To,
My Unseen Unknown Dearest Love,
It was a strong drizzle and I was waiting for it to subside so that I could go home. You were there under the tree asking your mother if you could play in the rain. Your mother refused, and you had curled your face. You had stretched your hands to feel the rain. It was for the first time I had seen you clearly. Never had imagined speaking with you in class but as they say if same feelings sprout, then it becomes easy to strike up a conversation. All that was needed was an excuse. And that excuse came in the form of our physics teacher. I’ll thank three people here- firstly, the teacher for giving the assignment, secondly, you for not doing it, and thirdly, myself for doing it. And the teacher had asked you to take it from me and copy it down. You had then apprehensively come in the lunch break to me to ask the assignment. “Excuse me, can I have your physics assignment, please?” you asked. I looked around and spilled the rice in my hand. It fell on the shirt and created a stain. That shirt I did not give for a wash, and even today the stain is just as is. That was the start, pedantic nevertheless.
Then onwards I wished that every class be that way. I had then become very regular in my assignments, and always wished that you come to me and asked. We used to exchange our notes, assignments, and it took its own time for me to ask you your contact number. Well I somehow summoned the courage and under the pretext of calling you if I could not understand something, I had asked you your number. You had readily given it. In doing anything, the first time is most difficult. I remember the first time I had wanted to call you. My mind was vacillating. Should I call, should I not? What if your mother or father picks it up? Will they like it? What will they think? I still remember my first call that I had made to you. I was beginning to get edgy.
“Hello”, I said.
“Hello”, the reply, coarse. I do not know who that was ‘coz in many calls I have made to you, that voice I heard only the first time, never again.
I asked if I could speak to you.
“Who’s speaking?”
I seemed to have forgotten my name for a while.
“Hmmm…” I hummed.
“Who’s talking?”
“Sachin, Sachin.” Good lord it came right, without any more delay. You were asked to come down the stairs and answer the call.
“Hello…’. You said. I only wish that there was a word in any language to describe what I felt like.
“Hello… Hello… Who are you? Sorry, I meant how. Hi there, good morning, night, sorry afternoon. Did you not go to college today?” And I suddenly realized that it was a Sunday. (I was in home too. That was stupid of me)
“Today is Sunday right?” you asked.
“Oh yes. Sorry for that.”
“Listen, hey, could you get your English text book please?” I asked, not knowing where I was going with that conversation. Actually I had called you up with nothing of this on my mind. All those things were being cooked in my head. And I was just speaking them out. All the time I had before the call, I depleted in thinking about what would happen if someone other than you picked my call. I never thought what I will speak about when you answer it. Now that you went back again to your room, I fumbled for the text book myself in my bag.
You then brought the text book. “OK, here it is with me. Tell me what is it that you want?”
I was stuck again, “could you turn to page 47?”
“Ya. Here I am.” You said, turning to the page.
I was turning to the page but the book fell down and I said, “I had something to ask, but I seem to have forgotten. Ok… give me a second to recollect.”
I was just buying time. I collected the book and began, “Ya why did Sherlock Holmes contact Dr. Watson?” and when I turned to page 47, it was the poem- The Daffodils, of Wordsworth.
“What!! Now where did Sherlock Holmes come in Daffodils?” you asked.
Not knowing what to speak, I hung up. It was a blunder. I felt embarrassed.
The next day, I came up to you and apologized. You just smiled and said, “Next time, if you do want to call me, just do it; no need for an excuse.” You had read my mind. That much I knew. Then onwards, a call once a week. The week soon became a day. I even remember when you had told me that you were going out of town and I had asked you, “Ok, so will you call me from there?”
“Can’t wait to speak to you; I’ll call you as often as I can, and also wish you goodnight.” I had no words to speak. I just said, “Fine. I’ll be waiting,” and hung up. I was smiling, and blushing too. I had never felt any happier than this my entire life till then. I was just wondering as to how someone, whom I never knew yesterday, got so close today. It was surreal, and incredible. Someone had said that every man is a poet when he’s in love. I somehow found that very relevant to me. I had begun to write poems then. It was then that the insipid tea at the restaurant seemed all the more delicious; the once tasteless pizza was now my favorite. A popular movie title has this line with it, love makes life beautiful. Well very true indeed, I think. And me, who don’t watch movies avidly, did watch that movie a hundred times at least.
Seeing you, speaking to you, knowing you, understanding you, and allowing you so close to me- these have been and are the best things that could have happened to me in my life. I just hope that you exist for real and don’t remain only in my imagination.
Waiting, only and only for you…
With all the love in the world…
The above work is purely my imagination, and I bear no responsibility for any resemblance of this with anyone :-)
My Unseen Unknown Dearest Love,
It was a strong drizzle and I was waiting for it to subside so that I could go home. You were there under the tree asking your mother if you could play in the rain. Your mother refused, and you had curled your face. You had stretched your hands to feel the rain. It was for the first time I had seen you clearly. Never had imagined speaking with you in class but as they say if same feelings sprout, then it becomes easy to strike up a conversation. All that was needed was an excuse. And that excuse came in the form of our physics teacher. I’ll thank three people here- firstly, the teacher for giving the assignment, secondly, you for not doing it, and thirdly, myself for doing it. And the teacher had asked you to take it from me and copy it down. You had then apprehensively come in the lunch break to me to ask the assignment. “Excuse me, can I have your physics assignment, please?” you asked. I looked around and spilled the rice in my hand. It fell on the shirt and created a stain. That shirt I did not give for a wash, and even today the stain is just as is. That was the start, pedantic nevertheless.
Then onwards I wished that every class be that way. I had then become very regular in my assignments, and always wished that you come to me and asked. We used to exchange our notes, assignments, and it took its own time for me to ask you your contact number. Well I somehow summoned the courage and under the pretext of calling you if I could not understand something, I had asked you your number. You had readily given it. In doing anything, the first time is most difficult. I remember the first time I had wanted to call you. My mind was vacillating. Should I call, should I not? What if your mother or father picks it up? Will they like it? What will they think? I still remember my first call that I had made to you. I was beginning to get edgy.
“Hello”, I said.
“Hello”, the reply, coarse. I do not know who that was ‘coz in many calls I have made to you, that voice I heard only the first time, never again.
I asked if I could speak to you.
“Who’s speaking?”
I seemed to have forgotten my name for a while.
“Hmmm…” I hummed.
“Who’s talking?”
“Sachin, Sachin.” Good lord it came right, without any more delay. You were asked to come down the stairs and answer the call.
“Hello…’. You said. I only wish that there was a word in any language to describe what I felt like.
“Hello… Hello… Who are you? Sorry, I meant how. Hi there, good morning, night, sorry afternoon. Did you not go to college today?” And I suddenly realized that it was a Sunday. (I was in home too. That was stupid of me)
“Today is Sunday right?” you asked.
“Oh yes. Sorry for that.”
“Listen, hey, could you get your English text book please?” I asked, not knowing where I was going with that conversation. Actually I had called you up with nothing of this on my mind. All those things were being cooked in my head. And I was just speaking them out. All the time I had before the call, I depleted in thinking about what would happen if someone other than you picked my call. I never thought what I will speak about when you answer it. Now that you went back again to your room, I fumbled for the text book myself in my bag.
You then brought the text book. “OK, here it is with me. Tell me what is it that you want?”
I was stuck again, “could you turn to page 47?”
“Ya. Here I am.” You said, turning to the page.
I was turning to the page but the book fell down and I said, “I had something to ask, but I seem to have forgotten. Ok… give me a second to recollect.”
I was just buying time. I collected the book and began, “Ya why did Sherlock Holmes contact Dr. Watson?” and when I turned to page 47, it was the poem- The Daffodils, of Wordsworth.
“What!! Now where did Sherlock Holmes come in Daffodils?” you asked.
Not knowing what to speak, I hung up. It was a blunder. I felt embarrassed.
The next day, I came up to you and apologized. You just smiled and said, “Next time, if you do want to call me, just do it; no need for an excuse.” You had read my mind. That much I knew. Then onwards, a call once a week. The week soon became a day. I even remember when you had told me that you were going out of town and I had asked you, “Ok, so will you call me from there?”
“Can’t wait to speak to you; I’ll call you as often as I can, and also wish you goodnight.” I had no words to speak. I just said, “Fine. I’ll be waiting,” and hung up. I was smiling, and blushing too. I had never felt any happier than this my entire life till then. I was just wondering as to how someone, whom I never knew yesterday, got so close today. It was surreal, and incredible. Someone had said that every man is a poet when he’s in love. I somehow found that very relevant to me. I had begun to write poems then. It was then that the insipid tea at the restaurant seemed all the more delicious; the once tasteless pizza was now my favorite. A popular movie title has this line with it, love makes life beautiful. Well very true indeed, I think. And me, who don’t watch movies avidly, did watch that movie a hundred times at least.
Seeing you, speaking to you, knowing you, understanding you, and allowing you so close to me- these have been and are the best things that could have happened to me in my life. I just hope that you exist for real and don’t remain only in my imagination.
Waiting, only and only for you…
With all the love in the world…
The above work is purely my imagination, and I bear no responsibility for any resemblance of this with anyone :-)
