Sometimes some imaginative things come real and you always wonder "Is it really happening". They say "Life is not a bed of roses" but at times you fail to accept the truthfulness of the statement. The dreams can never be reality but for me the reality was a dream when i first glanced at the paragon of beauty on one of the finest sundays of my life.
The affair dates back to the summers of 2008, a leap year. It was an evening, when i thought of promenading along the street to feel the parky weather of Mussorie. The dim orange light from the traditional lampposts of the Indian hill stations was paving the way on the street. I was wading through the breeze that was hitting against my face giving me a sensation of mild shivering. With that breeze i could able to smell the aroma of roses blended with fragrance of lilies. I looked around with an inquisitiveness to discover the source and my eyes rested over the floweriest, dressed in immaculate white, with her hand holding a bouquet of flowers some of the variety of which were alien to me. What was known at that moment of time was that the captivating smile on the dimpled cheeks was peerless. I stood numb and aghast for few minutes till a old man interrupted me and request to help him out to go on the other side of the street, where the magnetic florist was dealing graciously with the customers.
The street was not so busy but the person was quite old, in his late seventies or may be in early eighties. The visibility was less not just because of the absence of fluorescent tubes but misty weather made the task arduous. I recollected the algorithm on "How to cross the road" documented in one of my third grade books and executed it to perfection. Now I was on the other side of the street, just in front of her, feeling frostier than before. I smelt the aroma of flowers on the other side of street but this side it was of floweriest. My lips motioned for an ingenious prayer to the deity to express my gratitude for his blessings.
The old man spoke in a murmur and expressed his gratitude. I acknowledged back with a smile. That was not all from his side and he started the conversation with me. He introduced himself as a grandfather of the beautiful florist and her ten year old brother who was assisting her. His words gave hope to my thoughts of getting introduced to her. This was the first time in my life when I was so nervous. The anxiousness to get known to her was proliferating with each tick of the clock and was adding to my nervousness. With every single minute I was inching towards her. Each of my senses wanted to capture the radiating warmth of her beauty amalgamated with the fragrance of flowers.
I noticed something strange during my conversation with the old man. She didn’t even glanced at me though I was standing just few steps beside her. I started feeling conscious about my appearance. Am I not good looking or I am not appealing the beautiful? Such uncanny thoughts were making me feel uncomfortable. The breeze had come to rest now and the darkness of the street had entered in my thoughts.
May be she didn’t like me. And she had all the reasons to ignore me. "Beautiful gals are arrogant" that’s what I heard from my colleagues saying most of the times when they fail to draw the attention of the girl they like. And I always use to counter the fact by saying "Beautiful gals like handsome guys". This time the ball was in my court. I am not too handsome for a match to this lady but not bad too. I am 6 ft tall lad with the strong gym toned muscled body. My outfits were revealing my muscularity. The body curves were visible all over my clothing. My appearance was appealing but to my surprise she was still busy with her job. She is arrogant; yes I had to believe my friends now. A bearer best knows where the shoe pinches and that’s how I realized the truth.
I broke the conversation with the old man by excusing that I was getting late. He passed a smile and I reciprocated by with the superficial one. My face turned pale and I felt no urged to stay back. I failed to realize that I was becoming possessive for something which is not mine. I looked at her once again with the hope that one glance of her will break all my misconceptions about her. But I was hoping against hope. She was emotionless and was still occupied. With that burden I made a move from the place in still air. The darkness was growing with every single step I was taking to get away from her. I still had a corner in my heart for her but had no reason to explore it back. Noetic activity was at peak with my brain processing more than thousands of thoughts per second and each though was of hers.(to be cont..)
The affair dates back to the summers of 2008, a leap year. It was an evening, when i thought of promenading along the street to feel the parky weather of Mussorie. The dim orange light from the traditional lampposts of the Indian hill stations was paving the way on the street. I was wading through the breeze that was hitting against my face giving me a sensation of mild shivering. With that breeze i could able to smell the aroma of roses blended with fragrance of lilies. I looked around with an inquisitiveness to discover the source and my eyes rested over the floweriest, dressed in immaculate white, with her hand holding a bouquet of flowers some of the variety of which were alien to me. What was known at that moment of time was that the captivating smile on the dimpled cheeks was peerless. I stood numb and aghast for few minutes till a old man interrupted me and request to help him out to go on the other side of the street, where the magnetic florist was dealing graciously with the customers.
The street was not so busy but the person was quite old, in his late seventies or may be in early eighties. The visibility was less not just because of the absence of fluorescent tubes but misty weather made the task arduous. I recollected the algorithm on "How to cross the road" documented in one of my third grade books and executed it to perfection. Now I was on the other side of the street, just in front of her, feeling frostier than before. I smelt the aroma of flowers on the other side of street but this side it was of floweriest. My lips motioned for an ingenious prayer to the deity to express my gratitude for his blessings.
The old man spoke in a murmur and expressed his gratitude. I acknowledged back with a smile. That was not all from his side and he started the conversation with me. He introduced himself as a grandfather of the beautiful florist and her ten year old brother who was assisting her. His words gave hope to my thoughts of getting introduced to her. This was the first time in my life when I was so nervous. The anxiousness to get known to her was proliferating with each tick of the clock and was adding to my nervousness. With every single minute I was inching towards her. Each of my senses wanted to capture the radiating warmth of her beauty amalgamated with the fragrance of flowers.
I noticed something strange during my conversation with the old man. She didn’t even glanced at me though I was standing just few steps beside her. I started feeling conscious about my appearance. Am I not good looking or I am not appealing the beautiful? Such uncanny thoughts were making me feel uncomfortable. The breeze had come to rest now and the darkness of the street had entered in my thoughts.
May be she didn’t like me. And she had all the reasons to ignore me. "Beautiful gals are arrogant" that’s what I heard from my colleagues saying most of the times when they fail to draw the attention of the girl they like. And I always use to counter the fact by saying "Beautiful gals like handsome guys". This time the ball was in my court. I am not too handsome for a match to this lady but not bad too. I am 6 ft tall lad with the strong gym toned muscled body. My outfits were revealing my muscularity. The body curves were visible all over my clothing. My appearance was appealing but to my surprise she was still busy with her job. She is arrogant; yes I had to believe my friends now. A bearer best knows where the shoe pinches and that’s how I realized the truth.
I broke the conversation with the old man by excusing that I was getting late. He passed a smile and I reciprocated by with the superficial one. My face turned pale and I felt no urged to stay back. I failed to realize that I was becoming possessive for something which is not mine. I looked at her once again with the hope that one glance of her will break all my misconceptions about her. But I was hoping against hope. She was emotionless and was still occupied. With that burden I made a move from the place in still air. The darkness was growing with every single step I was taking to get away from her. I still had a corner in my heart for her but had no reason to explore it back. Noetic activity was at peak with my brain processing more than thousands of thoughts per second and each though was of hers.(to be cont..)
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