The Letters Undefined…

The Letters Undefined…

15 mins 23.7K 15 mins 23.7K

Love is beyond life and death,

Love is beyond time

 

Ages have sung many stories of love.

This is no different.

Senile time is still young to sing one more story of love...

 

 

She cleaned the house, the third time now, occupying her hours to be busy.

 

The satchel of her mind was filled with nude mayhem, and she was trying to organize her disorganized motley of thoughts. Like she was breathing under water, like she was sipping pints of fire, like she was hunting the traces of some known unknown answers.       

 

A medley of emotions was resting on her head like she was wearing a crown of apprehensive brusque anger. A peg of concern was sketching furious lines on- and- off, on her forehead, which the springs of black curls couldn't hide. Loosely tied bun, twisted curls dangling all over like serpents, shading her messy hair. Sweating in her man's shirt, she was all set to her unstoppable mission of cleaning the house for the fourth time. 

 

When the mind is restless, instead of curbing the thoughts and solacing the mind, we start tidying up our perimeters we breathe in. All the answers are hidden deep within us, but we look for them in our chores. 

 

She was torturing the cruel time by doing the same thing again and again. Her be- about of not knowing the known was making her do what she was doing. Without resting, equipped with a duster, she was all prepared to war against her hazy thoughts.

 

She was in her study, dusting the shelf again and again and again. Lost in the clouds of her thoughts. From the oodles of books, a book happens to fling out, holding the edge of the duster, crashing on the floor, mounting to her adventurous exercise, in which she was busy hiding herself. The faded letters from the book lingered all over the floor, coloring every tile with a page. No sooner did she see the pages roving around like off school children than she was on all four to fetch those tiny mischievous pages. 

 

She picked each of them one by one, eyeballing the italics printed on each page. She then looked for a seat nearby. Settling herself down on the fiddle chair, she placed the loose pages on the wooden table which was standing next to the chair, loaded with the heaps of papers, books and magazines. While assembling the pages she happens to read the title of the book "The Letters From..." And there she was with the answer to compose her misty mind.

 

At times, time is your best friend, hinting you of what has to be done next. 

 

She spent her ages in a week's time, simply waiting for her husband. They did not exchange any words, since then, no calls, no letters, and no messages. It was warm, crispy Sunday of mid-winter when he left. Leaving her to sip her hot coffee all alone. Every morning the vapors from the coffee mug outlined his presence, and the thoughts, sprawled all over, spilling through the eyes, as fresh as greens, as dark as black. The image on the wall trickles tears, conceptualizing the rawest and to conjure the new image. Her past and her present were struggling to conceive memories.

 

As soon as she sees the book, she got her answer. The only way to reach him, to reach her husband is letters. Determined with her new hope, feeling the sun of hope rising within, her skin beamed serenity.   

 

 

She rushed to seek a blank paper and a pen to ink every beat of her heart on the paper. And then, mopping off all the clusters of every magazine, every paper, every book from the table, with one of her hands, pitching them on the floor. And in no time, she was pouring her heart on that blank white sheet, coloring it with words, which, in the very next moment, it will be the precious letter. 

 

 

*** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Love,

 

What color shall I paint to my pain, if I want it to shine brighter than my smile? After chewing embers, I gulped in the amber sun; shall I then, color my pain, amber? The chambers of my heart are pitch black now, should I hang my pain in one corner of my heart? Let the amber color pain shine in, so that when I go for a walk in the cave where your words are warmly denned, I should not slam into any of your precious words scattered here and there. The existing silence is deafening every beat that my core weeps, let the pain sing the lyrics of its own, so that I can celebrate every drop of my tears.

 

Pints of emotions are peacefully imprisoned in pain, let it echo, let the pain echo with every drop of my tears...

 

Love, last Sunday, when you kissed me a goodbye, it was my breath that kissed my heart a goodbye and lingered on your faded footsteps. A wait, endeared to my soul, and the time lures serene wait hugged by me. Today, I saw you in my tears when it tottered down to kiss the corner of my lips, and the way you caress my smile with your fingers, it warmly unfurled the curves and spread over my smile. I know it was you delicately embracing my thoughts and melting in my times. It has been a very long longing wintry week, but I feel no cold, and no warmth needed, just a long wait, reckoning days as it passes by.

 

All these days have rusted in your absence and it seems like the seasons of seasons have parched and shriveled. And every moment evaporates away in my longing wait and time dissipates in my lustful wait.

 

I want to keep my words blank and also not blend them with any of the emotions you gifted to me. Heavy- hearted and miserable I feel. You know, I had a fight with winter, he was washing away my window with snow, though I asked him to wait for you, but he ignored my request. How white, icy and adamant the winter is! But unlike winter I'm cherishing the wait.

 

It was difficult, it is difficult, to live each day without you. But interlacing each emotion with your essence makes me easy. Talking to you through this letter makes me feel like I'm painting love. Just rest on my lips like a warm smile and make my day rose wine.

 

Part of you, when I conceive tenderly in my thoughts, it completes me. A delicate scintilla of you in my dreams is cherished by the eyes, celebrated by the soul and worshiped by the breath. Mystic sights of you in my dream make me smile in my sleep. Drinking my own thoughts to quench my thirst of you; and see! Just wandering in your dreams. And when the dawn breaks I want you to kiss me "good morning"; I want you to be the one, who reads me; and taste the lingering smile of my soul and melt some cozy curves with your soft sugary smile.

 

I unfurled some fold pages of life...

 

Tring- Tring... Tring- Tring... Tring- Tring... Tring- Tring...

 

She heard the phone ringing and for a second, thought of ignoring it, but all of a sudden, in the other second, she thought what if it's him. She rushed towards the phone, leaving the letter incomplete, lying on the table. The phone was still ringing in her bedroom. Out of breath, picking up the receiver she said "Hello... Hello... Hello..." But no voice answered her hello. "Hello! Anyone there? Abhi is that you? Can you hear me love? Hello!" One more time she confirmed, if she gets to hear anyone on the other side of the phone. But it was all silence ruling the other side.

 

She sat there for a while, and waited for another call but this time it didn’t ring. Then she checked her mobile for missed call alerts or any messages, but her mobile was dead. She connected it to the charger but forgot to on the switch. Then she walked to her study room to complete the letter.

 

Reading the last line she continued further... 

 

I unfurled some fold pages of life to read us together again. All black and white letters smell like you, still. The way you tickled each word to shade my lips with laughter, the essence of it still echoes in every verse I drew from my eyes. Sketching the outline of some cozy moments of togetherness and redefining my lone days, I miss you, my love...

 

Without you, no festival seems like a celebration. Criss-crossing my fingers with yours and holding on to tight; sipping your breath deep within me; some soft, some loud whisper of love and some pinch of long lazy hugs is jamboree to me. These are the moments to cherish, these are the moments of jollies. The way my dream celebrates you, you are my only festival and the treat of my life. Waiting for celebration, I'm waiting to celebrate you, love.

 

You know, we share a peg of concern like a friend; and we share a delicate trust of a lover; And we share a warm cuddle of a companion. So many relations and many more, we breathe. Sometimes it confuses me, when to cuddle a fight and when to fire our love.

 

If you remember our last fight where we fought for an hour or maybe two and at last you said, "Let’s just get over it". You did not want to fuel any emotional fire, hence you asked me to forget everything but you never understood how emotionally we are into each other that is the reason you cannot see me crying and that is the only reason I cried all night long.

 

Sigh! I apologize for the tears that ruined our fight.

 

Mischievous tears still caress the curves and sometime whisper in the ears. Sing blissful lullaby and put me to sleep. I tried to convince my tears to try not to accompany me every night, but the rays of your heart has burnt my soul to love and the remained ashes wash my eyes every night. I tried to glue some glittering smile in my eyes, but the blues of my thoughts, seizes the curves you like. And I don't know how but I promise to take care of your love. Though winter is melting from my eyes and washing away the kohl, but it could not erode the yearning wait which I have slaved in my eyes. My dark rimy days, long wintry nights and I, we are waiting for you and for your blissful warm and lusty love, my love.

 

This is me, your love, writing to you, I know the wait is not over, yet. Monsoon never showed up, though I have collected a bucket of snow from winter. But I am scared that pregnant eyes will burst in summer and with it I am afraid to lose the dark shade of night resting in my eyes. Just drop by to color my dreams again. I tenderly sip each evening meditating you. Like romancing with words and having an affair with poetry. Will sing you, my heart- beats in words, this time when we meet. And how I wish to wait to spend my entire life and beyond, with you my love. Come soon. 

 

Waiting for you,

Love.

 

 

 

*** *** *** *** *** ***

 

She wrote the letter with tears in her eyes, with a smile on her lips, with hope in her heart. Then, she rested her head on the letter, just for a while, to feel what her heart has written, but unknowingly she dozed off on the impression of her heart. 

 

 

*** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Neha... Neha... Neha... was echoing in her ears, as if someone was calling her name, and was trying to reach her. So early so pink was the morning, when she heard the bell, continuously calling her to open the door. Intruding her sleep, the doorbell acted naive.

 

She ran to the main door, her heart was thumping euphoric beats as if it was singing some unknown happy song. But her excitement was short lived, as soon as she opened the door, she frowned to see no one at the door. And then she questioned herself, "If it's no one at the door, then who rang the bell", "What happened now, what I heard, the doorbell, was it just a dream?" with these words she was about to close the door when her eyes landed on the envelope lying on the door- mat in front of the door. Carefully, she picked it up and walked into the study, there was no name no address mentioned on it. She saw her letter lying on the table while opening the envelope. Shocked! Her eyes couldn't believe what they had found in that envelope. She ran to the door again to see if he is there out, but her hard luck could give nothing more than ill fate. She read the letter again, it said,

 

My love,

 

I love you, and I will love always you.

 

Love,

Abhimanyu.

 

 

She read it again and again and again, she looked for more words and checked the envelope again for more pages and more words but nothing she could get except these words,

 

My love,

 

I love you, and I always will love you.

 

Love,

Abhimanyu.

 

 

She read the letter again, her eyes could not believe what they were reading.

 

At that very moment, the clock crooked both its fingers and hid them under the veil of its armpits in search of warmness, the universe stood still, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, she was numb, she was happy, she was scared, she was sad, she was nervous, she was waiting. Yes! She was and she is waiting for him, still.

 

Then she saw the yester night letter which has been written by her, it was lying on the table like the dead winter night.

 

"What should I do with this letter, where should I send it, I don't have an address, Abhi where have you gone love, why can't I reach you, and how can you not write more to me, at least you would have mentioned when you are coming back or your address or any other medium to reach you. Oh God! Tell me what should I do, please help." All these words were framing various questions in her unsettled mind making her more restless, it was then, when she heard the bell again. There was no limit to her radiant happiness, when she ran towards the door with tears in her eyes. All of a sudden, the diameter of her house was as big as the billions of galaxies residing in the universe. Crazily she reached the door, but the zest of her smile died when she saw it was not Abhi but her mother standing at the door.    

 

“What kind of a joke is this, you wrote me that letter, Mumma, was it you?” though sad but annoyingly she uttered her words

 

"Joke? Letter? What joke? Which letter? 1st tell me, why are you not picking up the phone or replying to any of our messages, we were all so worried for you Neha" with pints of concern, her mother entered the house, "What is wrong with you beta, why are you not in contact with anyone for a week" sprinkling care with every word

 

"What message? When? Huh?" her face glittered 'I know nothing' expression  

 

“Your landline? Your mobile?”

 

“Both the phones are dead. I don’t know why am I  alive.”

 

“Neha” angry and worried

 

"Ah! Leave that. Mumma, 1st you tell me, say na please, you know nothing about the letter?" With her words she was convincing herself that it was Abhi and not anyone else

 

"What letter?" her mother inquired with confusion

 

"Mumma, Abhi wrote me a letter, in ages, he wrote me a letter, he loves me, he loves me" as happy as a kid she was

 

"Of- course he loves you, but which letter you are talking off" Worried and confused

 

She dragged her mother to the study, by her hand. And gave her the letter. Her mother looked at it, and she was as blank as the paper was. She could not understand what Neha was trying to say, what has happened to her in a week's time or you can say in a year's time. Thinking she shouldn't have left her alone, this way, mother was worried. 

 

"It's blank, Neha"

 

 "What rubbish? Snatching the letter back

 

Looking at the front and the back of the paper, her eyes were searching the same words, which they had read earlier.

 

"Where are they, where have the words gone, I swear Mumma, he wrote me this letter and it wasn't blank."

 

Quickly she grabs the letter which was on the table, which she had written, and gave it to her mother,

 

"Look, I have also written him a letter, last night"

 

"Seriously Neha, what is wrong with you, it's blank, can't you see, it's blank."  Neha's crazy behavior was building the tension

 

Perplexed with what is happening, Neha pulled in the letter in her hands and realized that it was truly blank. "How can this be possible, He wrote me the letter and I have written him a letter too, where have all the words disappeared and how?" She burst into tears "Mumma I love him, Abhi where are you" she yelled in pain

 

Being rigid, her mother holds her face in her hands and voicing her words correctly, she said, "We all love Abhi, but Neha try to understand, try to remember that Abhi is no more, he is dead, Abhimanyu is dead"

 

"No, No, he is not" Neha shouted in tears

 

"You cannot live in that week, where you got the news, you got to move on my baby, you have to."

 

It's a year now, but Neha is still living in that week, where she was not able to contact Abhi for seven days and later she got the news that he is dead. He was SQN LDR, Abhimanyu Singh, Indian Air Force and he sacrificed his life for the country.

 

Despite the fact that he isn't coming back, she is waiting, with the letters, undefined...

 


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