The Thirty-Year-Old Virgins

abreakey_productstilllife_ironsteam[1]

Divya assured herself, despite a burning dubiety, that she’d reached a significant milestone in her relationship with Aditya when, on a late Saturday night, her antsy phone buzzed with a storm of messages from Aditya. A cold inexplicable fear gipped her heart as she clutched the phone and scrolled through the stream of messages. Aditya’s love for poetry, or rather what he believed to be poetry, was notorious in the posse of aspiring writers who met every Saturday in a derelict café in North Bangalore. Divya wouldn’t have taken to him if she could take to anyone else but being a year shy of turning into a thirty-year-old virgin, Divya knew all too well the seething urgency of falling in love. She had begun with mild doses of admiration weaved intricately into casual conversations – finding the most opportune moments to call his fiction Kafkaesque or finding his jarring asymmetric poetic compositions venomously post-modern. Every praise was a chuckle pickled and preserved and it spread a sourness in her heart every time he blushed. She would overcome with pity – for the poor boy but more so for herself, and guilt and sorrow and a cruel screaming gaiety and it’d leave her wiping her hands with the tissue-paper for a minute too long as if she’d been plunged into a deep undersea cavern by the impact of his work of ground-breaking ingenuity. She’d then make a quiet show of getting back to normality – by pretending, for instance, not to have heard the last sliver of conversation or visibly forcing a laugh – and appear briefly flustered as if she’d witnessed sharp inerasable visions of other-worldly love-making with the man himself. Continue reading

Advertisements

He…She

He amused her,

She intrigued him.

He liked to hold tight,

She liked her space in the nights.

They first met for lunch,

He paid,

She ate.

Then for drinks,

And a night of uncomfortable snogging.

She gave it a month,

He gave it a few days.

They gave it another night,

It still didn’t feel right.

They met with friends about,

He had fun.

She had more fun with him around.

Maybe, they thought, maybe there was something like love to be found.

They created a routine,

Of texting, calling, meeting, sleeping.

He still liked to hold tight,

She still would put up a fight.

She had long hair, he loved to wrap around his hands and ride,

He had long legs, she longed to wrap her legs around and sleep.

He insisted on dropping her home every single time,

She cracked jokes about rapists waiting for her in the dark of the night.

33

One night, after,

He held her and made her laugh for an hour,

She thought this could be what love looked like, when you watched above from a tower.

That night, she did not fight, instead slept in his arms,

It felt just right.

Continue reading

The Hollow

The Hollow comes crawling up to you in the dead of the night,

A night when you are tucked in safe, when you sleep amidst the memories of mommy singing you a lullaby.

A night, when you thank God for the warm duvet you have to snuggle.

A night when comfort is the soft yellow light, shining outside.

A night when the sturdy lock on your main door, lulls you into thinking you are safe.

f0b9b924a2eb19a2093bfdd68267dab0

The Hollow lies in wait,

Sometimes in your closet,

Sometimes on the branch of a tree outside your window,

Sometimes in dark corners of the passage,

Sometimes peeking through the keyhole of your main door.

The Hollow lies in wait,

Continue reading

Appliance

appliance

You remember, don’t you, when your tongue used to slither

down my neck lazily till it reached my left nipple,

That it would lick three times counter clockwise and flick once,

As if completing some secret ritual, and I would shudder.

And I would become a little more excited than I thought possible.

And you would look me in the eye for just a second

before continuing the landscaping of my chest.

Continue reading