The Florist Part VI

I thanked god that finally we joined the party back after a long chase. We all were madly excited by then. The faces in the Barat were new and I was struggling to find a known face. Most of the time we usually dance with unknowns in Barats and that’s how we get to know the people. And at times the sexy gals too.
Manish and Anshul were busy dancing. I was able to notice their furtive glances on some ruddy female faces while enjoying the moment. I shouted loudly and said “Dada let’s bring Sameer out of the car and we all will dance together.”
Manish concurred and said “Ya lets go.” We took Anshul also to execute our plan and reached Sammer’s car which was crawling behind the band. Anshul opened the door hastily and forced himself partially in to pull Sameer out of the car.
Dammmm. Its was a gaffe of lifetime for three of us. First of all we were in an unknown wedding celebration and secondly we were pulling out the groom who was alien to us. Anshul reacted immediately after he saw the groom’s face. He closed the door of the car and jabbered “Dada katlo. Itthe to kat gaya si. Mundda Sameer nahi hai.”
“Ahhhh I knew that, the absence of single known face insinuated me fact that we were sailing in the wrong boat.” , I ratified Anshul’s statements.
“But I think we should spare some more time here”, said the beguiled Manish who was enamored of the beauty. “No No, we are caught now and it’s better to leave before somebody comes to kick our ass”, said Anshul. Dada was unhappy with the decision but he knew that we were late now. “But where the hell is Sameer’s barat”, said muddled Manish. We both were confused too. I caught one person of the band party and asked him “Did you see any other Barat going from here”.
“Hannn Babuji, they turned right on the last turn”, He said. We thanked him and launched ourselves in fresh chase.

10.37pm, A-23 Mussorie Gardens

We were late by now as this was not a new story with a trio of ours. I could barely remember if we had seen any movie from the beginning in spite of the fact that we haven’t spared visiting any multiplex of Delhi.
Before stepping in Mussorie Gardens we made sure that we were at right place. “Ya, We are at Mussorie Gardens now, I am sure this time”, I said after reconstruction the fainted pictures from my nebulous memory.
The place was looking gorgeous in misty moonlit night. Mussorie Gardens was the most famous marriage gardens of this place. The lush green carpet grass and the pine trees at the wall boundaries ornated with fairy lights were enthralling. Right before us was the couple seated on a stage decorated with flowers like a canopy, adorned with “Sameer and Shristi’s” name. The wedding décor was lavish, bold and infused with the gaudy colour scheme of Red and Golden.
While I was relishing the aura of wedding celebrations somebody nudged me from the back. This was Shikha. Before I could ask anything she said ”Bhaiya, can you come here for a minute”.
“Ya sure”, I rubbed my hands, as it was getting colder, and followed her after promising the guys that I will be back soon. She had a surprise waiting for me. It was implausible for me for the moment that the female in the sparkling brocade was she, the florist. She was standing right there in the corner as if she had a wait for someone. The roseate fabric “Leingha” with the silver embroidery was tied on her pinkish white waist. The thousands of spangles on it were shimmering in the glare of the bright lights. The other part of the attire, the “Chunri”, was well fixed on her right shoulder, a way down till her waist line covering the part of the belly towards right of the belly button. No sophisticated necklace. She was wearing rather a beautifully crafted elegant pendent tied to an argent color snake chain, which hung low on her neck. She was looking a paragon of beauty. Every now and then I see her I find her more alluring than ever before. In my miniscule lifetime I hadn’t seen a gal more gorgeous and enticing than her.
For the moment I thought that I was hallucinating but to my surprise she was there right in front of me. I looked at Shikha inquisitively. Before I could say anything she whispered and said “Bahiya, I know whom you were looking for since evening and I hope she is looking preen, as preen as Shrishti bhabhi”.
Her words insinuated that she knew everything. May be she was keeping an eye on my activity since evening. Anyways whatever happens happens for good. I thought that I should thank her for favor she had done. She had made my day. Her words blended with my thoughts and triggered a cheerful smile on my dimpled cheeks and I said “You have done a nice job and you deserve something great for that”. She was jolted since she hadn’t expected such audacious and prompt reply from me. She said “Hmmm. I do. But, before that, let me introduce you to her”. Now that was something I was waiting for thirstily since last night when I had seen her on the flower shop. The conspiracy of fate was evident from the difference between the nights in Mussorie.
In her articulate voice she said “Hi Dhristi, meet him. He is Abhighyan. Sameer Bhaiya’s best pal”.
“HI”, that’s all she said. She spoke to me for the first time. It would be silly enough to say that those words echoed in my ears till the faintest harmonic died in the most sensitive part of my ear. But all that happened for the first time and was special to me. I replied in an arrhythmic voice “Oh, Hi Shristi, Uff I am sorry I mean Dhristi”. Shikha gagged on my slip of tongue. And a smile also triggered on Dhristi’s face.
“I guess I am required there in the celebration for some work, so Dristhi you better be with him for some time. Bhaiya will take care of you”, said Shikha. At that moment the worst thing that I had expected to happen was Dhristi calling me Bhaiya, mimicking Shikha’s salutation. But fortunately the salutation was missing. She gave a laconic reply yet again and said “Ok”. Come on, I had expected more this time. At least she should have had asked some questions. She was wearing an infantile innocence which was setting a trigger in me to kiss her on those lips. It was hard to stay temperate and curb those nasty temptations. But I did it all against my throbbing heart.
“Bye”, said Shikha and she left leaving me and the florist alone, right in the corner near to that big tall pine tree.(Next Post on Sept 27,2010)

The Florist Part V

“Ya, sure we will. Happy to see you after a long time” I acknowledged.

I drink occasionally and that’s too on special occasions. Though it was a special occasion for me, I tried to refrain myself from boozing. It was difficult to say “No” to Manish and Sameer. Though I tried to, they insisted a lot. Finally the bargain ended on a can of Fosters. The other thought in my mind which was prompting me against having the alcohol was the thought of her. I wanted to be in all my senses that night, just for her. But she was not there. I wished I could see her again tonight.

“Let’s go buddy”, said Manish.

We left the place and reached to the Maruti 800, Manish’s car, parked at space juxtaposed to the temple. It was the same car, the one which we used to travel with during our halcyon days in Delhi. Manish reached for the can in the car and grabbed two of them. We moved behind the car so as to avoid being watched while boozing.
Manish opened his can and waited for me for the drinking toast.

“Cheers!!!”,we both toasted together for Sameer.

After a while we saw somebody was heading towards us. The face was hardly visible since we were standing towards the brighter side of the road. He was tall and walking briskly as if in haste. We both became conscious for the moment.

“Bingo!! This is Anshul!!!” Manish shouted loudly.

“Ya he is Anshul”, I said.

We both were aghast. He had no plans to join the marriage as he was preoccupied with the commonwealth games preparation activity and to our surprise he was here to attend Sameer’s wedding.

I met Anshul through Manish in Delhi. And later he shifted with Manish when he was on a job hunt in delhi. Since then we were good pals. Anshul was smart and 6.1 feet tall young punjabi lad. He was a little mischievous guy and was a great singer indeed who used to sing only after having some sips of Blender’s Pride, his hard drink brand. He was working as an Assistant Project officer in commonwealth games which were scheduled in 2010.

If you ask him how the CWG preparation is going, he used to reply humorously, “Naak katayenge saale.”

Bacchanalian and agoged Manish shouted loudly “Baby Logon! Sharabi is here.” And I choked laughing.

“Hey dude. Great surprise”, I gawked and said.

He smiled and said “Yar, I am very tired and thirsty pass me an energy drink first”, his hand reached over the stomach to complement his words.

“Ahhh that’s like a true sharabhi”, Manish reached for the can from the car.

After a sip from the can he felt so contented as if he didn’t have any for ages. Ironically he was in sense now.

“Dada, aaj taa dhamal karange” he uttered in Punjabi.

“Anne dino baad milya si, dhamaal to karanga hi, bas tussi ek gana suna de”, said Manish.

Though I don’t know much Punjabi but I could construe that Manish had demanded for a song from him.It never happens if you ask for a song from Anshul when he is drunk and he had refuted. So he started with one of his favorite’s “Teri Deevani….by Kailash Kher”.

I could hardly recollect that if I had heard this song by Kailash Kher for more than once. But from Anshul it was more than hundredth time I was hearing it.
We all enjoyed the party on that night. I was feeling lighter than before. But her thought was still there in some part of my memory; Still unaffected by alcohol’s incursion.

It was 9.30 PM , time to wind up and to reach for the barat. We kept the empty cans back in the car and left the place hastily.

9.40 PM, Drunk and Running Behind the Barat

The Barat was way ahead than we had expected. We were just able to hear the remote boisterous sounds. We were badly chasing it. After running for some four hundred meters, Manish yielded and gave up the chase.

“You people continue if you want I couldn’t chase any more”, said Manish, breathing heavily.

“Come on dada, just four hundred meters more I guess. You can make it”, said Anshul
“I guess!!! What if it is more???”, said Manish.
“No it won’t be. Believe me”, said Anshul.

Dada again gathered the courage and started chasing. I was tired too and so was Anshul. We could observe the frequency shift in the sound coming from the other corner of the street.

“See there they are.” I said.
Manish yielded once again and said, “Oh my god, they are still too far. No I can’t run guys.”

With that he relaxed himself on the pavement, lying carelessly. It was difficult to please Manish this time. I saw a rickshaw passing on the street and I called for help. The rickshaw puller was a meek old man in his 60’s may be. I wondered if he could pull the rickshaw. We decided that Manish will chase in rickshaw and we guys by foot. Manish climbed up and we started running.
“Chalo baba. Tejh chalo”, Manish urged the rickshaw puller who was finding it difficult to pull.

After running for some three hundred meters more we looked back. We were shocked to see that Manish was running instead of being on rickshaw. We stopped and waited for him.

“What happened to the rickshaw dada??”, Anshul queried.

“That rickshaw puller could not pull. Dammm, with that I would never able to chase. So I dropped the idea of chasing with him”, said Manish breathing heavily.

We both burst out laughing. And even Manish could not able to contain his mirth.
“Dada. Some more distance is left. They are right ahead and the next halt”, said Anshul.

We gathered the energy scattered in all our veins and started again. After covering someone fifty meters more we finally landed right in the middle of the dance gang. Though we were puffing out, we were still exuberant enough to dance.

Manish was too zealous after seeing some beautiful faces all around. He felt energetic than before. “Baby Logon!!! Lets rock!!!”, said exuberant Manish. The band was playing good bhangra beats and lots of those were familiar ones. One couldn’t contain oneself in such situation and the same was true with us. We started dancing in that spirited environment.

The Florist Part IV

“Abhigyan, I am leaving. I have other works to finish by evening” said the mother. She asked Drishti also to come with her and she consented. With these words mother departed with the florist and promised me to meet again in evening. The old man was still standing there. In a meek trembling voice he said “Babuji, can you help me? Can you please ask somebody to help riding my cart till my shop?”
“Of course!” . I caught hold of one the servants who was busy is arranging the chairs and asked him to help the poor. The old man felt obliged and expressed his gratitude.

5.00 pm, Mussorie Gardens

Things were now in place. The stage was all set for the Sameer’s wedding. It was just 5.00 in the evening and the sun was heading towards deep west. Behind those mountains was the place where it had to take rest and wait till dawn. The streak of sunlight in the dusky and azure sky was pleasing. The mist was all set to kiss the grass of mussorie gardens and in those glittering lights it was aureating. I was looking for a cup of coffee so I headed towards the roadside shops. I was able to spot out one in the corner, near a fig tree. I grabbed one chair and ordered a glass of coffee , yes a glass of coffee since Indian roadside cafes cannot afford to have ceramic mugs. And yes these glasses measure the same as the ceramic coffee mugs.
Sameer met Shristi, the bride tonight, in Mumbai during the fashion week. Shristi was neither a model nor she was photographer. She was an assistant editor in one of Mumbai’s dailies. I could still recollect the day when sameer called me up and said that he had some altercations with one girl in the fashion week. It so happened that sameer photographed her out of his impulse even though he didn’t knew her. She expressed her resentment. They had some altercations when he refused to erase the photograph. And the next day sameer patched up by asking her to meet for coffee for the photograph. And since then they never fought again. Lucky sameer was and so was Shristi.
By the time I finished my coffee it was 5.30 in the evening. Sameer’s “barat” was to start from a nearby temple at around 8.00 and was supposed to reach Mussorie gardens. It was already 5.30 and I had to get ready and reach the temple. I immediately took a taxi and asked to drop me to hotel.

Clarks Residency, Room No 732, 6.15pm

Finally I was back to my den. There was no time to relax even a single muscle. Hastily I took my shaving kit and went to the washroom. I had shaved my beard some four days back, but yet the harvest was less. Though beard gives a true manly look to anyone but I always appreciated the boyish appearance on my face. I took my time to shave them off. I decided to have bath as I love to bath with hot water during winters. When hot water rolled down my mildly tanned skin, stiffing each muscle beneath the skin, I felt the sensation of a smooth soft touch of the petals. I was enjoying the bath but since I could not afford to continue further I aborted. The vapors made the big mirror translucent so I could not have a bare-bodied masculine view of mine. I grabbed the towel, wrapped it along my waist and came out.
It was already 6.45 pm and I was getting late. I hastily dried myself and looked for some comfortable party wear. I had a suit, one of my favorites, but I skipped wearing that. Of course I cannot wear the formal since it was my best pal’s marriage. So I opted for something casual. Oh yes I was carrying an Indian party wear, a black colored Jodhpuri styled wedding attire. It was splendid and embroidered attire which I grabbed from cupboard for my style tonight. Yup, a handsome debonair, I was looking. I had a pair of Jodhpuri style shoes, perfectly resembled to one of those wore by the royal clan. I laced up. I picked up a small bottle of “Royal Yacht” from my kit and just sprinkled some. With that I was done with the party gear. The last thing which I could forget to accouter was my camera. So I took out a pouch reading “Samsung’.
My watch showed 7.15 pm and warned me. I locked my room and left for the venue.

The Temple, Near Mussorie Gardens, 8.12 pm

Well I was late according to my punctuality, but not according to Indian “Barats”. During my one month stay in Delhi I was a daily commuter in Delhi metro. I have seen those electronic panels camouflaging, at time they read “ Yamuna Bank :04 “ and the next minute the text displayed read “Yamuna Bank :05”. The other day in one of columns I read a snippet “Delhi’s Metro 99% punctual”. They should be, after all they were practicing the theory of relativity at their best.
Everybody gathered outside the temple, Sameer’s family and relatives. I was greeted by his father, the newly married couple, his sister Shikha and Sagar, and his brother Jatin. I was looking for Sameer and I spotted him near the gate of the temple. He was flocked by gray-haired women probably his aunts and grand-mother. It seemed some ritual ceremony was on the go and I avoided disturbing.
Truly speaking I was looking for her. My eyes were growing impatient. I scanned each and every face but was unable to catch sight of the most spotless one, the one of my sweet-heart. She was not there. Her absence raised suspicion in my slaved mind. What happened to her? Why she was not here? Had she left? Come on, she couldn’t do that. I was befuddled. Anxiously looked out for some help. At once I thought of approaching Sameer’s mom but it was not a good idea. I tried to contain my thoughts and my feelings but all in vain.
Seeing my perplexed face Shikha approached me and asked “Are you looking for her?”. I shook my head and said “No”. In my futile attempt to hide my anxiety she got a hint. She was just kidding and she never knew that her unintentionally targeted question had a such an obvious answer.
She said “Dada is calling you. Can you just come?”
“Ya lets go”. I followed her in the haze maze of near and dears. Gorgeous and Manlier, he was looking, in a creamish colored sherwani, a typical wedding attire of Indian grooms, with a radiating smile on his face.
“Hey Abhi where were you idiot? You hadn’t called since morning” uttered Sameer.
“I was in Mussorie Gardens. Was bit busy with work”, I said.
He just muttered under his breath “Dude. Have some beer.”
“Catch Manish. He has made the arrangement”.
Manish was one of our common friends. French bearded, voluptuous and cool-headed. He had a dream of getting an offer from Kingfisher as the sales manager, “No dream too big” and exactly there he was working for, the Jaypee group, as an area manager.
“Nooooo Dude” I resented.
“I could not afford to have it today.” I said.
“Come On don’t be a kid. I wish I could have one today”, said sameer.
“Baby Logon!”. A sound came from behind. This was Manish.
Fundamentally it was not “Log-on” of English but “Logon” of Hindi meaning people.
I wished recommending this Hinglish patio to be the part of Oxford’s latest lexicon.
“Hey. You are here. Delighted to see you. We will rock tonight”, said Manish.

The Florist Part III

I had no words to explain my misery. I was questioning her eyes for their dereliction and she was calmly sitting on the wooden chair, the beautiful florist in immaculate white. I heard somebody approaching. The sound of the footsteps adverted us. She was my friend’s mother. I was meeting her after a long time. I still remember that I last met her some five years back when I came to Mussorie with my friend, Sameer, the groom tonight, during the winter vacations. Me and Sameer were best pals since our college days and graduated in same profession, though our subject interest differs. Sameer had a specialization in fashion photography and I graduated with expertise in Fine art photography. Since we graduated we met many times though the geographical distances between us were more than thousand kilometers, as Sameer was in Mumbai and I was stay put at Bangalore since then.
His Mother still looks the same, ageless and beautiful. Time failed to put wrinkles on her face. I bent down to touch her feet to take her blessings. She felt very happy to see me there as I was absent in her daughter’s marriage last December for which she complains every time I meet her. She asked me when I came here and where I was staying? And the moment I said yesterday and I am staying in hotel, she blasted off on me. It was my mistake. Either I shouldn’t have told her or I should have stayed at Sameer’s house. I apologized to her but she was not ready to listen me. Suddenly her eyes rested on the florist. She was delighted to see her there. The expressions on her face revealed that she knew her. I can very well read the expressions since they really matter in my style of photography. But I still regret that I failed pathetically yesterday night to read her’s.
And yes, I was right. She knew her. She passed a compassionate smile to the florist and said “Oh Drishti beta, I was waiting for you to be here. I am delighted that you are here.”
“Drishti”, what the hell?? Who gave her that name, I asked myself. “The silence whistles”, that’s was her name analogous to. But, truly speaking whatever would have been a reason of naming here “Drishti” but the appellation was not wrong though it was an oxymoron. Have you ever woken up at the time of sunrise when the sun changes its shades from deep brownish orange to brighter orange, and somewhere between all these shades lay the shade of her eyes. But those eyes were spurious. They had luster but not were not lustrous.
“Hey Abhigyan, meet her. She is Drishti, our gardener’s daughter and our daughter too. Her father is no more and she stays with her grandfather now”, Sameer’s mother said to me.
“Oh Ya. I met her. And she is beautiful” , I said. “Ya she is”, she acceded, “ But god has not given her the privilege to see and admire this beautiful world and herself” , she said with despair. “Anyways she is going to be with us tonight to enjoy the event”
She requested the old man and said “Baba, Please leave her here for tonight. We will take care of her and will drop her home by tomorrow morning”. The old man in his low pitched voice murmured, “ Maalkin, she is your daughter and I am just a caretaker, I am too old to take care of hers even. You can keep her here with you”.
Mom expressed her gratitude and said “Thanks Baba”. I could able to figure out the silent smile on her face, the florist was happy and so I was after hearing those conversations. So finally she is going to be here tonight. (to be continued…)

The Florist Part-II

With a heavy heart I returned back to the hotel. It was quarter to nine. I took the keys from the reception and moved silently towards my room. It was misty outside with the mist sailing smoothly in the moonlit night. From my balcony I noticed some guys enjoying a bonfire on the roadside. The white smoke of the bonfire and the mist were together under this moonlit night. How different they were but still together. That’s Mother Nature.
I skipped my dinner that night and slipped into the bed as I had to wake up early. I knew the next day would be very tiring. I was in mussorie to attend my best pal’s marriage and Monday was the day when it was scheduled on. I had to look into the arrangements for the event from early morning. I was planning for the next day’s arrangements and within no time I fell asleep.

"Let bygones be bygones" was first thought of the day when I woke up at seven. It was totally a new morning. The mist was no more and nor the smoke. The felt brighter than usual though the sky was still cloudy. I was badly missing my gym as I never used to skip it. It was part and parcel of my daily routine. I was bare bodied so I looked into the mirror just to inspect that if those curves were still in place. I did some isometric exercises to retain them back. I finished all my matutinal engagements within an hour and finally left for the wedding garden. I intentionally skipped taking the same route by which I had the last night.

Mussorie Gardens, A-23, Mall Road

It was half past nine in the morning when I reached Mussorie gardens. The preparations had already started for the grand evening. So without wasting the time further I started looking for some department where I could help . After exploring all the opportunities I thought “Let’s help my friend’s brother in setting up the stage for the marriage”. I approached him and asked if I could help him out in any of the tasks. He greeted me with a big smile and said that if I could look into the decoration of the stage. “Sure”, I said. It was a big stage to be decorated. The red beautiful carpet of silk like material and the magnificent piece of furniture which resembled like throne were all lying there. I caught two of the servants and asked them to arrange the things properly. "Where are flowers and the bouquets" I asked one of them."Babuj, they have just arrived" said the servant in low pitched voice. "Take me to the place where they are lying" with the statement I followed him and he took me near the gate of the garden.

They say "You can run from your present but you cannot avoid your fate", and to my surprise this was true. She was there with her grand-father and with the cart full of flowers which I was looking for. She was looking more beautiful than ever before. More captivating and alluring. I avoided looking at her but was in vain. Meanwhile the old man recognized me and asked about my well being. I thanked him and replied back. I asked them to come in and offered the seats. The old man murmured "Babuji, My daughter cannot see, she is sight-less. Can you help her to occupy the seat"? I was Astound, speechless, and got shivers down my spine with those last words. Oh, I couldn’t believe that such beautiful eyes were sightless. I felt chagrined and stood numb. The blood in my veins freezed. She was not arrogant the last night but I was ignorant. I cursed myself for my delinquency. I cursed god for his heartlessness. I experienced a pain deep in my heart. I admitted the fact that god had not given her the privilege to admire her own beauty and I was the fool who was expecting her to admire the unnatural curves of mine. I was overwhelmed with the feeling of remorse and disgust. My heart was pounding upon me. Slowly I moved my hand to hold hers, as gently and as graciously as possible.

The Florist-Part I

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 MODI-fied IPL

Raining boundries,quick runs,breaking wickets,dancing beauties and the freaking crowd are the things which Modi dreamt about some three years back. He carved out his ideas, garnished it with BCCI's political hold on the International Cricket and served it to the cricket aficionadios. The recipe smelled like a rose for the public but was smelling fishy in the background. Finally after three years somebody opened the beak and tweeted that it was actually overcooked.
Was modi really serving the overcooked recipe? Its still an enigma for the voracious cricket fans. But its true that the IPL is MODI-fied. The whole scam came as blot from the blue on the authenticity of IPL. It hardly matters if Modi or Tharoor steps down from their ranks but what matters is the fact that IPL is derailed from its true nature of being entertaining and rewarding. The match fixing allegations and the involvment of BCCI officials has further detoriated the situation.
Who should be blamed for all this? Is it justified to blame Lalit Modi only who forayed into market as new entrepreneur, a CEO of $4.13 billion industry, or Mr Tharoor woke up and smelt the coffee but for his own personal interests. We are unable to look behind the conspiracy. Its nothing less than a well laid out plot aginst Modi by BCCI officials which is now in execution phase and likely to end with modi ostracized from the elite group of BCCI officials. My thoughts are not biased for modi but here it is required to understand the fact "When it is a question of money, everybody is of the same religion".
Tharoor is out in the semis and now expect a final between Pawar and Modi. Watch out for the MODI-fied IPL's final LIVE on 3D screens.