those 3 dry roses between pages of a poetry book

When the entire thing got to my nerves i told myself i must figure a way outta this passive, nothing happening mess of a phase that i was going through. i was happy, life was good, finances were stable, but for the last few days, i had this attitude of a non chalant middle aged woman who is so saturated with life that even her special some one's "I love you" doesnt cause a tingle within... its the weather i thought. i was not busy or occupied to justify the above said attitude, its like i had just forgotten to respond, relish, react... reasons or the lack of it contributed to its causal factors!! To begin with, i had to figure a way outta the mess that my room was in.
I carelessly flipped through the piles of litter around the place trying to put them away into their respective assigned stacks, clothes, cards, files, study material, old projects, books, everything... when, accidentally i lay hands on a treasure that i had long forgotten to use.
My old poetry book. I used to read it so often and write in it with so much love, i was a bubbly enthu cutlet of a young poet, but somehow amidst office mails, distance education courses, e-mail exchanges, blogs and of course orkut updates... i had neglected that part of me so much. here i was in solitude with my book, waiting to hear it air its grievances to me after so long. "where've u been all the while? darn!! i missed you!" i almost heard it say. "i missed you too" i replied with a smile. As i flipped through the pages something heavier than paper fell on my lap, three in a row... with half a startle (actually a something little less than a startle) i looked down. ROSES . dry, withering and pressed against its own petals. i paused in awe for a few seconds... god this had actually survived all the while in here? as i touched them, his face flashed before my minds eye, those strong hands that held out these very flowers , fresh then ,with the blush of his first love, those expectant eyes hoping I'd smile, they seemed to be looking into mine even now. i was suddenly transported into that other place and time, The grand palace road, the laughter and cheer in the heart during the ride on the horse driven coach around Citizen's park, the inimitable Hindi shaayiris, the sheer joy of being then n there. i had believed in fairy tales as a child, but when it was unfolding right in front of me and i was the princess i just didn't even know i was in one such tale... he covered my eyes with his hands and signalled out to the guy riding the coach to take a turn - its strange how much more closed eyes could see- we stopped at the entrance of the palace, he took his hands off my eyes and we stood in the splendour of an ancient palace white... in the depths of it, it was so old yet it spoke so much about the the nobility that lived within her doors, and the wind brushed against our faces, as he gave me those roses and the palace stood majestic and watched to tell the tale another day, just like how these dry flowers spoke to me now!! they had withered away yet they were so alive and full of tales to tell... i touched those petals again and felt that wind brush my face again... a small tear rolled down my smiling lips. god!! i had forgotten that feeling that smile that cheer that joy of seeing beauty in little things, how alive those dry roses were now!! i groped to find my mobile phone, i had to tell him... dialled his number heard his line respond with a caller tune he had downloaded specifically for me.... it kept ringing, kept ringing, no response! the line went silent, with my lips still damp with the single tear that rolled by, i spoke into the silence of the unanswered phone line "ma i just called to say - i love you, guess what i found..." maybe there is yet another book amidst his mess that holds similar flowers that would take him back in time and remind him to receive the call!!

whenever the question of technology pops up, i stiffen up a bit, resist, struggle through the phase and then succumb, and ya sometimes rebel and refuse to accept technology as an option. afterall isnt it technology that once prevented me from being able to write my article for the paper i interned with and made me type it instead? making me lose half my thoughts as i searched franctically for the right keys on the keyboard!. is it not technology thats guilty of having prevented my dearest friend from writing to me in his inimitable victorian english and get him to settle for a hasty phonecall instead...? isnt it the fault of technology of having kept HIM from meeting me on my special day and forced me to smile through flowers ordered via the internet... yes indeed technology is to be blamed. But here i am on my blog... forgiving all my grievances against technology with due respect to the lost marks in the past, putting pen to paper err... put thought to keyboard, or whatever. lets see wher this jouney would steer to! que sera que sera. i have the feeling of a novelist who's just started his first novel and let loose his characters not knowing where, when or what they would make him write, its welcome i guess. chao!