Is there a wedding in the skies tonight?

5 November 1999. Swinging to dusk.

It’s twenty-eight minutes past five. I am sitting on the
jhoola in the terrace. Love Papa for it. It’s one of the
most wonderful gifts he has given me. The sky has
burst into whorls of dappled crimson. Clouds of gold
have scattered across that end in the west where the
sun’s pouring more colours – tangerine, rust and pink.
It’s preparing to set in some minutes, fl ashing a brilliant
finale, sprinkling vermillion all over the endless expanse.
Is there a wedding in the skies tonight?

8 November 1999. Ten minutes of lemon tea after sunset.

Have been sweeping my nerves; red arteries moulded in
fi re and blue veins borrowed from the sea. I am quite a
chimneysweeper when it comes to clearing the recesses
of my mind. So, while sweeping this afternoon, I often
stopped short. I found couplets of your incomplete verses;
a drop of your tear from when you were sozzled on your
last birthday; a sketchy picture of our imaginary house
with a big terrace overlooking a river; the assuaging four
o’clock sunlight we played with every afternoon; my
favourite Egyptian strappy sandals, which you broke by
forever stamping on them; those often quiet, sometimes
peopled roads we walked on like apparitions looking at
the moon and counting how far away Poornima, the full
moon, was… And your routine question at that: ‘Who
is Poornima?’… And our silly, routine laughter that
followed. Also, that ‘Hello!’ on the phone at three in the
night that would echo through my being.
26 November 1999. An autumn afternoon oblivious of time.
By the unruly clock in my mind, I dream. Images,
pictures, voices, shadows, people, stars, history, they all
fall like semul flowers from the blazing red trees to the
earth. And I sleep on the bed of flowers, thinking and
living spring, in grey autumn.
Has the world fallen from that old branch, which
shivers in the sad, supple breeze? Has the last flower
fallen?

#Music to go with your reading: The Dichotomy of Fate, Rockstar

#loverslikeyouandi on http://compare.buyhatke.com/books/Lovers-Like-You-and-I-Minakshi-Thakur-hatke9789351160298

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5 October 1999. Two tranquil hours past midnight by Ghantidas.

5 October 1999. Two tranquil hours past midnight by Ghantidas.

But love is like poetry. Like verse. And even the blankest of verse has some metre, some rhythm, something to measure it by. The champagne must fl ow at a patient pace in order to intoxicate and sustain itself in … Continue reading

Oranges can do wonders.

Nayan too wrote him letters. In invisible ink. With a pen
dipped in fresh orange juice. Letters that could be read only
when passed over a candle flame.
‘Your letters are so delicate, your poetry so fragile that I fear
ruining them as I read them over and over again out of greed
for more and more of you. I treat them as something alive. I
show them the cool moonlight of midnight and the satin first
light of the sun at dawn. I fear getting overwhelmed when
reading through them, I worry that a careless drop of tear will
smudge the ink,’ she had written in invisible ink.

Salil had not known the trick. Did he ever get to read the
letters then? Maybe.

21 August 1999. It’s midnight, says Ghantidas.

You’ve been walking on the moon tonight,
I know.
You’ve been strolling out there tonight,
I’m certain.
You have been walking up and down,
Sulking about something,
Pondering over some sonnet,
Some unfinished, silly lyric of yours,
Stamping, rubbing your feet
Out of irritability, I know.
’Cause the moon has come down tonight
Hanging from the branch
Of my neem tree,
Cribbing about those aching footmarks
On his shoulders.  

From Lovers Like You and I 

 
‘Love is the magic word. Minakshi Thakur has revealed the hearts and souls of lovers like you and I. When love is real, the lovers are so unreal. Salil and Nayan never think of the thinkable and tangible. It’s a novel with a rare ambience of art and love.’ – Gulzar

‘Love is the magic word. Minakshi Thakur has revealed the hearts and souls of lovers like you and I. When love is real, the lovers are so unreal. Salil and Nayan never think of the thinkable and tangible. It’s a novel with a rare ambience of art and love.’ – Gulzar

Lovers Like You and I cover