Strangers in the Night

He saw her from across the room, seated at the bar, slowly sipping her drink. Her angelic appearance made her seem out of place in this bar that was slowly filling with office-goers, men and women worn-out from their daily routines, who had come to unwind, and a few to drown their sorrows. She seemed unperturbed by the crowd around her and kept to herself and her drink.

She saw him from her seat at the bar, ruggedly handsome, not all primp and manicured as most of the guys in the room. She felt an awkwardness when she caught his gaze looking her way. She was surprised that he didn’t try to look away on being caught. Her heart almost fluttered, if it could flutter, when he got up from his seat and walked towards the bar, in her direction.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked. She opened her mouth to say something but words seemed to have deserted her. Instead she could only muster a polite nod. He placed his drink on the bar and took the seat right next to hers, making her feel even more nervous.

“It’s surely a crime that a beauty like you should be seated all by herself,” he said nonchalantly. Although she felt it corny, she took no offence to it. He radiated a smouldering masculinity that she had seldom seen in other men. Once again she opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t muster herself to speak. Once again words seemed to have deserted her. “Why am I so tongue-tied?” she asked herself, “Why can’t I just answer him?” Ignoring her awkwardness, he continued, “But then you are a lady who wouldn’t care whether or not others gave her attention.” He said with a smug smile.

These words caught her unaware, causing something inside her melt. She took a deep, silent breath, to compose herself and get a grip of her thoughts. She finally spoke, “People see what they want to see,” she said in a low voice, almost a whisper, “and I don’t think I am what they would like to see. So let them see what they want to see, and I will see what I need to see”.

He smiled, once again causing her to melt a bit more, but by now she was more composed. “Touché!” he said, “Well said! So let’s drink to that.” Saying this he lifted his glass, clinked it against her, and took a sip of his drink.

“You don’t seem from around here?” She said, gaining the confidence to have a conversation with him, “What brings you to this side of town?” He once again took a sip of his drink and smiled at her. “Well, I am what you call an out-of-towner”, he said swirling his drink, “in town to meet someone who needs my help.”

“Wow! That must be one lucky lady to have someone like you to come to her rescue,” she said with a sly smile. He shifted his haze from his drink to her face, once again causing that same giddy feeling that she felt ever since he came to sit next to her at the bar. “How do you know that the person I am to meet, needs rescuing?” he said arching his eyebrows, “and what makes you think that this person is a woman?”

“Well, you could call it a woman’s intuition,” she said, trying to sound as cool and calm as possible, trying not to show the effect that he had on her. He laughed at her response, “Well then, I will drink to that, to a woman’s intuition”, he said taking a sip from his drink, “who I will meet, only the night will tell.”

And so began a conversation, a source of companionship for those brief hours. People who looked upon them would have assumed that they were good friends, never releasing that they were strangers to each other, brought together by coincidence and some harmless flirting. As the night wore on, the crowd at the bar began to lessen as the patrons slowly made their way home to crash into their beds, in deep slumber, to retire for the rest of the night.

He leaned towards her and whispered in her ears, “let’s get out of this place before we become the only two souls left in this bar.” Saying this he took her by the hand and lead her on. She couldn’t protest or even ask where they were going, she was so enamoured and captivated by him, he had put her spell on her she was compelled to follow. She didn’t want to protest, didn’t want to know where they were going, she just followed his lead.

They walked down cobbled streets that were mostly deserted, except for a few passed out drunks fallen on the streets. They passed a group who were all lost in singing some bawdy song, often way off key, and some few other souls who were hurrying home for the night.

They came to the fountain that formed the centre of the city, which was lined with cafes, most of whom were deserted, closed for the night. They sat on the bench that overlooked the fountain. Somewhere out of a tavern a melody softly drifted out.

He stood up and gently took her by the hand, pulling her close to him. She could almost smell him, an intoxicating, divine smell. She could feel herself falling for him, falling into a deep abyss she felt she couldn’t find her way out. But was she capable of falling in love, she wondered.

He pulled her closer to him, now she should almost feel his breath on her face. At any moment their lips would meet and sparks would fly setting free the passion that was so long held back. But before their lips could meet, he smiled and instinctively, she put her head against his chest. Putting his hands across her waist. Holding her, he slowly moved her to the tune that wafted out.

They were two strangers in the night, two lonely people, wondering what were the chances, they’d be falling in love before the night was through, whether love was just a glance a way, a warm embracing dance away. Anyone who happened to looked upon them would have assumed that they were lovers out on a clandestine meeting, two lonely souls who found each other in the night. Little did they know that they were just two strangers in the night. They continued to slow dance until the music slowly faded away, as it had started.

Now it was her turn to whisper into his ear. She stood on the tips of her toes so that she could reach his ears. “Let’s move from here,” she whispered. But instead of following her lead, he said with a mischievous grin, “Where are you taking me?” “Don’t worry it’s a beautiful place and you’ll be safe, I won’t harm you”, she said teasingly, playing along with his mischievous way. “Isn’t that my lines?” He said with a mischievous smile. But he didn’t protest, he just followed her.

Again, they made their way through deserted streets, pass drunken people and down a street that led them out of the city. They walked for a while till they came to a small park (if you could call it a park) that overlooked the sea below.

She sat down on the grass that was damp from the night’s dew, and pulled him down with her. He sat down hesitatingly, at first worried about spoiling his clothes but in the end he sat beside her. She put her head on his shoulder and together they stared at the point where the sky met the sea, admiring the view that was in front of them.

“This is indeed a very beautiful place,” he finally said, breaking the momentary silence that had come between them. “I had told you so, and see there’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” she said, continuing to tease him. “I have been coming to this place as far as I can remember. It is a place I am most at peace. I have always felt that this is the place that gave me birth, and this is the place I would love to rest for all eternity.”

Once again there was silence between them. But it was not an awkward silence, just a silence in which two souls were enjoying each other’s company, grateful for each other’s presence. She continued to keep her head on his shoulder, grateful for his presence. He in turn put his hand around her waist.

“Where do you think souls go after they leave their earthly dwelling?” She said, half expecting him to give her a, “are you mad or what” look. But he continued to stare at the sky and thoughtfully responded to her. “There are many things that happens to a soul once it completes it dwelling on earth. It all depends on what you believe in”, he explained. “Some believe that once you complete your journey here on earth, you become a star in the sky, shining down on your loved ones you have left behind.”

“I remember that”, she said melancholically. “I remember my mother telling me this. I believed her as a child but as I grew older I felt this thought to be plain silly. But I am a lost star trying to find my way home.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but then smiled gently. “Do you remember, I told you that I felt that this place gave birth to me,” she said softy, as if revealing a deep secret, “and this is the place where I want to spend the rest of my life?” Then taking a deep breath, she continued, “This is the place where I met my end.”

She expected he would think of her as a crazy fool and just leave her and go. But he continued to sit next to her, showing no signs of making a run for the roads.

She took courage from his continued presence. “I met my end at this very place and ever since I am trying to find my way home, a lost soul in the dark”, she said softly, hoping he would understand what she was trying to tell him.

He turned to her and pulled her closer to him. She could feel his breath on her face almost causing her heart to beat faster, that’s if she still had a beating heart. This was not the reaction she had expected, but would take it any day. He whispered to her, “I know who you are my dear,” he said with a smile, “I’ve known who you are all along. I am death and I am here to take you home.” Saying this he pulled her closer to him and their lips met and kissed her passionately. There was a burst of light and in the night sky a new star was born.    

Spontaneity Uncertainty

As he disembarked his flight and on to the airport he felt a sense of excitement within himself. This was the most spontaneous he had been in his entire life and there was something exhilarating about it.

But as this exuberance began to wear off so was his excitement. Now that he was here, what next, he thought to himself. He lived a planned life. His every action was thought through, planned and executed. He was disciplined by nature and anything unplanned, spontaneous, stressed him. Spontaneity was just not his thing, his cup of tea, yet here he was being spontaneous, being so not himself. He had half a mind of taking the next flight back to a life that he knew, the life he was comfortable with. Ironically, it was the unknown that kept alluring him, seducing him, keeping him from going back.

He spent the next few hours at the airport’s tourist kiosk, planning and plotting his itinerary, which was his way of being spontaneous. He learned about this beautiful island, where they thought that if you sailed there you would fall off the edge of the world. This didn’t actually excite him but it sure did raise his curiosity.  So he got his permit done (which was necessary to get in this island) and purchased his ticket. He checked into the hotel and then went about the places he had ticked off at the kiosk. 

The next day, at the set time, be made his way to the docks from where he would board the ferry that would take him to this mythical island (at least for him). He waited patiently in line to board the vessel. But there was something keeping the line from moving, causing the people to get agitated. He learned that it was a lady who was holding up line. He finally saw her when she stepped to the side and began to empty the contents of her backpack on the dock. He had a dislike for people who were clumsy, unplanned and indisciplined. He felt no sympathy towards her.

He just ignored her as he passed her and boarded the boat. As he took his seat he still saw her struggling with the contents of her backpack. He turned his attention from the docks and to the sea, taking in his so called voyage to the island at the edge of the world.

Journey to the Edge of the World: HerStory

As she stepped off the train and on to the platform she knew adventure was waiting her but she didn’t know what it was. She was frightened, she was scared, she had butterflies flying about in her stomach. But at the same time the unknown brought a sense of excitement, a sense of adventure, a sense of discovery. There was a whole world out there waiting to be discovered, an adventure waiting to be undertaken, and in it all there was a self discovery. She was excited about this new adventure, but with a sense of trepidation, a sense of nervousness, a sense of fear of the unknown. Ironically, that which excited her also scared her. No matter what, in her heart of hearts she knew this is what she was meant to do.

She spent the next few exploring the city, taking in the sights and sounds, learning about every nook and corner, everything that the city had to teach her, had to show her. Then one afternoon, she learned about a place, an island of great beauty, away from the hustle-bustle of life. A place they say if you jumped off you would fall off the edge of the world. This was her kind of place, a place she could loose herself to discover herself.

She got her permit done (cause you needed one to get on the island), and headed to catch the ferry that would ferry her to the island. She made her way down the dock, to the pier from where she could board it. She needed to be on time as there as just one ferry a day, and if she missed this one she would have to wait the whole day for the next one.

She bought her tickets and joined the line, patiently waiting her turn her turn to board  the ferry. Finally when it was her turn she reached into her backpack for her permit but just couldn’t find it in the last place she remembered putting it. She placed her backpack on the ground and began rummaging through it, much to the annoyance of those behind her as she was holding up the line. She stepped aside and frantically looked for it, emptying the content on the dock. She was met angry glares from her would-be co-travellers, as they passed her. When she finally found it, the ferry was long since gone leaving her stranded on the dock. She would now have to an entire day for the next ferry. She felt helpless, frustrated and annoyed with herself. 

When she was finally able to get over her frustrated she noted a handsome young man and his sailboat. She used her charm, and a bit of flirtation to hitch a ride on his boat and get him to ferry her to her destination, to her destiny. To the place at the edge of the world.

I Want to Dance with Somebody...

The world can be quite the lonely place. You can be in a crowd and still be all alone. Cliched as it may seem, that’s life, that’s a lonely heart. Life ain’t going to be easy, ain’t going to make it easy for us. If it did, it wouldn’t be worth it. So what does the lonely heart do then?

You’ve loved and lost, and loved once again, only to find yourself drifting apart. You hurted and hurt, but never truly lost hope, never gave up on love. Your seen sparks and a glimmer of hope, but all it was a mirage in your lonely desert. You wonder if you’re doomed to spend the of your life as part of the lonely heart club, a permanent member.

You’ve tried to move on, move from your past, from what was, to what is, to what could be, but somehow you are too caught up in your past that you seemed to be stuck in the moment that you can’t let go of it. You try hard to come to terms with your past, make peace with it, accept your present and who you are, somehow you are caught up in yourself.

You tried to meet others, to see if there’s any hope to move on, but then you failed, not that the others weren’t good, well not all of them, some kind of worried you. But you were so not willing to let go of the what was that you block out what could be, and in the process creating more wounds than you can handle. You are so desperately trying to fill that void that you are not willing to let yourself heal. You still want to love and be loved in return. But sometimes you wonder if it’s love or just a fleeting infatuation? Cause this couldn’t be love if your brains takes over, or your overthinking self.

They say you’ve got to kiss a thousand frogs before you can find the right one, but would all this kissing leave you feeling a bit disgusted of yourself, a bit too slutty, a bit too dirty. Randomness may not really be your thing, and just fun is not what your want to have, but then aren’t you a bit entitled to it, to meet others not just for the sake of finding the right one but to have a good time.  But then in all these have you let the right one slip by under your nose, have you let the wrong one in and under your skin? So many thoughts, so many questions, driving your mind crazy (instead of driving miss daisy).

So in the end you can’t let go of a past that haunts you, but you can’t let go of that feeling of wanting to be in love. You’re a hopeless romantic and somehow you’ll find yourself wanting...

I want to dance with somebody 

I want to feel to feel the heat with somebody 

I want to dance with somebody 

With somebody who loves me

Who Benefits Anyways???

Another week, another set of lives lost, life nipped at the bud, leading people to take to the street, sloganising (ok I made that word up), burning effigies, trying to shutter shops in protest (trying to capture their actions on their mobile phone, or are they doing a Facebook live), creating a general sense of uneasiness, conducting candle light marches, political parties trying to make the most of the situation that presents it smelt, adding weapons in their arsenal to attack each other, to earn brownie points, engaging in mud slinging instead providing a united front, creating makeshift memorials, hanging shradanjali posters, whether they mean it is another question altogether. And then you have runs organised for the victims (on cue).

But how does these actions benefit the ones who happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, the victim of someone’s delusional sense of self-righteousness, delusional ideologies, religion and concept of heaven. How would all these postering and sloganing benefit them. The only fire that their families would burn would be that of funeral pyres, the only things they would bury would be their loved ones. Give sometime and these attacks would find themselves as yet another page in the sordid history, all but forgotten, buried in the numerous chapters of war mongering, except by those who suffered great loss.

How would shutting shops (let’s face it, this ain’t done voluntarily but more out of fear), and calling for bandhs help them? In fact you end up causing loss, you’re creating a tense climate. Instead it would be better notion of donating a days earning to them.

What we would need to do is to hold responsible the elected members, the ones who claim to represent people. Hold them accountable for the failure to act upon intelligence reports (and online chatter). It’s time we perform our civic duty judiciously, not leaving it in the hands of the ones who can be bought, ensuring that the uncorruptable are elected and are not corrupted, seduced by power. Making a well thought and analysed choice. The ones who would take a stand against lawless neighbours who refuses to see their decent into anarchy, hiding the delusional like a mother would hide her child from corrective actions, from bullies, both National and international, who in their own way try to turn a blind eye.

Once we become a stronger nation no more would a parent have to say goodbye to their child, no spouse would have to mourn the loss of their loved one, no child would have to loose their parent. We need to rise and bring about a change in ourselves first before we begin thinking on a national level, right the wrongs we do, otherwise no one will benefit, and the nation and the world would descend into a toothless and blind world.

The Joke

You may not like my hair

Or the clothes that I wear

The way that I walk 

Or how I talk

But that’s who I am 

The one that you choose not to see

But you don’t deserve to see the real me

So the jokes on you

I may not do as you say

Or follow the rules that you lay

I am not going to meet your expectations 

Or even be part of your posse 

Be at your beck and call

Do what you want me to do

Cause that’s what I don’t want to

But in the end, the jokes on you 

You may label me

And call me names

Laugh behind my back

Make faces when I don’t look

Make me a subject of your wicked games

But you don’t get to crack jokes on me

Without trying to get to know me

But for every joke you try to crack

The jokes on you 

You may be critical about the way I am

Have something to say 

About everything that I do

But you don’t get to criticise me

If you don’t try to know me

For everything you have to say

The jokes on you

You choose to see 

Only what you want to see

You may see the smile

But never see the pain beneath 

Cause the vulnerable me

Is what you will never see

If you haven’t experienced my pain

Gone to the places I’ve been 

Or tried to walk in my shoes

You’ll know me, and for that

The jokes on you

You may use your words

Like a dagger

Slashing at me, 

leaving me all cut and bleeding

Never caring about the hurt you cause 

But no matter what you may try to do

The jokes on you

You may try to stick a label on me

Cause you don’t get me

Cause i don’t fit in the world you create 

Judge me, box me

Try to recruit me 

To be part of your communities 

Try to take away freedom

Clip away my wings

Cause though my body may break

My spirit shall always be free

And for that you shall never own me

Hence the jokes on you 

No matter you may try to do

The jokes on you 

The Distance Affliction

A he stood there staring at the vastness that was the ocean, that lay in front him. His vessel bobbed with every rise and fall as it lay afloat on her breast. The ocean, inky blue, mirroring the night sky, that seemed like a velvet robe embellished with tiny gems. Somewhere over the horizon dawn was breaking, and with it he could retire to his cabin, to his bed. But till then it was night still, his watch had not yet ended.

He had been a sailor as long he could remember. Sailing ran in his blood, there was salt in his vein. He was born to belong to the sea, and it was here he felt most home. A sailor he was meant to be. But still today he felt a loneliness, an emptiness, a longing. It was strange feeling to him, on a day when the world celebrated love, especially considering that he didn’t believe in the whole act of celebrating love on just one day. He considered it foolish, a clever marketing gimmick to trap fools. But still he felt something missing.

They had been married for a couple of years now, and were getting used to their time spent apart, no matter how difficult it may have seemed. But these feelings caught him by surprise. He felt a deep longing for her, to hold her in his arms, to have her bury her face in his chest so that he could smell the top her head. He closed his eyes, and in the the breeze that caressed him, he felt her breath on his face, her body close to him. He could see that look in her eyes, as they met his. In the salty air he could taste the sweetness of her lips as they pressed against his, but she was out of his reach.

He felt something stir within him, a longing, a stirring, an arousal, threatening to burst within him, consume him. But it brought a feeling of loneliness. Was this what the lonely hearts felt on this day? He empathised with them, felt a brethren with them, the lonely hearts club, if ever there was one. He thought about those who wouldn’t be able to express their love because they didn’t meet society’s norms, they were not allowed to be themselves, love who they chose to be, who they chose to love. He thought of the ones who had no one to love. Surely they felt greater sorrow than he. 

He stood there all caught in his thoughts that threatened to consume him. He longed to hear her voice, even if it was just a whisper in his ear. He would see her reflection in the sky, with the stars adorning her appearance. He saw her name written in the stars. The ocean was a cruel mistress, drawing him into her bosom, taking him away from her. 

As soon as his watch ended, he went to cabin, called her. He didn’t care what the time was, where she was, he had to hear her. And as he heard her voice on the other end, he got an orgasmic release.

The Man with the Bandana

The first thing you notice about Dylan is his damn bandana, the man without his bandana is totally unrecognisable. So now you understand how Clark Kent kept his identity a secret with just glasses, or the moustache disguise of Hindi films.

The next thing you notice is that he talks a lot, well not when he’s running but he talks a lot. When he runs he’s talks lesser than a Dylan standard, in fact Pankti and I jabber a lot more during runs, so much that we have been told of be quiet when training in BNP.

He’s quirky, crazy and a cartoon. I’ve never seen a running pic of his where he isn’t pulling face or sticking tongue out, just generally being his Dylan self. Or when he tells his client that he got late because of traffic, that being he is self-employed and the only traveling he does is from the bedroom to the hall. 

At the Awards Nite, he’s your go to man for hydration (cause he is behind the bar, I mean in charge of the bar).

But peel off these quirks, these things that you see, there’s more to him, and the more you get to know him the more he will leave you amazed, and yes with a smile on your face. From being confined to the bed for almost year (due to a life threatening ailment), to hitting the road to take his life, ans stay active (hope I got this part right), he sure has come a long way. For those who don’t really know him, it’s easy to write him off as yet another quirky, crazy runner, but to those who do know him, know that he’s pretty focused,  dedicated and disciplined runner who runs to a plan. This is evident from his sub 4 finish at this year’s full at the TATA Mumbai Marathon.

He’s not one of those runners who’s just focused on their run, or is socially active with his training. He’s there to help and guide you to the extent that you can eat his brains (for a change). Whether running on the highway or at BNP, he’s got your back, constantly turning to check on you, especially when your pace begins to slacken and you start to fall behind (dang if I didn’t have to take a toilet break I would have not lost him and would have gotten a better timing). He’s there to reassure and perk you up when you feel like your mileages are low, giving sage like advice (not for the first time) to not compare your mileage to that of someone else.

I have been blessed to know and be inspired by so many wonderful runners, and awesome humans, be it my buddy Croydon, Sayuri, Sharad, Eugene, my MRR Family, Asic family, Malad family (dang I am quite the family boy, I mean man), and I wish i could give them all an inspiration medals (Procam can we please have more than one inspiration medal), but for now, Dylan buddy, this ones for you, cause you deserve it, cause you inspire (and make me perspire, running up and down Kanheri), cause you’re so worth it.

The Mothering Paradox: Kahani har Bacche ki

You wake in the morning to a voice saying “why are you getting up so early, aren’t you not feeling well, why do you want to exert yourself, go back to bed”. Sometimes this is just another voice in your head (yes you do hear voices but not the scary kind which would need institutionalisation), and most of the time its your mom trying to sow those seeds of doubts, adding to the temptation of going back to bed. Well that’s moms for you.

Who hasn’t had a mother who loves to mother them, who feel that nothing or no one would be good enough for their boy (or girl, it can’t always be mumma’s boy, or that would be so sexist). You’re looking so thin (much to your own charging, when you feel you’ve put on weight and looking a bit chunky), why aren’t you eating well, does that food suffice for you? And then when you want to diet, she’ll declare with all the authority, who said your fat, you look so handsome, why do you want to become skin and bones, now eat the food I’ve cooked for you.

They are like that voice in your head sowing those little seeds of doubts (and I means this in a not so rude way), the devil of temptation, to the angel that tries to cheer you, motivate you on. And trust me, they do have your best intentions in mind, after all you are their Jigar ka tukada, but they sure do have an overprotective way of showing it. I remember my mumma telling me this before the Mumbai marathon, why do you have to do a full, cant you do a half like everyone, you’ll get tired and fall sick, you run so much don’t you get tired. 

Well they are like a ticking biological clock constantly reminding you of their mortality, using it as leverage, bargaining chip, emotional blackmail (call it what you may) to get their way. Baba, when will you give me a grandchild, hopefully in this lifetime, you see I don’t have too long to live (the mortality card), and I want to see the faces of my grandchildren (not singular but plural) before I die. Wasn’t it enough of pressure of doing it right, getting it right that you have an added pressure of procreation? 

And obviously she wants you to get married before you procreate, after all she wouldn’t want bastard grandchildren (this ain’t the Game of Thrones), or putting the khandhan ka naam in mitti and muh kala karna. So she wants you to be married off and begin procreating (to think about it it’s not a bad idea, that’s if you aren’t already doing that). And when you get married she’ll complain that now you’ve got your wife/husband you’ve forgotten all about your mother.

Whatever you do she’ll always have something to say. But whatever she says she’ll always love you (and you love her), just that she has a different way of showing it. But no matter what, you will always have to face the mothering paradox.

In the Mood for Love

So we are into the second month of the year, the month when we celebrate love. But then don’t we celebrate love almost 365 days (and 366 days in a leap year)? So does one day really matter, when we are celebrating it the whole year around? But what does love mean?

Love sure has evolved over the years, but the way we view love depends on what we believe in, what we accept. But no matter what our beliefs may be, love has evolved.  It’s no longer opposite attract or something just between a boy a girl, love has grown and matured and become accepting, irrespective of age, sex, creed, social status, religion, beliefs, challenging us to grow and mature, challenging us to broaden our thinking, broaden our perception of the way we see the world.

However, there are times when society, religion, narrows our outlook, often causing us to be judgemental. Anything that doesn’t fall within the definitions and confines set by society, religion, is considered immoral. But then who are we to judge? What is moral, what is immoral, but just a perception. Truth be told, we will never understand the ways of love (and I am not talking about the kamasutra or the play book). We’ll never understand how and why we fall in love. In all honesty we don’t really chose who we fall in with, and though we may deny it and suppress, but the ways of Cupid are unfathomable. So we never know how and who we fall in love with, cause love knows no boundaries, age, sex, or religion. Love is more accepting, making it way more broader and open minded, and matured than anyone. Maybe that’s the reason why it’s said that God is love. But then it makes you wonder why don’t we accept other forms of love that stray away from the traditional sense of the term.

But then there are some who wear their heart on the sleeve and fall in love at the drop of a hat, when in actuality they may not really be in love, it’s just a phase that they go through. They love the notion of being in love, but when that notion is gone, that feeling vanishes, so is the love.

So in the end all that matters is your perspective, how you view love, what’s your view of love? How does your outlook in life affect your belief in love. So are you a traditionalist, or has your outlook of love matured and broaden with time? Are you in the mood for love?

The Beginning: Breaking Free

He sat behind his desk staring blankly at the window in front. All he could see were the glass windows of the concrete jungle. There were no greenery in sight, except for the green envy that always reared it’s head. He knew that there was a park somewhere out there, he been there a few times, though not recently as work left no time for himself.

His life was going as he had planned but still he felt an emptiness inside, like something was missing, a piece of the puzzle that was missing. Was his life like that park, out there but not been lived? When was the last time he lived life the way it was meant to be? When was the last time he actually lived a life?

He was tied to his desk, except for the time he went to gym regularly, but not for superficialities that others went there for, just to stay injury free and healthy. That’s didn’t mean he didn’t have ladies swooning for him, but he had no time for love. He had set a path for himself and followed it to the T, love wasn’t a part of the plan, and he had no plan to take any deviation from his path. Still, as he sat he behind his desk, he felt an emptiness that kept eating him. He felt an uneasiness. When was the last time did he take a vacation? Did he do something impulsive? Something that was so not him.

He felt a restlessness deep within him, a voice shouting to be set free, to break free of the chains that bound him to that desk. He could sense the great outdoors calling out to him, beckoning him to join her. What was this feeling? Why didn’t it let him be?

Finally, on impulse, he closed his laptop, cancelled all his meetings for the day, for the next couple of days, and headed out of his office. After a quick light packing, he headed for the airport. Where would he go, he didn’t know. He hoped to find out, figure out by the time he reached the airport. This was the most impulsive he had ever been, almost pushing him off the path he had set for himself. But for once he was ready for what would come his way. A bit hesitant, a bit nervous, he was ready for the adventure that was in store for him, was ready to go where life would lead him.