To you, For you, Of you.

I promised something to her this evening only when i had this idea of writing about the sheer pleasure that the life could experience when she's around and i had this thought doing rounds in my mind and its just like weaving an entire story round a single line or idea or thought or whatever. And its amidst this humid, typical, experienced-yet-alien to me climate, amidst the new-old people who i claim to know quite a bit, amidst dusted furniture, yet with freshly raised hopes about a secluded & satisfied living with her. I know the counter conventional circles i know would not expect a piece of this kind, but you know what? even Carl Marx, once fell in love.

Well, quite a few emotional moments dominating the inner and sublime rationality i believe to possess in me, which almost won my rational side and almost dragged me out of the international terminal at a sub continental airport. Well, the major part turned out to be her. The Liberals again question me about this absurdity of falling over and getting swept away clean off by a woman, within considerably very less time, despite of all the complications I maintain around myself to justify the essence of being, as Sukumar put it this way in a cinema of his, Love does not take a life time to be born, but it does, a moment. Only a moment. So true. At least, implying me in the central theme.

Honestly, i dare not dream of a Hyd Blues- kind of- zindagi, at least, after getting on to the path of less chosen and highly down trodden in the circles of Indian-proclaimed- so called settled life. It had been on the alternative track, for quite sometime, as I chose it to be that way. But then came this girl, crept in gulping me down under her magic and I drowned under her magical shadow. Again, they started paying visits, the good old times of sheer pureness and honesty in my eyes and actions. Whatever I think, talk and do. At least, to sound extremely honest again, only when she's around. I cannot be that way in the diplomatic and capitalistic circles I chose to live in, here in London.

Wait, let me talk about her. Highly academic, unlike me. Its just that she firmly thinks of something and she gets it. Go-getter, Thats the best part. Laughs like a lullaby. This one is not going to fall under the very usual main stream ideological pieces of writings which generally address the abstract things that would possibly appear from nowhere, accordingly with her arrival. Its just that what all I privately advocate about her and could not really confront her saying all this. She isn't an artiste nor possesses any traits of a possibly-turning-out-to-be an artiste. Its just that so miraculous that she admires the simplest and finest pieces of art without any discrimination based on the artists or the genre they belong to. As I already told this somewhere on this platform, many a times, it better to be simple. And i personally believe, admiring art to the fullest unbiasedly is also an art and thereby, she happens out to be an artist too.

I really cannot answer the question 'why her?' and 'why only her?' and I think I am not going to find an answer in the coming times too. To be sincere, one cannot find reasons for disliking something but not liking something. To sound more specific than generalized, this is something madness and extremely of no reason. I am very comfortable by not figuring out the rational factors behind this and I let it be this way. I really don't think I am putting in the efforts of a columnist or writer or whoever while writing this, but you know, I am putting in my heart and that one, makes me feel highly special about this piece.

Well, coming to you Bangaaram, this is for you. And this is of You. It makes no sense sequentially, but as you already know, to feel the immense and priceless pleasure in something that has been gifted, be irrational and its essence already touched your heart, i believe.

Come like He had never come.

As I write this, I loathe I miss a rally. A sharp one. This is a time line post. I keep watching the way two craftsmen pour in everything they have in them, sweat, blood and more importantly Soul, to carve a beautiful & one of those unforgettable crafts which, only we people are lucky enough to witness, belonging to this era. Federer & Nadal. I don't know why I crave so much for class over sweat. Sachin Tendulkar. VVS Laxman. Roger Federer. Kepp aside. Get into the shoes now.

Clay court. Empire of Spain bull. Rafael Nadal. Being played under the bleak shadows of palm trees conveniently grown under the great Eiffel Tower. I switched on the TV and already by then, Champ lost a set on the whole and on the verge of losing another & evenutallly, in 10, lost it. Felt a tinge of high doubtedness in the deepest of my brains, about the sobs that could drop down his cheeks. Undigestable.

There on the white grand bench, sat the champion, sucking in more ORS to fill in more sweat to vomit in the coming set. And it worked. It was 4-2 of Nadal- Federer and the way he broke Bull's serve and came back is once in an era's moment & hence being a champion, swept it off clean & still the same bland face amidst cheers of Swiss enthusiasts.

And again, almost a two minute rally ended up inclining towards the Swiss & right now, its 3-1 keeping the Bull in lead. To fill in, let me address some style. Bull is aggressive, expressive and open. But the Swiss, calm and centered. The only expression that would come out is only when the finale sees a result. That backhand of Federer is like a Greek God romancing Salma Hayek on a full moon night. To draw a parallel comparison, like VVS Laxman's glance on the on side of an off side ball. Elegant. Graceful. Godly. Period.

The Swiss does not breate exasperatedly nor horns dramatically on the court. He makes the sport look simple, just like a child's play. It isn't possible with everybody who holds a racket. And right now, defeat is approaching him/ But the same old sense of stubborn confidence in his gestures. May be, that too is a champion's virtue. Here I say, the world, for few moments, should come to a stop by, watch his game on its way, smile and move forward.

And yes, he's gone now. Officially. But he is going to come again. He's going to come like he had never come. Till then, off from the sport.