Skip to main content

Cling On Baby

How long has it been? 
Close to 20 I guess. No no, it is 18, 18 years. I remember I was 16 and you were 18. We could not even run away together, I was still a minor :)

You are right, it is 18... not that I would have run away with you... I had no money no friends and did not know where away was :)

Dog, you were always a Dog Raj!!!

Bhou Bhou but you still tag along, don't you?
I do, I always will... I will lead you by your leash until one of us is gone.

And then, then what would the other do?
I know what I will do with you if you are gone, I will steal some cinders from your ash and make myself an amulet. I will always carry you along, until I am a old hag and I cant walk any more. And then, when when I go to sleep, they will leave that amulet on.

Straight out of FLS princess. How would you explain that to your husband?
I'll tell him something.Not that I plan to marry anytime now!

How is it Princess... with me around?
Hmmm! I can walk into the night and not be worried about Ghosts behind the mountains, I can sleep tight and not be worried about strangers under the bed, I go to the loo and I am not worried about cameras at the vent. I am not afraid of falling sick, not afraid of late night parties and can get drunk. As long as you are there, there is light.

So I am your friendly bodyguard eh!?
No Raj, you are my dog.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.

Hush

You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.