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Almost

It was difficult for him to act normal. For years, he had not had to wait for the right moment to say something. He was known to be blunt. He also felt too old for all this. The music was not the kind he was fond of. It was more of hip hop and he was a lover of good old rock. There were too many people, mostly the young crowd with the blush still on their faces. There was too much light. He could see his ridged and craggy hands, there were grey hairs on his fingers that he had not noticed earlier. For the tenth time he felt his breast pockets; the wallet was there. She said she would be in by 7, he was in by 5.30.
There was this one waitress who had heavy legs. Oddly, she reminded him of Jyothi, his first wife. Tall, lithe but heavy in all the right places. He found himself looking at her more often. There seemed to be some connection. The waitress kept glancing at him every now and then and caught him looking at her. Her eyes were the eyes of a yakshini, deep dark and full.
And just then she walked in. Stately, elegant and exquisitely dressed in black. She was wearing the pearls he had gifted her last Diwali. She smelt of sandal, his favorite fragrance, and she was not wearing those sandals that made those tick tock sound and attracted curious glances from strangers.
They hugged each other and he stole a secret glance at the waitress. He found her looking at him from across the aisle. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw something in her eyes that he could not place.
What will you have, the waitress asked, once they were seated. Her question was directed at her, we serve good Indian. Continental she said, and ordered some greens. What is your favorite, he asked the waitress. Kachauri, she said, not really looking at him. And what else, he asked again. This time she looked at him in the eyes and said, dum biryani. Bring me that, he said, followed by Kachauri. Her eyes lit up. He loved looking at her. She was actually beautiful.
He made a mental note to come here more often. It was a good place.

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When it was time for her to go, it was also time for me to let go. Once an irritant is washed out, they say you can start seeing better immediately. All that stupid tears and all that rubbing of the soul, until your eyelids would cry out, no more, no more. 
And then, just like that, one fine day, I wake up, and she was gone.
As the train chugged out
The tracks cried out in senseless
creaks of half despair

Clarity

I have looked at myself
From the edges of reason
And discovered
That both my sanity and insanity
Springs forth like seasons
Out of my distances from you. Realizing thus
I have allowed the outer rims
Of my diffused sanity
To fritter away into crumbs
Of misplaced memories
From my time with you. I have often found myself being unreasonable
When I am away from you.
And generally insane
When otherwise.

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.