an sms story70

Anna was wearing blue jeans and a very
conservative top which accentuated her
new-found slimness. a brown thick band
of watch on her right wrist. a black leather
handbag.she always feels guilty about using
the leather ones but the substitutes have not
proved to be fit for roughing it up.Khadim footwear.
the only ones that didn't give her feet rough skin.
as she explored  floor to floor...she can tell the
positions of various sections blindfolded...she remembered
her answers to Armaan's messages.

Anna:One of the most
powerful visions i
have experienced
was the first
photograph of
earth from outer
space. The image of
a blue planet
floating in deep
space, glowing like
the full moon on a
clear night...The
Dalai Lama


Anna:Always forgive ur
enemies-nothing
annoys them as
much-oscar wilde



Anna:Never imagine
urself not to be
otherwise than
what it might
appear to others
that what u were or
might have been
was not otherwise
than what u had
been ud have
appeared to them
to be otherwise-alice in wonderland

all the days before Armaan answered, she had waited.
and she had done one other thing. she had opened her documents
and looked for an appropriate pic to go with her Orkut profile.
which could justify her present glam while grasping the old looks...
for an old acquaintance to recognize her as herself, the Anna of
roundish face, thin lips and bright eyes.she looked like a teenager
in her mid-twenties...and she has matured as a woman now and there
lie the difficulty.would he be able to recognize in this woman that girl?
because a girl she was then....                                     (to be contd.)

an ams story69

the love that you withhold is the pain that you carry.
who said this? she doesn't remember.the line sings
in her ears like an attacking bee.bee in the bonnet.this
phrase reminds her of Agatha Christie.bee...bonnet..
double bee..Bibi, proper noun...Satyajit Ray' story..
as she searches for her favourite brand Biotique's
numerous items in Bigbazaar.she goes through the
shelves, religiously, choosing or discarding according
to her needs...the counter-girls hovering nearby, ready
to help with suggestions, eager to push sales of a
particular brand.why Biotique? try this, try that..
she feels embarrassed...these girls, standing for hours
and serving customers..tired lines beneath the eyes..
feels guilty as she goes materialistic headlong.foods, nuts,
cheese, masala tea and face-packs, creams,serums, body oils,
cleansers...all herbal products.and she feels her most polite
smile directed at these girls to be condescending..
have any of them got her very own particular brand of Armaan?
she touches the shelf containing the beauty-brand products
bearing  Armaan's synonym.she doesn't buy them.
                                                                (to be contd.)

                                                    

an sms story68

law reminds her of him.she avoids the legal topics...in the newspaper,
on television,  in films..everywhere..and the topics haunt her with an obstinacy,
like his name. she is reminded of an Iranian poem which she had read in her
childhood..
far out in the forest of Chinar, the storm rages madly,
the cashew nut-moon shines up in the sky and i am reminded
of you whose very name is forbidden to me...
this river-like youth, this runner-like time never mingles
with each other.Time stares at her youth from across
the waters and sighs.i wanted to be your river, i want
to be your river...for you to glide smooth, glide rough...
                                                              (to be contd.)

an sms story67

this winter is seeing rains finally. cold drops...thip, thip
thip all night long..the whole courtyard resembling a pool
in the shivering morning. Anna goes to bed and imagines nights..
nights with Armaan. as she has done all these years. as she has
decided to remain his till the end of time..her time.and these rainy-cold
nights fill her with thoughts lovely, of Armaan and his sensual eyes,
the stare..sole key to her solo heart. Anna shivers, enjoys the shivering,
the chattering of teeth as she finishes supper in a perfunctory manner.

in the morning Armaan sends messages.in the afternoon.at night. he chats her

up anytime he pleases as she looks for affection, in vein. she goes through

his messages and her answers.the dilemma, whether she should revert back to 

the mode of self-revelation, albeit in a symbolic way. or to give dry

answers to his friendly-naughty messages. she feels it is not exclusive,
this chat, he probably does it with all of his female acquaintances..its
not 'their' conversation. Anna and Armaan's. it is conversation.just.
commonplace. natural. social communication via technology.
                                                                       (to be contd.)
                                                                      

an sms story66sms

wonder what she would've done without the rectangular screen,
by the side of her bed. the sleepless nights and the repentance
that eats her...she surfs the net...Central Asia, Kashmir,Urheinmet
....endless downloads.. like an addict. night after night while Armaan sleeps
on his married bed. and when he has the time n mood or feels like it,
sends a message. all the warm camaraderie of those two days gone.
she had expected to hear more...but where were the words?as if you
indulge a mad person because you are afraid of her outbursts. or you take pity
on that person. Anna's  stakes with Armaan  are low now as she pursued
him this time.but she can't imagine a day without his messages.puts up
with his indifference.where are the other options?





Armaan:Which fruits relate 2
me. Orange-
Proudy, Grape-
Naughty, Banana-
Stylish, Mango-
Sweet, Papaya-
Rude, Apple- Gud
Luking, Chiku-
Frank, Strawberry-
Sexy, Pear-
Caring. Reply Truly.
                     (to be contd.)

an sms story65

Anna....holds on to Armaan as she listens to Enrique's Latino
pathos..you, do you remember me..i walk on the streets alone...
as if the song was written for her, and her only....and she accepts
the inevitable at last..she will be Armaan's.at any cost.what has she got to
do with society's rules? the society which abuses its children within
the sanctity of marital bond, which conducts witch hunt against
people with 'different' inclinations, where closet homosexuals are
compelled to ruin other lives along with their own...all in the name of
morality and tradition...what evil has ever been successfully encountered
by  this society? its iron-clad rules have given birth to newer evils and
oppressions.people paid only lip-service  to sermons.
this limping morality  is always on its strongest leg only while sacrificing love.
Anna won't.


Armaan:GV me a title:
1)Thief of hearts
2)Source of smyl
3)Fun bomb
4)Sensitive
5)Romantic idiot
6)Beautiful soul
7)Romantic wid a
twist
4ward 2 al U knw
bt rply me 1st
            (to be contd.)

an sms story64

she wakes up before 5a.m. in the morning.the birds twitter in the
soft blue of first light.cuckoo, ....... cuckoos,the spring-birds, nowadays they sing
in all seasons.she is reminded of Holi n the colours.she shuts her mind off from the sound.
goes to the showcase and takes out a book.where are the sparrows gone? they say it is because
of the mobiles.the waves of the towers are bad for the sparrows' heart.the windows remain tight-shut.
Anna takes thyronorm.religiously.everyday.and stands before the mirror.sees the thin outline of
of her figure.takes out the old jeans, feels her waist, runs her hands over the hills n valleys.59k.g.
it will do....
and waits for more messages.somehow a belief runs in her veins that the messages would
lead her someday to Armaan, in flesh n blood.she would see him in person.the face.the thirst....
                                                                                                                        (to be contd.)

an sms story63

Anna ran her finger on her friend's number....

he has answered! hey. he has!!

great! tell me, what he has typed.

how weird it was. nobody these days said 'written'
or 'said'. it was always 'typed'...

her girlfriend couldn't understand the meaning
of the message either. but she was happy that  Armaan's solid
silence was broken at last.

what did you say?

nothing. don't know what to write because don't understand
the meaning. depth of whom? mine? or his?
                                              (to be contd.)

an sms story62

Anna lay in the honey-coloured light of the smooth sun.
two mobiles by her side.the Neem tree above drew
patterns in the shadow.she thought of the money she
got...a meagre amount sans the prestige that comes
from the association with academia.career: Zero;
life: Zero; love: Zero. maimed life, hurt mind. Bonus:
public scrutiny. when it comes to taking stock of the
life, there is nothing in the stock.the monthly cycles gone
to complete waste. from the biological point of view,
a thorough failure...a failed affair with life!

from the side-vision she caught  movement in both of her
mobiles...something is happening within.Anna took the red n black
one out of the black leather cover and...


Armaan:Most of d time v r
so busy in judging
people by 'lengths'
'breadths' n
'heights'
tht v forget, dat
each 1 of us is
gifted wid a heart
where depth too
matters!
        (to be contd.)

an sms story61

what to do with this pain? to live away a hollow life? or to opt out?
where are the options? is there any option? she was in front of the
computer, searching for ways out of the....she couldn't have him.ok.
but did he love her the way she did? how could he when he barely
knew her? perhaps he could've loved that female as well? and loved
her. its only that she had somebody and a solid hidden relationship.
so she preferred to spend her time having fun with Armaan.
if she wanted him, she would've got him too? it was her choice
all along. and  its only when she let know of her steady, Armaan
became active in pursuing Anna...more persuasive, more madly in love,..
'cause that female let him free,...instinctively saving the pride of his manhood...
like 'i have a better girl' in the offing? sort of more open....he didn't know
it himself..love has so many hidden by-ways, so many trap-doors
of pain....and Anna couldn't even say these things to him.
to have a good quarrel, thats the antidote, and she can't have that.
as Armaan refused to budge, Anna slipped into the quicksand
and had a terrible death each moment even as she looked wildly
for the easiest way out of her life sentence...poison..cyanide;poison..
snake-bite;poison..dhatura...aag ka dariya hai aur dubke jana hai...
it was not a song of separation..its true meaning revealed itself to Anna...
only too late...
         (to be contd.)

an sms story60

...the black T-shirt that hugged his body.his firm back n tight
butt on the other end of the corridor.most of the times he wore
trousers...seldom jeans.the sun rays giving his dark hair a brownish
hue.the red tie with white shirt-trousers on court-visits. ..he looked
so desirable! she burned all day on holidays.at night, his fingertips played
on Anna n she became a piano, shrieking out melodies.the boy, the boy!
what a boy! she was a musk-deer, maddened by her own scent, asking to
be freed of her scent.

the mere imagination that he may  share another woman's bed some day,
sent a chill along her spine and her heart became cold. no other man would
do for her as she felt her naval, so deep and profound. she became ice-cold with fear...
her glowing youth had a perfect foil in him and his eyes which became
soo affectionate at times.....dream, dream...two dreams..the fertile
land green and red and pink and golden-yellow...

yellow...in the fading lights of day, Anna finds the pair of nimble feet
disappearing, fast and as irrevocably.the flowers by the stream..flowers..
there are gardens in this world where nobody entered because there are few
connoisseurs who can, led by the aroma, discover where the rose is.
                                                                                (to be contd.)

an sms story59

Armaan:NO MESSAGE




Anna was reading DO AND DIE on the Chittagong uprising these days.
there was a movie coming up on that important milestone in India's freedom
struggle.she was totally immersed in that. she read about Kalpana Joshi's
failed love.failed? the revolutionary who loved her.and loved mother India with
the same passion...died for her.


Anna:This is the time for
preparation to
embrace death as a
friend...at such a
solemn moment,
what shall i leave
behind for  you?
Only one thing, that
is my dream,a
golden dream- the
dream of free
india...onward my
comrades,
onward...surya
sen's last message.
Send it to everyone.



Armaan:NO MESSAGE




Anna:The earth is our
only home-al gore(
'an inconvenient
truth'). Say yes to
green. Send it to
everyone.



Armaan:NO MESSAGE




Anna:When nobody
listens, there comes
a song/ when
somebody listens, a
beloved is born/ in
a hundred ways a
song is born/ in
only one way a
beloved is born/
when it is difficult
to reach the other
side, a song is born/
when somebody
comes from the
other side, a
beloved is born/
when somebody
does not see
through my eyes, a
song is born/when
somebody sees
through my eyes, a
beloved is born.



Armaan;NO MESSAGE



Anna:My place is the
placeless, my trace
is the traceless, it is
neither body nor
soul, for i belong to
the soul of the
beloved. I have put
duality away, i have
seen that the two
worlds are one, one
i seek, one i know,
one i see, one i call:
jalauddin rumi



Armaan:NO MESSAGE
                          (to be contd.)

an sms story58

Anna struggled with her old insecurities and the new addiction.
she dreamed of snakes...black, smooth, gleaming ones,cordoning
her off from her secure world.and she lay awake in the night, speechless
with fright. she fought off her wish to seek safety in the warmth of
her mother's blanket.




the next day:



Anna was going through the Times of India. the Sacred Space.
nowadays she regularly does so in the hope that she might be
able to send some beautiful quotes to Armaan someday and
outdo him.



Anna:When u have only
two pennies left in
the world, buy a
loaf of bread with
one, and a lily with
the other-chinese
proverb
      ( to be contd.)

an sms story57

the next day:



Anna:The waves of
pain...reared high
up and washed
over my head,
pulling me under. I
did not resurface-
new moon



she waited by her rose garden. silent. the autumn sun kissed her hands
as she tried to shade her eyes and see if any message had come.
Anna sat on the hand-woven mat and watched the red new leaves of her
spice-trees.the bay leaves.she had never been able to use the leaves of her
garden in cooking. for that, the market ones...she remembered how, once,
she had  rolled the dry bay leaves, lit them and smoked.so soothing. she
had always itched to smoke. the smoke.in one corner of the courtyard,
a mound of dry leaves were burning.the smoke,coiling towards the clear sky
....in childhood, she used to stand in the smoke and imagine that she was
floating through the white clouds.there was no cloud these days, the light,
fluffy white ones.Anna's inner sky had a riot of dark-blue, heavy clouds
though.dark-blue.the colour in which she used to draw lord Krishna and
Radha .the colour of sorrow was blue as she got to know when she first
listened to Cliff Richards' songs.she had often drawn Armaan in the paint
window of her computer, in front of a clear blue background,  the colour
of a mountain brook. and her eyes somewhere...happy with a light-blue tinge.
she lost all those paintings, the only representations of Armaan she had with
her, to formatting.she never got over it.those pictures, so clearly defining
the world she built with Armaan...the moments..not of everyday life...in sylvan
mountains, middle of sandy deserts n camels, on the terrace of a fortress....
all gone and she could not paint him again. and there was always that unfathomable
distance between the picture-Armaan n picture-Anna.sometimes she in the
background, sometimes he...never converging, never meeting...Armaan hung on
the wall of a Yves Saint Laurent Anna..Anna stared at an Armaan sitting idly
by a tree....

Armaan:NO MESSAGE.
             (to be contd.)

an sms story56

 Anna took in the shape of  perfectly round 'indian' pizza.
 cheese, sauce and lots of paneer cubes thrown in.the knife
 and the fork. pick out the paneers, they mar the taste.
 cut the slices in smaller triangles and chew.she has never been
 able to finish off more than a half of the pizza, though she always
 opted for the smaller version.indian pizza.because of the
 paneers? or the sauce, not adhering to italian or mexican
 standard? a wholly indian amalgamation? why 'indian'?
..."on that road between China and India, perhaps I could
 find a history that belonged to me, a past and a present.
 What was true? What was false? And what did it have to
 do with me? Is not history one woman's truth-as she
 chooses to tell it?" o darling Mishi, did the same demons
 chase you as you hitchhiked across the silk road?

 PAGE 69: "why was the past bubbling up now of all times?
 I felt tears gather as I looked out of the window, tears for M.,
 a man I knew a decade ago. It had been intense and wholehearted
 between us...I never forgot that... I still  mourned the death of this youthful love.
 Or perhaps this is what the desert did, uncovered things I had thought long-vanished."
 no desert had to uncover it for Anna.she was a desert.
 "Can one mourn for a decade without not knowing? All those years
 ago, I didn't think M. had loved me at all. But now I saw that he had.
 It was I who couldn't believe it at the time. I needed so many tokens.
 It was a failure of imagination. And  of  faith."...Anna has drafted Mishi's words
 in her mobile...when she took up the copy of 'Chasing the Monk's Shadow'
 she had hoped for oblivion. to find shelter in the smoky opiate that history
 was to her.Mishi had it all...Stein, Ulighur, the Monk, Kumarajeeva, Kucha
.....came the desert and Mishi's pain reverberated within the empty walls
 of Anna's mind. TEN years! what pervert joke was this? of providence?

Anna remembered the hollywood-movie she was watching
the evening before. Enemy of the State. the woman answers
to the hero that she had no life because she was in love with a
married man...and there was law department. anguish! Anna
could have been a queen. she was begging for Love from life now.
no trembling fingers, no beating heart as she pressed the 'send'
button...


Anna:Time passes...even
         when each tick of
         the second hand
         aches like the pulse
         of blood behind a
         bruise...but pass it does-new moon
she has decided to send one message a day till he answers. would Armaan
ever know that each morning she wakes up, takes a look at the mobile and
says to herself, in muted, hushed tone...rose pink, pink rose, bring me a happy
day.
      (to be contd.)

an sms story55

Anna was sitting in vatika.the bright lights.seemed there were no
ugly-looking and badly-dressed people in the world.the gleaming counter
with a computer. you pay and collect the slip. give it to the food counter.
you wait. patiently as your number comes up on a screen on the wall
of the counter.the escalator just in front of the railings where  Anna sat.
her favourite spot. a spot of green in the form of  an ornamental plant.
there was a staircase also, winding upwards to the movie-theater above.
the shops around the space by the restaurant..clothes, ice cream-parlor,
computers,photo-binding services, gift shops...she has inserted the VSNL SIM into
her red n black mobile as its screen was better for messaging and message-reading.
and she carried it always with her nowadays and kept the other one at home.

she has not grown up seeing these things.like the pony-tailed little girls here in
three-quarter jeans, holding their jeans-wearing moms' hands.she felt
like an immigrant,often, in this world. this well-fed, well-moneyed
ambience that advertised itself all the time...Anna felt lost. paradoxically this losing
 herself gave her a sense of security. amidst the crowd of anonymous faces, she was
one anonymous face..society couldn't challenge her here as the people knew no
antecedents and had no right to interact with her..no claim over her privacy. and
she was one of the conspicuously best-dressed ladies.all the more right to be sitting
there and having fun all by herself.

Anna experienced a sort of unreality in this place always, isolated from the outside
world of suffering and greed, poverty and diseases. the MATRIX. and she needed
Armaan more than ever with her, as she sat, watched people, listened to songs,
brought tea or foaming coffee to her table. to lend to her affluent life some kind of reality.
to enjoy these new things..this world of mobiles, net, posh people hanging around,
this first-world illusion....everything. how she wished to send Armaan a message,'i
am sitting at Vatika!'..'i am eating pizza!'


she would share it all with Armaan...Armaan in his black T-shirt, the white inner
peeping from under, on his shoulder. Armaan...in his shirt, with some buttons open
in the front  and the hair on his chest, not like a teenager at all, of a fully-grown man...
how it attracted her! and she blushed when he felt her eyes on his chest...the writing
in the Draft contained Jalauddin Rumi's words..

'Ur task is not to
seek love, but
merely to seek
and find all the
barriers that u
have built
against it.'

and sitting there,Anna drafted the message she meant to send to Armaan.
A quote.
       (to be contd.)

an sms story54

all the time her sub-conscious put up a block.don't enjoy this...this is
forbidden fruit. you can't relish, it is transient...and ...days went by. she
read Mishi. slept with 'twilight' by her side. and he didn't call again.one
week, two week. her fingers, deprived of  its action, her eyes, without
the favourite task of going up n down each message...

she boards the train, works like a robot under her boss, answers queries even from
casual acquaintances,'won't you marry?, 'don't you have a boyfriend?','WHY?' the
more sophisticated ones guessing about her salacious private life, free n interesting -
getting jealous. staring at her n thinking, 'frigid?' 'lesbian?' she was an enigma to others.
to herself, a knot hanging on a simple turn of thread, you pull, and it comes unbound.
and the pull never came.

NO MESSAGE. she was becoming a classical case of withdrawal symptom.
the idea forming  in her mind... to join Orkut. to have some link
somehow. to let him see her profile.but Anna's computer was having problems,
hardware as well as the net connection.VSNL can go more slow-paced
than a snail when it chose in matter of pending complaints and it chose often.
her net came via land-telephone.and Anna never felt comfortable in the dark
cubicles of cyber-cafe where you can breathe down another's neck and vice-versa.

her days were now spent in a new sort of repentance, 'why didn't i tell
(read couldn't) him of the Airtel fiasco?' 'why that stupid virus thing that
came first into my mind?' all said and done, why didn't she remember of
telling him that the VSNL problem (if there was any-sticking to the story still)
was already sorted out, before he called? after one week...'why didn't i message
afterwards that there were no more problems with message-sending?'

he must have felt insulted. was hurt. thought Anna was deliberately avoiding
him. it was her smooth way of telling him off for calling. he stopped Anna
mid-sentence as she chattered away nonsensically and said 'bye, rakhchhi!'
as she pondered over his messages n 'her' Armaan,  life finally taught Anna
the courage to be vulnerable. in love....
                                                   (to be contd.)

an sms story53

Armaan.she answered at the second ring.right after the fact had registered..his number!
the voice! tobacco-smelling voice, the fragrance trailing around her consciousness.ever.
in the station, on the train, in a shopping mall or multiplex movie theatre, whenever tobacco-
chewing guys jostled by or walked past, Anna was reminded of his Adam's apple, his
small coughs n her fear that he might develop throat-cancer someday.as a result of his
 constant tobacco-chewing. yet when she smelled tobacco from other men, she felt
strangely reassured which softened down her days....she has always defined his voice
as sexy in her mind, and his wide palms. how many times she had looked at them
stealthily..the red band of thread on his strong wrist and the red tikka on auspicious days
or days of exams...and his fair skin which brought to her mind the sands of desert...
to her, Armaan's voice defined sensuality, nestling itself into the soundbox of her brain...
the most recognizable one.

Armaan-'Anna! Armaan bolchhi.'

Anna-'bol. bujhte perechhi'...and her hands shook.she got nervous.like
old days.that blushing silly girl was there with her still.the throat was dry.
and she talked like the mad woman she was.without thinking, just repeating
to herself, 'hide your emotions from him! wipe away all traces of weakness
from your voice...no inkling gets out that he is your ultimate desire.'

Armaan-'can't message you. what's happened to your mobile?'..then, a little
bit apologetically,' i wrote about how you looked..', a mild laugh..the voice
which always broke in small portions, like rhythms in Indian classical music.
she was reminded of the bus-rides home, those rare moments when both of
them sat in silence, savoring each others presence, confident of each others
heart....this person is mine n  i am....energy flowing towards each other's
mind............

Anna-(with a soft laugh)'yes, i read that.'

Armaan-laughed softly and she sensed a bit of embarrassment there.

Armaan-'why can't i get the message through, Anna?'

Anna-(as if in a trance)-virus infection. i got net connection in my mobile.
and it got infected..and how did i surprise you with this number of mine?
like you did?

Armaan-'but what about this one? the messages can't be sent to this one
either. i've been trying...'

he must not know that i've got this VSNL connection for him only....that
messages couldn't be sent then because it was a new connection.though she knew
the incoming messages service was connected just a few minutes back.
she had contacted a friend and told her to try sending messages and it worked.

Anna-'this one also got infected. i used to do so much net from this.
the software got infected and i have to go all the way to Benachity
to get it done.'
         (to be contd.)

an sms story52

Anna felt free. she felt she could now move on. as if a burden had lifted.
she was f-r-e-e of the words. her own words. happy and contented.
as she used to become after watching each episode of the serial Mahabharata
on TV, lord Krishna was her favourite. that fourteen years old girl, starry-eyed,
thought it was love she felt as she watched the chocolate-ly handsome
actor who enacted the role of lord Krishna so successfully.

she used to argue to herself, 'isn't it LOVE? then what is?' like shit it was! all those pages
of her diaries..swooning over a TV star...those were her only happy days in life because
Anna did not know Armaan back then. did not know how the entry of a man in one's
mind n life hurts...after ages she felt like she was that teenager again, eager to love,
to explore, to dream of handsome hunks ...like she would stand in front of the mirror
again and exclaim with frustration,'when would i grow up?'

after a long time she opened her spice-box on the wall and decided to cook.
the choicest and expensive spices she kept there. her tiny n intense world of spices.
she was going through the list in mind...white pepper, kebabchini, charmagaz, star-anise,
mace, cardamom, kashmirimirch..mm..a whiff of kasuri methi perhaps? how about
replacing common salt with rock salt? too much of an experiment? lets add a bit of
sour into it-aamchur powder would do. she could use tamarind though.

the morning was lovely. warm yet it was cool inside the kitchen.just the perfect
weather for a chef like her to sing and cook, cook n sing...12.39 a.m...just as she
entered the kitchen the call came...........
                        (to be contd.)

an sms story51

she thought whether to tell Armaan that there was no need to help her dad
through his party contacts as her dad was long dead.it was almost eight years now.
those days.... Anna waiting for a phone call from him as she reached the nadir
of her emotional tenacity, developed hypertension syndrome.days went by, no
call came,her realizing that Armaan had left her for good. perhaps courting some
 girl whose father would fill up his chamber with leather-bound law-books.....
 that they had shifted to another section of the city six years ago. she decided
against it. keep the focus.just tell about your feelings.don't angle for your reality.
what is the use?Anna dealt with them on her own. what had Armaan to do with it?



Anna:She used to cover
up all her
confusions with
outward
indifference. Yet
'silence' has a
thousand tongues if
only somebody can
hear it'. Phew...!
Can't believe i
invented this
phrase! No
plagiarism, okay?




Anna:One day she
gathered up all her
courage and asked
'the' boy to stay.
She had decided to
bare her soul to
him that day. He
left, quite rudely.
She decided never
to disturb him
again. And she
waited for him to
come to her,
someday...-howz
that for the
backdrop of a book,
yaar! Ain't it funny!
          (to be contd.)