Love at first sight

Love at first sight is not love. But yes, it is indeed a feeling that can grow into love. And if it does so, only then is the phrase “love at first sight” justified.

I told it’s a feeling that can grow into love but not love itself. Is there a name for this feeling? Sure. It’s called infatuation. At first sight all you get is attracted. If you are a believer in love at first site, you would take infatuation for love so unknowingly. If you are a non believer you would know it’s not love. Immaterial of who you are, the fact is that this infatuation can grow into love in some time. In how much time? I cannot answer that. Can anyone?

When I say this infatuation CAN grow into love I mean to say that it doesn’t always grow into love. Following all kinds of path, this feeling which erupts at first sight may either die or transform into something else or the best of all turn into true love. The path this feeling follows is dependent on so many things. To start with, it depends on whether you are a believer in the philosophy of love at first sight or not. How? Read on.

There are two possibilities that exist if you are a believer in the philosophy of love at first sight.

If you are a believer, it will take relatively more time for you to realize that your feeling is not at all love. This happens only when things don’t go fine with your belief. When you happen to interact with the object of your affection and ‘something’ tells you things are not going to work out. You start getting closer to reality. But you do that slowly, at a brisk pace. This ‘something’ is a weak feeling and the well disguised strong attraction still appears to be nothing else but love. Finally there comes a time, it sure comes, when you have no doubt that it’s not love. Love was never there. And the instant this feeling comes, you have transformed into a non believer. It’s good and it’s bad too. It’s good because you realized that love at first sight never existed. It’s bad because your attraction failed to grow into love.

The second possibility is that, if you are a believer it might so happen that you never realize the fact that you are not actually in love. You might always hold this view that it was indeed love at first sight. You might never realize the transformation of the feeling of attraction into that of pure love. But then how does that matter? If at the end of the day you are in true love, whatever you assumed in the beginning will look alright to you.

There is no meter that can confirm whether you are in love or not at any point of time. So if you think that you are in love, it’s impossible for anyone to convince you otherwise. But irrespective of your understanding of your feelings, the fact remains that at first sight it is attraction and nothing else. A believer realizes this only when at some point of time, the attraction goes. The same believer never realizes this if that attraction never goes and indeed it transforms into true love after interacting with the subject and after some time.

Now let me talk about the non believers. They can be talked about in three sets. Let the first set consist of those whose feelings die in some time. They reassure themselves that they were correct in rejecting the idea of love at first sight. For these people they do not get the chance to deviate from truth. This will become clear when you consider the other two sets of non believers.

The second and third set deals with those whose feelings grow into love. One set of persons would conclude that they were fools when they didn’t believe in the philosophy of love at first sight. They would think they were wrong earlier when the truth is that they think the wrong way now. The third set would realize that though it was not love at first sight, it grew into love with time and interaction. These men/women are capable of seeing the transformation. They saw their attraction grow into love. Earlier I had stated that the first set never got a chance to deviate from truth. I guess that’s clear now. This last set has the option to believe like the second set, but they do not deviate from truth like them. They have the option to think like the second set; think things which are not actually true. These people are the ones who understand the world the best way. They see the truth. They can never be blinded to think that love at first sight exists.

A part of a process

A part of a process,
don’t know much about.
But I’m only a part,
I have no doubt.

And then I ask:
what is this process?
Why does it exist;
has it any causes?

I keep on thinking…
without any clue.
They keep coming
like bolts out of blue.

They are the questions
that catch me offguard
and force me to think;
they hit so hard!

Visions get blurred;
answers never found.
Ideas and speculations
fill up the background.

The reason of my life,
I try hard to see.
But the space’s so hazy,
so dirty, soily and greasy.

Will I ever play a part?
Small or big, isn’t trivial.
What is it- matters.
Need an answer, that’s real.

I need to know, who I am.
And what am I doing..
Why am I living?
Where am I going…

So many things..
They are spread around.
What’s meant for me-
can that be found?

Or shall I believe,
this world is mine?
There’s a process and a part;
where lies the line?

I’ll die one day….
This life I shall leave.
I’ll quit this process.
Some men might grieve.

The process wont stop.
My part’ll sure end..
Why’s this process needed?
As its part why are we sent?

Who did program?
Programmed me and the rest;
who know to survive,
who run and who rest.

Who breathe unaware
and never realize,
they are just slaves.
They live with lies!

These slaves of the world
shall some day be packed.
Their part will be over,
& then, they’ll be sacked.

They are needed for
the process, and so am I.
What if I refuse?
What if I wanna die?

That will be a flaw;
a flaw in the code
that makes me live
and follow all, on the road.

Such flaws we have seen
and named them suicide.
The process still works,
life exists with pride.

And I lie down here,
still unaware….
What am I doing?
Why am I here…..

an unfinished story…

And that night he couldn’t sleep well.

It was raining heavily in the hot afternoon when Rohit was having his cup of black coffee. He was sitting in front his Dad’s computer and keenly watching a movie of a kind which he couldn’t have watched even if a single person was around. Yes, he was alone. His dad had gone out to work, and mom was in the market. Rohit was the only child to his parents. The rainfall had made the mercury go down by a few degrees. The cool breeze was adding glamour to the climate. It was about 2.00 Pm, but it seemed as if evening had already arrived.

As thunderstorms became very frequent, Rohit decided to switch off the system. He was well aware of the poor condition of electricity infrastructure of his rented house. During one such thunderstorm, the previous renters had to sacrifice their television. Rohit had no intentions of letting something similar happening to his dad’s latest machine. But he had no real work to do. The coffee was almost over. Before he could think of anything the telephone rang. He was indeed waiting for it. He thought it must be his mother, asking him to come to her by car and pick her up. Rohit’s mother liked him driving their car; so much that on his 18th birth day, she gifted him a driving license.

Rohit picked up the phone, but it was Sourav there on the other side. Sourav was an old friend of Rohit. They had known each other since, std. III. After their plus two, they had to separate. Rohit had gone for engineering, and Sourav had joined NIFT, to study fashion designing. They were still best pals, and remained in regular touch.

Sourav could only say “hello”, and the connection broke. Rohit put the receiver back and waited. But another call did not come. He then decided to call back. But the line was engaged and he could not contact Sourav. After a few attempts he gave up, and left the room. The rainfall had almost halted. The sun was again preparing to roar. The weather was still fine, and Rohit decided to go out for a walk. He asked Vicky, if he would accompany him. Vicky nodded and both of them stepped out of the house. Vicky was his dog.

He crossed the first corner, and then the second. There were the same old shops. The same old men, at least they looked same; the usual ones. But this one was not the usual one. He was taller than everyone else present there nearby. It wasn’t only the height that made him look different in the crowd. There was something else. May be in his eyes. Or the way he was staring around was too peculiar, too noticable. It appeared to Rohit as if he was the only one able to spot him with a difference in that place. The reason must have been his joblessness, at least that is what he thought. He looked at Vicky. He could see the same curiosity in the dog’s eyes, as were in his. Doggy dear had noticed that tall guy too.

There was nothing more to do after all that observation, thought Rohit, and so he moved on. It had become hot again. The sun was smiling at everyone for no reason. No one smiled back.

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Getting back to myself ..

Getting back to myself
Is what I’m doing
Yes getting back to myself
All the time
At least I’m trying
Getting back to myself
All the time….

The days come
Come to me like pigeons
They keep on flying
Flying all the time
And I see you every day
Think about you
Yeah that’s you in my mind
Nothing great I can do
Man I am getting blind
But still trying
Trying hard to get back to myself
And trying that all the time

professor, professor

Professor, Professor,
why don’t you teach?
All that you blabber,
is out of our reach.

Blabber you do;
and you give us pain.
When in your class
nothing we gain.

Simplest of things
look so complex;
courtsey to you!
You come to perplex.

There was a time;
on bed, we’d sleep.
Now in your class
we can sleep, real deep.

In your lectues
no joy we find.
Leave us dear prof.
We won’t ever mind.

listen this on : http://www.soundclick.us/fastk6/10/01/freemp3/melodiacs+professorenglishpop.mp3

it is my life

It’s like the sea
The dreadful sea
It is my life
why can’t u see

It roars and it cries
It always tries
It is my life
It’s in disguise

At times it is calm
So smooth, so calm
It is my life
It spells its charm

And then it roars
With all its force
It is my life
It’s mine of course

It’s like the sea
The dreadful sea
It is my life
why can’t you see

love at salon

He said nothing when he entered the room. I was passing the best of my razors back and forth on the strop. He took a seat quietly. Only traces of beard were present on his face. He was looking into my eyes; his eyes calling me. It was the fourteenth time in a single week that he had come for shaving in this salon.

I stopped my work. The time for duty had come. He was staring at me as I approached him. A slight smile appeared on his face. His face was good to look at. His body was better. But then people like him kept coming to this saloon. This was the only salon in town were all the staff were females. I was sure the same reason brought him here, more number of times than needed, that brought everyone else. That was the reason why this salon had only women working in there in the first place. We were twelve women there. And I wondered sometimes, how he always managed that I be the only one available whenever he came.

I applied the shaving cream. I didn’t need to ask him anything. We had developed some kind of mutual understanding. I knew he was still staring at me. I never liked men staring at me. But he had been different from others; different since the first day. Today however seemed a day, more different from others. He looked so nervous today, and yet he had a never-before-observed feel about him. His eyes wanted to convey something to me. And the thought of that sent a shudder through my body.

His face appeared cleaner as I approached the end of my job. I looked into his eyes, and before I could know, I was smiling. A chemistry was developing; or had it already developed? But I knew all this was going to vanish soon. As soon as he would know who I was. I was sure I would refuse him before he could do so. But I was sure of something else. I was already in love with him. And yet I could never tell that to him. I could never speak a word.

My job was done. He sat there clean shaved. He sat there silently. And then suddenly there was a movement. He had taken out a piece of paper from somewhere. He wanted me to read it. I knew this was the time to decide. And I did decide. I took the paper from him. If that was going to be a proposal, I knew I had to answer in negative. I was not sure if I should read that.

The next moment I was reading it. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I read that. And as I finished I could see tears in his eyes too. He had proposed to me and I had accepted. I had accepted to be his wife. And there had been no need of even a single word.

On our wedding, my father overheard someone saying ‘isn’t she the girl who worked at that salon in front of the town hall? I heard she is dumb; can’t utter a single word. Who agreed to marry her?’. ‘That man has an extra feature, he is deaf as well’, came back the reply.

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