Life, Poetry, Technology by Bhupinder: July 2005

Even the delicious of food is sawdust to the senses when having alone. I would have preferred to deny this had I not felt it myself. I sat at De Cafe having hot Coffee, waiting for Sonam to arrive. The taste is for the senses, starting at one and moving at the other four. The otherwise delicious Coffee seemed not so - spreading the uneasiness to the sight and the thoughts too. Generally there's no room for blank thoughts and such explicit boredom. This seldom scenario arises when I want to relax through a hot mug of Coffee, and end up having it alone. Only the smell of the powder coffee, pervading through the mildly blowing breeze, seemed to be comfort for a while. Even it too transformed into a forced comfort. The thoughts were random with uncertain conclusions; rephrasing the ending note of the speech I had given 15 minutes back, planning an half an hour golf session over the weekend, wondering how long Sonam would take to come, tuning to the poetry written by some Rupani that I had chanced over the net surf, the similarity that she bore to my style of writing, pondering over the article that I had read about four days back on asexuals. A very rare chance that Rupani may be one among the dozen of women present in De Cafe, I thought. Yet preferring to consider the chances as high.

I looked at my watch, time skidding around the disc, and sipped the Coffee, removing a layer off its mass. I concentrated on the wave movements. The voices around me grew louder. A boasting male, chauvinistic, expressing in a high pitch the desire to move out of the loops and the function calls of the piece of code he was proclaiming to be efficient in. "I want to move into Designing". I decided not to let my thoughts interfere into his desires and lot. Otherwise I would have to explain him what all comes into consideration when designing modules. Other voices were sweeter, too sweet. I began to eliminate the women who were speaking more. I believed in a threshold of the pitch of women voice above which it becomes evident that she is a tricky lady and unaffected by the sincere concerns of life. And I personally believe that considering that earning money or benefits through ethically unfair means is not a sincere concern of life. It becomes highly impossible to fall for such woman how much ever charm she carries on her face (of course when she's not speaking). There was a woman who was speaking few soft words then looking into the eyes of the person before her, and resuming after a pause. She was giving as much time for the person listening to get the essence of the matter yet restrain from divulging into the thought process immediately. The head opposite her was dancing to the melody of her talk. Every pause followed by an expression on her face that she had delivered it right, and the gesture while resuming her task was of beginning another wise phrase - a deeper breath and the eyes rolling over the innate objects collecting wisdom for her speech. I assumed that she was talking sense. Some of words were audible - Chaos, Decency, John.

I was getting into a streamlined thought. Her lower lips were moving faster, dropping at every stress on the vocabulary, and retreating quickly before the next letter was let go. I tried to get at what she could be speaking. None of my concerns and not that I had assumed that she was Rupani, still an illogical way to drive the boredom insinuated by the Coffee's taste, smell and the inexplicable burden of not having it with Sonam. There was a rare chance of reading the lips, as I am no expert in the same. A sudden discovery, not of words, but of the similarity in the lip movement; an out of the blue moon thing. It was similar to my wife's. I had an unintended sip of the Coffee, the minute's hand reassuring me to continue the flow of my thoughts.

The lady's lips were too prominent unlike my wife's. Whenever her lower lips fall, the cheeks change in color, and add to the effect of emphasizing verbal expressions. Her lower lips also fall when she is in disbelief of my statements, and just before she is to finalize her opinion towards me, the twist in my eyebrows, impacting folds on the forehead, imparts some unique sincerity. The sudden slight contrast to her belief hangs her lower lips. It is then that I would feel like ending the discussion with a soft kiss on the lower lip. Our relationship has always grown smoother, eradicating such discussions from sipping into the tender pores of the threads making our bond. I could hardly remember the last time when I had gone for the kiss on the lower lip. I kiss her whenever we meet. It's a pure kiss, a touch on the delicate flakes, floating up readily to the custom of meet, and accepting my possession over hers. My lips gallop to taste the sensory mate. Then it's a competitive situation and the performers keep winning alternatively. There's lot of fun, in the process. It is conquer over the soul and the body. But attempting a walk on memory lanes, prove those moments as stale, unable to implant a milestone on those lanes. There's no conquer over situations, over petty matters. They no longer add to the panorama of the moments collected as memories to relish during low times. The momentarily satisfaction does build up a strong asset while departing. And when we are on our way to respective homes, the rhythm of the proximal resonance gradually mingles with the routine noises of software, modules, Coffee mugs in boredom, and efforts to manage the life alone. The Coffee is less hot now, more lukewarm. There's an additional layer formed by thoughts delaying the frequency in which the attempt of the Coffee to chill down is disrupted. The delayed sip was much more uncomfortable then. I again had a look at the watch.

My wife is a chanced thought, though she can bet that I remember her always. I do but out of habit. As a matter of fact I am into a habit of meeting her once in say three weeks. We are separated by bundles of international boundaries, and often get connected over phone calls. Some years back, when it was a fresh discomfort, living apart, there was fun in spite of the long distance. Every available weekend led to an eagerness, followed by purchasing of expensive air tickets, flying down to either side, and spending the short while together as the best of moments that could be remembered and missed at least for a few weeks. The departures had a depressed tone, building up an hour before the flight check-in time. Those eyes never cried, in spite of her being a very emotional person, yet there was a feeling as if she would cry out the moment we depart. Infact I never investigated whether she really did cry after our departure or not. But I would rather believe that she would have dived into her silence to let the internal tears vaporize in its infinity.

Sonam arrived, standing before me, to replace the infinity of the turbulent thoughts, gesturing in a loud manner, that there she was. As she lowered her shoulders, collecting her hands, I offered her a seat. She had different eyes, not very impressive but dull. They always attract the male society, and leave a warning, dare you think about me! Her eyes are not meant for me; I prefer to look at her eyelashes, the amount of coating around them. I ordered for another cup of Coffee, plus one for her. My thoughts fighting with the feminine invasion left a confused gaze on my face. Her words seemed unclear amidst the fray. Her expressions soon began reflecting mine. She seemed uncertain, whether she was speaking to me or to my eyes. Hope your eyes can hear! I replied with a smile. She is not a vigorous romanticizer, but can chat on any subject. I love the way she offers Coffee - the right mixes of sugar, milk, coffee, gaze, smile and time.

I consider Management of all scales to be important for a better life. It is not necessary to be an MBA graduate, but there should be a natural inclination towards managing time, people, preferences, routine tasks, etc. If I ponder today on these parameters: I have been managing Time well, there are appointments, meetings, training sessions, discussions, meeting my wife. Most people have been erased from the lot, in achieving efficiency in managing them. And the preferences have developed so often that they has nullified its meaning. Yet amidst this generalization, there are rare moments that I can share with only my wife. Then there's a call made outside the scope of the developed habit. One can speak about anything with one's spouse, any silly thing, any outburst of your mood, any illogical concept. The other person will lend a sincere ear. We get used to each other. Its like before she opens up her mouth to speak something, I know she's going to talk something. We get used to each other over the time. We learn the other person's expressions. Then there are things that we can discuss with nobody else. We also behave in a different way; unlike we do before others. We play pranks on each other becoming children sometimes. Yes, relationship is meant for such things.

Sonam offered me the Coffee. Her smile may be considered as intoxicating, if her eyes do not interrupt the romance being sprinkled by her lips. But generally they do interfere putting some urgency of the question that she might have asked a few minutes back. Then she might have been jovial, but now her mood changes and the eyes demand it, and she seriously wants the answers. Her eyes had gone demanding. And whenever her dull eyes portrays what they are best at, she retreats her friendliness, starts calculating her words and being aware of the public around us. It's then that I feel it might have flashed onto her that I am married. And this thought also reminds me that neither is she single.

The second Coffee was different. In a split of second, I had conjured up my wife preparing Coffee and serving to me. I am not sure how she prepares Coffee; I prefer to have tea with her. We started a mild discussion on RFID, a newer technology finding way to the software world. With every sip, I looked at her eyelashes, her lips. She represented the silicon city, which has shaped my life to this lot. The smell of the Coffee powder brought by the mildly blowing breeze, was now being obstructed by, the humanly mass called Sonam. The fragrance diluted by her aroma, mixing well with the taste, brought a distant joy to me. She burst out in laughter and her eyes hid behind the lids and the heavy eyelashes. Our fondness has grown over the years in a very calculate way. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Life, Poetry, Technology by Bhupinder

July 25, 2005

CoFFee - Short Story

July 15, 2005

Poems on Soldiers