Desert Rose

So I came across a little something lately that was pretty interesting and I was unaware of. Maybe you already know about it but never the less, worth sharing for those like me :) “Love stories” are often associated – at least in the popular imagination – with fairy tales, adolescent day dreams, Disney movies etc.   Beginning in the early 1970s with the groundbreaking contributions of John Alan Lee, researchers have developed classifications that they believe better characterize our romantic predispositions. The patterns unknowingly expressed by respondents culminated in a taxonomy of six distinct love “styles” that continue to inform research in the area forty years later. The first of these styles – EROS – is closely tied in with images of romantic love that are promulgated in Western popular culture. Characteristic of this style is a passionate emotional intensity, a strong physical magnetism – as if the two partners were literally being “p...

All that turbulent past ; to times moving way too fast. All that bow and arrow ; that made it right at my heart. All the wrongs and mistakes ; that saw immense growing up. All those trials that seemed right ; which turned out what I call my life now. All those moments of clarity ; which was just a mere weak illusion. All those questions with no answers ; but just my endless and tired gaze. All that waiting for greater purpose ; which is more about whether I care to hang around. All that turbulent past ; to times moving way too fast.

It is the fire in her eyes ;  And the flash of her teeth ;    The swing in her waist ;  And the delight in her feet.   It is in the reach of her arms ;  The cross of her hips ;    The stride of her step ;    The red of her lips.      It is in the arch of her back ; The ecstasy of her smile ; The ride of her breasts ;  The grace of her style.  It is in the click of her heels,    The sway of her hair,    The palm of her hand,    The need for her care.     A woman. Phenomenally. You should know ;  Just why her head’s not bowed.    She doesn’t shout or jump about,  Or have to talk real loud.    When you see her passing,  It ought to make you proud.  Because it is her. Phenomenally. Courtesy : Maya Angelou

She : What is your take anyway? He : It is one's decision. See my idea is very simple. You being an individual have your own way of seeing things and deciding the right and wrong. She : True. He : I was raised being told that certain things are absolutely evil and till a point I even believed it. When I moved out into the world, I met people who were raised differently. Anything is like that. If you want to do something, do it. Just plain and simple. Not to show anyone or as a burden. But with joy and the feeling of RESPONSIBILITY. She : But what if you do it irresponsibly and hurt a few in the process? He : That is what I am coming to. It isn't easy at all. This is applicable only if you are independent of the action. The moment you engage someone into your freedom, it is your responsibility to ensure the other person is also equally respected and gets to be part of the game in all aspects, simply because it is a choice that was made.   Like i...

Sometimes, the color of life confuses me.  Sometimes life looks black and other times red, like a deep wound. About the color of life, I wonder. It was a fine day. He thought the day would be white – easy, happy and bright. But the call from his love around noon changed the shades of white to more of black and red. She had called him up to say that she was having second thoughts about their relationship. He wasn’t sure if in that precise moment it felt like life took a black or red shade. Why now? Why did she have to tell me now that I purchased such an expensive ring to bind our future together?  He remembered the day they first met. There was not a cloud in the sky. He thought of that as a good omen. But his friend thought it would have been better if it rained when I first met her – the shower being the giver of a brand new life.  He so much wanted that life - rain or shine. He thought of begging her to reconsider?  They spoke. And the ro...

If I believed in magic that’s what I would tell you writing is. 

 Yesterday, on my way to my native, I received an image from my friend and on seeing it on my drop-down notifications, I figured it was a picture of something that she’d written. Even before opening and reading it, I got reminded of a phase where she used to write way more than me and did it well. And the more attractive factor for me, was her ease to write in her mother tongue which still remains a task in my case. As I thought, I realized that I haven’t read much of her writings ever since we left school and there I was - quite a frequent blogger! I read what she wrote. I knew what she meant. Obviously being my closest, I could relate to whatever she was trying to portray. And it got me thinking. The firing of specific synapses;  The chemical cascade that transmutes the scent of a particular perfume into a short story; The fall leaves into rhyming poetry; Your brutal breakup into a n...

If you must act like an impertinent man ;  Just because my clear sky  now looks grey ; And thunderstorms y ou cannot bear the sound of ; Please continue. Only remember that even today, I'd say cheers with you knowing my mug has poison. I would gladly drink it   for old times’ sake .