Wednesday, December 10, 2008

“Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another”

He mused to himself. She was the tenth woman he had dated that year, or was it eleventh - neither did he remember, nor did he bother to. Beauty, he always knew, was skin deep, and love was pure and absolute jargon. And of course, they all felt the same in the dark.

The same old cribbing, the beautiful smile,
The mush, emotions, just a different profile,
Wide brown eyes, just a little darker,

And that evening was no different from the ones he had spent with the previous ones, the same old candle lights, the chinese cuisine, another bouquet of red roses covered with glittery water drops sprayed intentionally to give the desired lusty effect, all that was pending was the ceremonious invitation for coffee at her apartment, and whatever followed.

It took him another week, and a day more to forget her to the extent of not being able to recall her name within ten minutes of thought. And all it took was not taking her calls for a couple of days. Like the last few, she also understood in due time. Contrary to popular belief, girls had brains too, he mused.

Love is just a four letter word,
A euphemism for something even shorter,
Love is just the delusion,
That one woman differs from another.

He scribbled in his planner, and read it over and over again, adoring his handwriting, another asset he was proud of, not to mention the poetic tinge and the profound thought. For as long as he could remember, he had been trying to appreciate the differences in women, but to his disappointment, could never go beyond the appearance. And the fact that it all led to the same further turned his attempts futile.

And the pictures of the women he had ‘loved’ ran through his head like an MS PowerPoint slideshow, which reminded him of the presentation he had to make in the evening, before a new and prospective client. Work, he thought, was ‘also’ repetitive and unexciting. After an eternity of cribbing, the clock persuaded him to begin, half-heartedly though.

In a background of contrast,
When the time ran too fast,
My thoughts ran even faster,
As I saw her.

He could not sleep, and it was not unusual. He had noticed the smallest movement of the tiniest speck of her body, even her nimble fingers, while making the presentation, and that too was not unusual. He was sure she was impressed. But he had fumbled, how could he, he never did. It took him a while to convince himself how usual it was, and an hour of boring sitcoms to put him to sleep.

Her nimble hands, as she painted the tree,
Oh lord, when will they set me free,
Her husky voice still haunts my night,
Stops my dreams from their timeless flight.

He was drenched in sweat, as he got up, and jumped to switch the light on. A mixture of darkness and loneliness scared him. He opened the drawers on the right, unable to find what he looked for. He ran for his suitcase thrown carelessly on the couch when he had gotten back, relieved to find his planner inside. And struggling through its pages, he found and dialed the number. And the next minute, he found himself driving, lost enough to forget turning the music on.

Oh darkness you are a mystery,
I am caught in your unfaithful game,
When at one moment she scares me,
The next you make them women the same.

A sense of fear and excitement engulfed him as he took her hand in his. As he had noticed, her fingers were familiar, exactly like the fingers he had interwoven in his own a few years ago. He was right, she was impressed. And he did not know her more than her surname and her designation in the client’s organization, nor did he want to, purely professional reasons as they say. Next moment, he was thanking the very darkness which had scared him, and then it was the same routine which followed. They were all the same, they were not her.

It happened one night, when I lived a dream,
Her smile did shine, brown eyes did beam,
Piercing through the darkness of the sky,
When that husky voice made imagination fly.

He woke up with a start, on a sleepy Sunday morning, cursing the alarm clock, thanking it at the same time. After the usual morning rituals, the big brown clock in his bedroom told him it was time. Skipping the breakfast was usual too, no different from any other Sunday. Women and Sundays have a lot in common, he smiled. He did not forget to turn the music on this time, and drove leisurely to the white marbled building on the outskirts. And after the usual formalities, the nurse led him to the room. The first time he had come to the hospital, he had found the building too complex, the room too difficult to locate, but he was now familiar enough to guide any person to any room across the hospital. And there she was, staring outside the window, and he was gratefully surprised to see her live another week.

Her hands, her face, her eyes, her hair,
She was thin, and tall, and not-so-fair,
Everything about her was very unique,
That love, in her arms, I did seek.