Wednesday, August 03, 2011

My Muse

She did not see me. I wish she did. But it made no difference. Things would still have gone on in the same way.  I would not wish it any other way. I turned again to glance at her face through the wafting cigarette smoke. Calm, smiling and playful like a child. There was something about her in that bustling street that stood out. Her hands kept returning to that pooch dawdling by her side. I couldn’t help but smile at that innocence.

The tapri was busy with people coming and going. Everyone warming their wet noses with the steam from the ginger tea. Others like me savoring the silent smoke that wafted beside. I had just returned from a wet ride through the streets. My head was aching and my nose running. Then I spotted this stream of sunlight in the middle of the street.

She was kneeling down on the street playing with her dog. At least, I thought it was her dog. The pooch was just as happy as she was. They were a pretty sight in the corner of a street with rotten garbage smelling close by. Her face was not exceptionally beautiful. Nor was I in one of my poetic moods. In fact, I had lost that a long time ago. It is hard to come by good poetry without a muse. Then I heard this laughter. Pilfering through the horns and screeching hawkers, negotiating traffic and skipping puddles formed on sticky residue on sidewalks. It touched my ears, and I saw her.

No this is not love, I am too logical for that. This was not a crush. I never fall for that. This was something else. Something that called to me within. I stared and stared till my tea went cold and the ashes fell from my fingers. Then I saw her turn. I froze, half hoping she did not see me, half wishing she did. But she stood up straight and looked past me. Or so I thought. Her cane made a splotch on the puddle in front and the dog walked away as she held out her hand to a friend.

For nature to rob such a vision of sight. Oh does nature treasure its beauties with wrath. I wondered if she knew her own face. If she ever sought to see. But there was she, my muse walking, seeing with her fingers what I would never see. Evry skin traced, every raindrop filtered through those fingertips and emotions translated through handshakes. And there I was inane to every change in nature, cocooned in my own version of reality. While my muse sent me a message through her laughter. 

Bas yahi soch kar tujhse mohabbat karta hu main Faraz
Mera to koi nahi par tera to koi ho....

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