Underdog

A Bungalow on Barakhamba Road, New Delhi.
Courtesy : linuskendall on Flickr.

Sunlight filters into the first floor balcony of this building of colonial standing. It somewhat perturbs but nonetheless is fun to get some tan on a winter noon. As he and his friend walk through an array of oil paintings, done meticulously on canvas, they are increasingly appreciative of artists' talents, craftsmanship and imagination.

At once she catches his attention. In black stilettos she stands tall, wrapped in her skin tight jeans, her long hair falling over her slender shoulders. He is reluctant to look away, though repeatedly being told how mean it is to stare. He is adamant and continues to gaze as she continues with her task, detailing potential buyers about the paintings, cost and stuff. She mesmerizes walking through the stacks, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. As his friend continues to be increasingly engrossed in details of artwork, he is more and more lost.

As he is not to relent, she now acknowledges his gaze - having caught him looking on numerous times. He is also able to catch her stealing glances and occasionally fixes her with his eyes. He is not to advance, as he enjoys this tranquil conversation. Though sure he will not be rebuffed, given the scenario and his intuition, he refrains from making talk; for he probably prefers being an underdog, away from luxuries and limelight while fancying them in every second of his thoughts...

Unresolved!

A bridge and a frozen river!
Courtesy: Irmeli Aro on Flickr | License: CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Dear Diary (sorry for the typos, happens frequently at this hour, humane!)

Four yellow-green lights blink in front of him, the only sounds being very infrequent taps on computer keyboard and constant humming of the ceiling fan. Yet its noisy in his head, even a hectic and corrosive day is unable to put him to sleep. He aches and several parts of his body pant for mercy, but the thoughts won't go. Bloodshot eyes pool tears, blurring vision. Still he evades sleep, for he fears the thoughts, the feelings that dwell deep within. On the surface he portrays normalcy, camouflaging the turmoils and conquests beneath the colourful mask. He sometimes hates himself for harbouring emotions, at others he fuels himself by the same. Having lost already, he wishes not to accept the fate. Adamant he fights, aimless, unguided and unresolved. He wishes not to perish, but he knows few ways to pursue. No adventure helps him much, his appetite for martyrdom betrays him thousand times a day. He wishes for a refuge, a certain cave; away from the haphazard, hidden from all the disdain...

Birds...

Beautiful Red Cherries
Courtesy: Colin on Flicker | License: CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

...as a 4 or 5 something she stands out! A sunflower yellow frock falls down her waist creating a bizarre contrast against her pale and freckled skin. Face glows crowned with black hair that vanish around her slender neck, which seems to jab out of floral shirt concealing her rather lanky figure. He goes on his knees to be level with her, trying to look into her big black eyes. It's enchanting when her pink lips part to utter a frank hello and he cherishes the divine. A strip of glass panels lets sunshine in, wind ferrying the curtains on its wings. He stands up, carrying her in his arms - a peck on her cherry cheeks. Walks across the room to plop on the large couch that's the only piece of furniture in the large room overlooking the large garden that sprawls just a bit short of the infinity. Noon fades into a gloomy red and grey, but electric evening. His eyes transfixed to the Brownian motion that this darling exhibits as he continues to recline in the synthetic satin, (suddenly) to his amazement a pearl rolls down his bony cheek, (at once) to lose its shiny existence to the cushion underneath...