers, and have been the best for two years now.

*** Loath ***

Will he be the next "honey"? The next "little genius"? Will he be the one to touch your lips, taste them and devour their essence? Will he take over to fulfil your dreams and with no remorse, drive you into destroying me better? Will he be this other, this intruder when I cease to exist? Will he cover our days with the sweet blanket of forgetfulness? Will he do our same gestures and take my place around your neck? Will he get to know your scenes of sudden fury and anger? He will first take away "I love you" from you, and then, I know it, he will take your lips and the rest of you. Thus, he will bury me forever in the back of your head, in this world you can only remember if you're old enough to forget.

When I think about all this, I get jealous. Is it over? It can't be, we were great...It's making me go insane. Cheryl, I got the message, just stop sitting with him, stop being interested. I'll give you till the count of ten. If you don't realize that I'm not next to you anymore, I am going to kill you. I'm serious; I am going to kill you. I will be the last one you love and make love to ...1...2...3...4...5...6...6...I said 6...7...7 and a half...8...9...My Cheryl is dead. "Honey, why are you sitting all alone here?" What, she's here? She's going to die anyway. I can't stand her. "I'm tired." "Then let's go home." Perfect, I have to finish her immediately, "yes, let's go home."

"Well, at least the party is nice. Sue Ann is known for organizing warm gatherings, so why did she invite this "marvel"? Yes, I'm worried. I AM WORRIED! I feel horrible. My Cheryl...this is my Cheryl, I found her first! She's mine, so leave her alone. Look at her, oh, she's so spirited. She's really a darling: if I was he, and she was talking about my play this way, I'd fall in love with her instantly. What can I say? I can't say anything. I never saw the play, never heard of it...I don't like him...I adore her... Cheryl, I hate how you're talking to him. OK, you're getting back at me? I know I shouldn't have told you. Now, I understand what you meant by "I can hurt you so bad you'll never believe."

While we said our good-byes to all the people at the party, including Bob, I was thinking about the perfect crime: a car accident? Stab her in the back? Rape her? Make love to her then break her neck? Yes, that’s the perfect one, I'll certainly be the last. I won't talk to her in the car, she's such a ... I can't stand her. Still I had to open the door for her in front of everybody else. Clap! On the road, she wasn't saying anything. Even if she does, I thought, I won't talk to her. But why isn't she talking? How come she's not as excited as ever? How come she's not laughing because she remembered something funny that happened during the party? Did she realize she did something wrong? Did she know that she has torn me apart? Did she feel her end was near? Then, suddenly, her toxic voice came out of nowhere: "I had a good time, the party wasn't brilliant, but it wasn't so bad. The food was Ok. I mean, at least I'm not going home hungry. Sue Ann is always so nice, she's very funny, I always enjoy chatting with her...I can't wait to get home, and my shoes are killing me. I feel so drained! I had a very long day today; it's good we're going home early, I need some sleep. You could've told me that you were tired earlier; we didn't have to stay so long. So my little engineer, did you enjoy your time?" I found myself saying: "Oh, it was wonderful my darling, just wonderful had it not been for my headache."
I slid out my .3 pocket revolver and with shaking hands placed it on her head. “I'll give you till the count of ten. If you don't realize that I'm not next to you anymore, I am going to kill you. I'm serious; I am going to kill you. I will be the last one you love and make love to ...1...2...3...4...5...6...6...I said 6...7...7 and a half...8...9...My Cheryl is dead. It all started at this stupid party we both went to. Actually, I'm the one who insisted on going I ended up regretting it. You are going to die.”

There was this deadly silence inside. Outside the crowd had started the countdown and the firecrackers lit the sky. "FIVE MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT," came the announcement. Cheryl starred into my eyes "It's not alright this time. I have given you enough chances. I swore, if you lay a finger on me again, I would hurt you so much, you'll never believe this happened”, smiled at me, planted a kiss, which seemed to be her typical goodbye kiss, and then she got out of the car and disappeared...she disappeared... she melted in the crowd and yet she was still there...like a grain of salt when it dissolves in the water, its taste remains...I thought it was over for me...she hates me...I shattered the "me" she knew! I saw this coming...I shouldn't have told her. She knew what she was saying: If you betray me or my love, don't let me know. I shattered us, I shattered me, I shattered her image of respect and pride in front of my friends. I had doubted her all through and for the vengeance slept with many. You just reflect your persona. What you see around is what you are filled within. How true!! I was full of betrayal and I saw infidelity all around...Clap...She knocked the door so hard that even her image didn’t seem to come back. I shouted from within,"Don’t go Cheryl. Just listen to me for once for God's sake!"

The Phone Call

"Hello?" A tired older woman answered the phone.

"Mama, it's me Raima."

"Raima, what are you doing calling so late? Can't you sleep? Didn't I tell you that when you can't sleep to just get a glass of warm milk and sit out in the living room for a while until you feel tired again. No TV, no books." The older woman was abruptly cut off by her daughter's attempt to rectify the beginning argument.

"No Mama, I just thought I'd give you a call and it's not that late, it's only 9:30." Her voice trembled like a small child's trying to explain why the cookie jar was broken. It wasn't that Raima was afraid of her mother. It was just that her mother always seemed to know what she was supposed to be doing and what she wasn't and always felt it was her special duty to go around telling her, all the time.

"It's raining tonight, really hard, and I thought you might like to hear that. I know how you always wondered if it ever rained in Pune. You told me that you could never understand how anything grew out here if it was sunny all the time." She remembered that talk, when she had first mentioned the idea of going to Pune. She was only twenty then and her mother forbade it by going on for an hour talking about how she didn't understand how so many people could live with sunshine and smog and no rain for so long. She went on to talk about how everyone in Pune was air-headed and dumb and how awful it must be and how Raima would never fit in.

“Raima, did you call me at 9:30 just to tell me about the rain? Or do you have some news for me?" The news Sahana Awasthi was referring to was news of a job. Her daughter had been in Pune for three months and had not given her any news of an acting prospect. She could never understand why the hell her daughter had moved to Pune anyway to get a job when there were plenty of jobs in Bhopal. No, her daughter wanted to be an actress and she had to go to Pune to get her big start. No one ever hears about award-winning actresses from Bhopal, Raima was fond of saying. And no matter how many times Sahana had explained that there were plenty of successful jobs in law or business at home, Raima never seemed to hear that.

"News, of course I have news, why else would I call at this time of day? I got a part today - a commercial, for Pepsi. Everyone out here says that commercials are the doorway to the big time." She lied. She couldn't possibly tell her mother that the only jobs she'd been able to land were the dance hall and cleaning the sound stage. She couldn't tell her mother that every time she even entered an audition, it took the director about five seconds to realize she wasn't a fit for the part.

She did, however, tell a half-truth about the Pepsi commercial. Yesterday, when she arrived to clean the studio, they were wrapping up the remains of the commercial they had shot earlier that day, for Pepsi. She couldn't give her mother the satisfaction that, once again, she'd been right. That all those years that she said her daughter would fail at acting and end up living in some hole, starving, and working at a strip club was so close to the truth, it was frightening.
But she would never tell her mother the truth. Even if she had to lie, she wanted her mother to see that she was actually trying.

"It's great, Mama. I get my hair and make-up done and just stand there and drink Pepsi - and they're paying me. Isn't that great? I don't know anywhere in Bhopal where I can do that."
For a second, she heard nothing. Raima’s first instinct was that the line had been disconnected because of the storm. But then, she realized what had actually happened. Her mother was sighing on the other end of the line, just soft enough to barely be heard. She knew that even if she had landed the part in the commercial, it still wouldn't make her mother happy. She knew her mother was dead-set against her move to Pune and felt that Raima was wasting her life, chasing after a dream that was never going to happen.

When she was little and first told her mother that she wanted to be an actress, her mother laughed. 'Honey, you have to be pretty to be an actress', she said. Her mother explained that no one with mousy brown hair and glasses ever becomes a successful actress and she was right. That was the worst part about everything her mother ever said, she was always right. She always knew what was going to happen to Raima and had always made it clear though Raima had fought against it her entire life. Although, as time passed and reality began to set in, Raima realized her mother was right.

"Well, that's wonderful. I'm looking forward to seeing your face on TV." The monotony in her voice betrayed the compliment Sahana intended. If only her daughter would have some sense. Sense enough to realize you don't put all your efforts into some stupid commercial. But, then again, Raima never did have any sense.

Sahana recalled the day Raima came home from school waving the flyer announcing the tryouts for the school play, begging for permission to audition. She'd firmly explained to Raima that she didn't think it was a good idea, that she would probably lose out to someone pretty and she'd just end up crying and angry. She knew that her daughter was not what the director was looking for. Sahana didn't want to see herself embarrassed by listening to all the apologies the other parents would have to offer when she would pick Raima up at the end of the audition. She didn't want her daughter upset over some stupid play. But Raima took the advice as a challenge and practically demanded Sahana allow her to audition. Thinking of her daughter, as always, Sahana acquiesced.

Not surprisingly, the result had been just as she had predicted. The lead and most of the other roles were given to prettier, skinnier, fair girls. Somewhat chunky, brown-haired Raima was offered a stage hand position as a consolation by the director. Sahana had been so embarrassed by this display she informed Raima she was forbidden to help with the play, citing that if they didn't want her as the lead, she shouldn't give in to the bones they threw at her. Once again, Raima ignored her and accepted the position with even more fervour than she would have the lead role. Sahana watched her make the sets, clean the stage, and help the actresses, all the while never realizing that she had lost and was simply making a fool out of herself. No, thought Sahana, she never really understood that she lost.

With that, she attempted to change the subject.
"How's the car doing? Are you putting enough oil in it? You know how it can heat up, especially in that Pune heat."

"Oh yeah, I just got it checked the other day. It runs great, thanks Mom. I even had someone from the commercial tell me they thought it was cool." The car that her mother let her have when she went to Pune, the car that Sahana hung over her head as the final sacrifice she could make, was sold exactly one month and two days after Raima arrived in Pune. She needed the money to pay the rent. Raima was surprised at how much rent was considering the dump she found herself in.

Lying about the car was just another example of Raima feeling the need to lie to her mother about her life. Not in the same way that other grown children might offer up some placating bullshit to assure their mothers that everything in their life is really okay. No, this is more like a shield put up against the abuse. She thought that by answering the questions with the answers her mother wanted to hear, she could keep up a civil, even pleasant conversation.

Raima wondered now why she had actually called. She could have gone through with it without speaking to her mother. Maybe she just needed that final push that is her mother's specialty, the final assurance that the decision she'd made was the right one. The phone call was a form of self-pity. The way a person with low self-esteem continues to call himself ugly or stupid. It is in the problem that they find comfort. Comfort that they know they have analyzed the situation correctly.

"How are Dad and Ryan?" Raima asked.

"Well, your father has taken it upon himself to finish shingling the roof before winter. I keep telling him that he should just hire someone to finish it for him. He's not getting any younger, you know? But he listens about as well as you and your brother does. As for your brother, he's about the same. In that I mean that he's still failing at school and staying out all hours. Your dad seems to think there might be some drugs involved so I've got my hands full on that one. I guess I deserve all of this somehow. It seems no matter how hard I try to help everyone, they seem to get worse and worse."

Sahana sighed because she knew that she was the only one who had ever really tried to make the family work. Lord knows Jai had never done anything. He seemed to go throughout life like a robot, involving himself as little as possible. She was the one who gave of herself constantly. She was the one who helped the children and who spent all her time worrying about the future. And it wasn't as if she asked for much. All she ever wanted was one of her children to actually succeed at something, to show the world what a hard-working mother they have behind them.
When the children were little, Sahana dreamed of a daughter who would grow up to be a successful lawyer and a son who would become a master surgeon. How proud she would be, sitting in the wings, accepting the praise. She longed for the chance to explain how her tough love approach had made the children what they were. But it never happened. As soon as she started pushing, they pushed back. They were never able to see what she was doing for them.
Instead of being able to show off her smart, successful children, she found herself constantly making excuses for why this one didn't look pretty, why this one didn't understand the homework, or this one never tried hard enough. It was impossible to bear all these years but she did it in the hopes that sometime, before she died, she would be able to show off one of her children. And with each passing day, she became bitterer as she realized she was hoping for something that would never happen.

"Mama, I guess I just wanted to tell you I love you and I miss you. Tell Dad and Ryan, too. I'm not sure when I'll get to come home again, what with all the work coming in and all." She laughed.

Raima laughed because part of her wished that the reason she wouldn't be coming home was that she was so busy with her successful life. There was a small part of her that still felt hopeful and wished that any of the lies were true. That small part of her was who had decided to call home. To listen and see, for the last time, if Mama really loved and accepted her. That was the part that laughed because it was the last part to realize that it had lost. It was her heart and it had hung in the longest. Longer than her body that gave up any dream of stardom the first night it stripped nude and danced in front of fifty drunken men. Much longer than her head that realized that coming to Pune was a mistake the first day. When it realized that no matter how hard it worked, it would still fail. And certainly longer than her soul, which she wasn't sure had ever been there in the first place. It was her heart that finally found the pistol, the one she had purchased three days prior with the last of the money she received from selling the car.

“Raima, are you alright? You sound like you're not getting enough sleep. You have to remember to sleep. You don't see any successful TV stars with bags under their eyes, do you? You have to work hard and take care of yourself." With that, Sahana felt a glimmer a hope. Maybe she would see her daughter up there after all. She did say she was in a commercial, didn't she? That could lead somewhere. Yes, she would just have to keep on the girl now that she had an opportunity. She wasn't going to let this slip away like all the other chances and leave Raima to her own resources. She would need her mother to push her along. Yes, there was still hope for her.
She could see it now, her daughter starring in film and TV, winning the Academy Award, taking everyone by surprise. Not everyone though. Sahana knew it could happen because she was the one to make it happen. She could picture it now, everyone shaking her hand and saying things like, 'You should be so proud! An award and she's only been in the business six months! You must be a great mom and who knows what she can continue to achieve with your backing. It's just too bad that everyone doesn't have a mother like you. But, then again, that's what makes you so special, Sahana.'

Finally, she would have her moment. Yes, she would keep on the girl with no mistakes this time. Starting tomorrow, she would start calling her at five every morning for training and...

"I'm just fine, Mama. I'll get enough sleep, don't worry. I'll look great tomorrow. You won't believe what they'll say about me. I love you, Mama. Good night."

Raima Awasthi hung up the phone. For a minute, she listened to the sounds of her apartment, holding the gun in her hand, mere inches from the floor. The creak and shake of the water pipes, the squeak of the rats hiding in the walls, the cursing of the couple upstairs, the bizarre honking of the traffic , they echoed in her ears. She looked around and realized, with every part of her being, that she lost. With that, she took the pistol in her left hand, pointed it to her temple, and fired...