Ek shaam aaunga tumhaare ghar pe…

The beginning of this year I wrote a few lines about our journey to Florence. The first later. A fever dream. Somewhere around that time, I murmured her a few shayaris every night. And one night on a full moon, I stumbled upon this specific one.

Tumhaare haath mein guldasta lekar…

I kept thinking to myself how difficult it was going to be when she left for India last month. She got herself a pinky promise that I will come to Lucknow. As soon as I said, “I pinky”, a visual of that shayari ran down my mind. Flowers in one hand, and her in the other. A tale to remember.

Tumhe kahunga ke chalo mere saath…

When it was almost time for me to go, I was greedy. I spent so much time at home, I talked to Mom about her. I wanted to visit Lucknow as soon as possible, but bring her back to my home,  with me. Ask her to stay with me. I wanted to show her around my city. Show her where I came from. Some other Shaam.

Raat ko tanha baithenge,

Kuch baatein karenge….

It was almost similar— the anxious excitement. When I put her to sleep on call just a few days before, when I waited for her to tell me the itinerary, all of it, was pretty similar to the long wait at the airport. I knew she had a lot of plans laid out, but my immediate goal was simple— I just wanted to sit with her. I wanted that refreshing peace to return, when we ramble about absolutely everything. Needless to say, throughout all that chaos of the first day, I was at peace the moment she jumped on me. The moment I saw her in that beautiful dress. The moment I knew I was in her city.

Kuch shaayari sunaenge….

We believed in energies from the get go. Something inside me was dying to be with her. How we got from me telling her one random shayari per day to now a catalogue of thousands, I don’t know, but what I know is that a handful of them held such power in them— those mere words— that they turned into reality. If we have to take credit for it, I’ll say we manifested it. But I believe ideas have a life of their own. That idea— Beginning from the random shayaris— to ek shaam— to that kiss in Imambara— it was alive, we were mere vessels. Proud vessels, nonetheless.

Aur main saari raat,

Tumhein aise hi dekhta rahunga…

From the past year, I’ve been blessed to allow myself to be amazed at her stunning beauty. To stare at her, nothing else on my mind. To ponder how proud the gods must have been when they made her, to laugh at how jealous they must be when  they see her in my arms. 

“You have to put it on me”, she said. I was caught off guard, lost in her beauty through that mirror. It was the sunny morning of our tiramisu day in Amalfi. I gathered myself, got up and put the necklace on her. I remember thinking her hair smelled so good. The night when I wrote both the letters, the Valentine’s Day and the Birthday one— I watched her sleep. She made me forget all my worries, by simply existing. I’ll keep looking at her— through sneaky peeks and blank stares from my dreadful eyes— I’ll keep looking at her. 

Aur chaand chillata rahega….

She used to keep her legs on me, holding on to me, while I sat there in that balcony, a cigarette in one hand, her neck in the other. I stared at the moon, every single night. I laughed at the moon. A celestial rock, lauded by billions for its beauty. I  had a better one. My moon. The moonlight shone aggressively on full moons. We sat outside wondering how bright it gets. She kept looking at the moon, I kept looking at mine. In our walks through the “galiyaras” of Lucknow, between two old poles I saw the moon. Laughed again, as she walked ahead of me, proudly telling me every little detail about every little corner of every little street. And the moon shone, aggressively, it screamed, and it begged for me to look at it. But I had a better one in front of me.

Main chaand hun,

Main chaand hun,

Main chaand hun.

The color of the moon. The theme of Lucknow was white. Her white kurta, the raita, Imambara, the white roses, the (celestial) moon, the cue ball, the welcome letter I got from the kids, the house, the little place to sit near the swimming pool. Everything was white. The pretty, peaceful, white. 

After a rocky start, I quickly adapted to Lucknow. I got used to her. A fresh reminder of the sheer addictive nature of our relationship. 

I saw her cry through the glass when I went inside the airport. 

I stared at her again. I watched her for as long as I could. Her in the kurta Maa got for her. My moon.

I would freeze time if I could there. All I can do, is go to Lucknow again. 

Ek Aur Shaam….

With heart and soul,

Bunny