Friendship..

The idea of friendship is a misunderstood one. Confusion starts when affection is credited to be its foundation. It is not. Friendship is always founded on convenience. Though not just in the narrow sense of the word, limited to only physical world, but encompassing emotional convenience as well, and significantly so. In fact, this emotional convenience is the basis of beginning of strongest bonding of people into friends. A friend is one whose presence imposes minimum inhibitions-a big convenience.

A mild form of friendship may develop when there is tolerance towards each other's behaviour, where people feel free to be themselves. This, however, can be achieved through a rule based gathering, say a club. An example of purest form of convenience. However, this alone may not develop in a deep friendship and may remain a just a convenience. Deep friendship cuts much deeper.  Someone who cuts through the frivolity of public persona that we maintain and looks at the key component of our emotional core with a belief that in the end this component is us, and he or she is ok with it.....once that happens he or she ignore all our quirks, whims, oddities and accepts us, tolerates us.

Knowing the key component of our core gives them comfort, a peg to hang their trust on, trust that our core will lead us to be considerate, generous, and selfless when they are at their most vulnerable. Highest freedom from inhibition that anyone seeks is to be oneself when one is most vulnerable. And by definition a true friend needs to provide that. Truest friendship is in part a kind of deal with the devil, in the sense that you promise to look at the darkness in your friend's soul without flinching.

But, to know this core takes time and an initial exposure is necessary condition. This exposure is normally forced and circumstantial, and thus all friendship begin by chance. In a particular situation, when people are forced together, out of many one is chosen because one was perceived as best option.

True friendship does not begin as dependence but as a convenience, but ends up in dependence. Dependence created by tested and verified trust. Friendship is not like romantic love, which is much more biological and much less selective (sexual impulse is biological and ignores behavioural aspects of the partner when at peak), or a love that is mutual in generations linked by a gene, which also is biological and not selective at all (Brother loves brother, father loves son etc). In these cases affection precedes knowing the person, and always is cause of knowing; however, all the affection that we feel for a friend is not the cause of the friendship but a result of it...

-Pulastya

Coffee

Rain and wind dancing arm in arm, silvery and grey, being woven in to each other fall on the cemented floor and flow as endless sheet of liquid cloth, alive, flowers bursting out of it....

Black is shining out in the sky, and in the cup of coffee....Good weather for coffee...wondering if a mug is  on your lips too love!...it would be satisfying for both, its essence for yours—coffee for kisses.

Ah, good weather for envy too...

-Pulastya

Loneliness

There is a kind of loneliness that builds gradually, through a process of breaking away from the world strand by strand. It is in some ways also a manifestation of acceptance of death, and of preparation for that final dissolution in to the eternal loneliness. There is another kind, caused by momentary snapping of connection with the familiar world, loneliness of being out of place, made of the discomfort it causes. It’s texture is exactly like when loud music around you suddenly stops playing and a void is left behind by its sudden disappearance, leaving you confused about void’s nature, about whether it's a residue of something that has suddenly gone away and a form is left behind by substance which has just disappeared and there is still another a second left for it to cave in, or if it is something that was hiding in the shadows and spotlight has shifted on to it all of a sudden... One can never really comprehend this emotion; is it the longing for the music gone away or is it discomfort of finding your self in the embrace of silence, that is, something unexpected?  But what one definitely feels is a surge, of emotions...

Emotions are chaotic, and habits, playing out in a familiar world, are the way of enforcing some kind of order to them. Habit is like a shallow channel through which furious stream of emotion flows in some what controlled way; but, even a momentary disconnection with the familiar world of habit can create a massive surging emotion which always takes the form of impossible to understand flood of feelings summarily called loneliness.

-Pulastya

Basic Instincts

Instincts are obsessively focused on an assigned task by nature, even when their purpose stands fulfilled they never stop practising. Drill, however, should not be construed as war it self. Real men/women are not those who have killed their instinct, real men/women are those who have tamed them, learned to wield them, be in control. The realm of ‘feel’ is beyond human brain, expressed behaviour is more readily driven by it though. And most of us take great care in expressing proper behaviour. That, also, doesn’t mean that we live a double life-one in the world and one in the head, it’s just that perfectly clean house of emotion is an impossibility, instincts keep littering the place with unsolicited feelings; smart people understand that and work hard only on keeping their worldly house clean.

-Pulastya 

Envy

That morning young rose was flirting with new sun, under the window of your bedroom, swaying in morning breeze, showing off its supple body to entice, coy, and yet confident. Sun, radiant with novel passion, slowly embraced the rose in its warmth and was about to plant a  kiss on its tender petal lips, to drink the drops of dew on them ...when you came on to the window....

You, slowly pulling the curtains and then pushing the pans, yawning with half opened eyes; loose dark flaxen tresses floating in the wind, that had rushed in to soak in your fragrance, strands wrapping around your face with playful naughtiness, and some, probably the most passionate of them, kissing your moist lips with a haughty passion; you pushing them aside with a tender rebuke, and they coming back again, and again, as if only source of nourishing life they knew (like infant knows only mother’s breast) was tender essence of your pink lips.

After opening the window you stood there resting against the wall. Your sleeveless white top filled by trespassing air endowed you even more, silk of your night shorts completely merging in the silk of your dusky skin, startled the looker with a amazing vision, till, somehow, the relative roughness of its texture gave it away against the dusky smoothness of your lissom smoky thighs. As you opened the window the fragrance of your pristine youth seeped in to garden like laughter of a baby filling the air, and it soothed the morning even more; the round smoothness of your bare arms, the chiselled sharp drop of your nose, the intoxicating drowsiness of your still sleepy eyes, the simmer of heat-of-life on you lips, gentle heaving of your chest, and, oh! that sharp curve between your hips and back when resting against the wall.....Sun was mesmerised.

Having seen a billion mornings, sun for the first time was seized with this intense desire- not to melt this drop of dew he had just seen oozing on the window.....not to drink it, but to just watch it. Sun left the rose alone, and most tenderly built a protective aura around you. You, still standing on the window, in that endless morning of my imagination, and sun merging and radiating in and from you in an unprecedented softness...

That morning rose learned to envy....

-Pulastya

A Face

Her skin glazed like porcelain in the colour of beaten pure gold- buxom radiance moving with an inaudible feline walk; movement of her body minimum, yet she swayed in most feminine manner- giving rhythm to a dancing flower, a flowing river, a wave riding the ocean, or a pulsating galaxy.

Her eyebrows, perfect brush stokes of a master calligrapher, a gently curved thin line to infinity- the name of god in Arabic.

Slanted dewey eyes glowing with soft wetness; two black bodies oozing low wavelength heat, a savoury tender warmth from a heart on fire with passion, overflowing from eyes.

In themselves those eyes smiled with a naughty and yet indifferent shine, inviting, but taking no responsibility for any danger lurking behind them.

Her lips were without a hint of smile, full, curvy, luscious and ripe, but pursed in a warning.

She lured and mystified at the same time, like a bait!

-Pulastya