I am a nostalgic person. Through and through. The bittersweet taste of memories tinted by people long forgotten on the cobblestone pathways of my life pleases me more than living in the moment ever could. Maybe that is why I have difficulty in letting go of things. I still have my little friendship bands from 1st grade saved in a box, their ends fraying, all matted and tangled with each other, almost like the memories themselves. I don't particularly remember who gave me which piece of the ribbon, but I remember the love and care that went in buying the rolls of coloured ribbons together, measuring them out and cutting them to the lengths of our little wrists. We exchanged them like they were something much more precious than mere pieces of ribbon waiting to disintegrate into the lengths of threads that made them and, they were. They were precious enough to be stored in a box still, even when I haven't known the whereabouts of the people who bestowed them upon me in years. They are now just memories, covered by the rose-coloured filter of nostalgia. Maybe I hold on to such tchotchkes because of my incapacity to hold on to people. The friendship bands, the greeting cards, the wrapping papers, the chocolate wrappers, the little bayblades, the empty pen cases, the little rocks, the stone less ring, the dandiya sticks, the slam books, the diaries, the chits passed around in class, the "song book", the stupid photo frame and the weird hats, the receipts from all cafe visits, the tabs from cans and the labels from bottles, the photographs and the screenshots of chats I still can't seem to delete- laid out in multiple nooks and crannies of my life- exist to remind me of the relationships I couldn't preserve. Nostalgia rots all senses with it's cloying sweetness, suffocating oneself with thoughts that turn to 'these people left because I couldn't hold them tight enough, for long enough or with enough adoration and appreciation'. Maybe such is the folly of a person who lives with nostalgia. The hues of nostalgia blurs the pain of separation, masks the rationale behind why one had to remove oneself from someone or something they loved. All thats left behind is pink skies and a portrait of happiness. Why wouldn't it be addictive? To vie for something familiar, something beautiful, just devoid of all the hurt and the ugly! So yes I am a nostalgic person.
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A/N: This may or may not be based on real events. I didn't know how to vent and then I wrote this. So I don't know if it makes any ounce of sense. Also I have linked all the songs so you can enjoy them as well. Enjoy!
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Y/N stared outside the window observing the occasional cars speeding past their own. She let out a sigh and took a drag out of her cigarette as the song playing on the stereo of the car changed. It was a beautiful playlist, she would give it that, if only a little unfamiliar. And sad.
 She shouldâve called dibs on the aux cord as soon as she entered the car but she was too occupied with other, much more important things back then.Â
That had led to this moment, here, sitting inside a car, pulled over on the side of this road that led to nowhere, surrounded by trees as she blew out clouds of smoke, listening to songs that made her feel things she decidedly did not want to feel.Â
She turned her head around a little to look at him and found that he was already looking at her, a strange look on his face.Â
She lifted her eyebrows- Kya dekh raha hai? What are you looking at?Â
He shrugged in response- Tujhe nahi dikh raha? Figure it out for yourself.
She rolled her eyes.
He started humming along to the song.Â
Jaane woh kaise log the jinke pyaar ko pyaar mila
Humne toh jab kaliyan maangi kaaton ka haar mila.
(I wonder at the people who find their love reciprocated
When I prayed for flowers, I was dealt a garland of thorns.)
She scoffed, he stopped singing and closed his eyes. She took another drag just to quell the little twinge of guilt that pricked her heart.
âThis is peaceful, pehle kabhi kyu nahi kiya humne ye?â He turned towards her, questioning why they hadnât done this before. His eyes were still closed, coward and stretched his fingers, asking for the cigarette.Â
She wanted to scream.
She handed him the cigarette regardless.Â
âPehle kab? When in the past should we have done this? When you were busy being an arse? Or when you were being a bitch? Or when you were out there making stupid decisions even after I warned you about them? Or was it when you were breaking my heart?â she wanted to say.Â
But she didnât. She closed her eyes as well. They were stinging.Â
âMust be the smokeâ, she thought. Smoke. Yeah, it has to be.
Hothon se chhu lo tum, mera geet amar kar do
Ban jao meet mere, mera preet amar kar do
(Let my song touch your lips and immortalise it
Please become my lover and immortalise my love)
They sat there silently, music washing over them accompanied by the chirping of birds overhead. It all made her feel drowsy. She did not want to sleep. Really.
âI am sorry.â He said suddenly, his tone held the intensity of a thousand suns.
âYeah thatâll do itâ, she thought before opening her eyes.Â
He was looking at her again, the same weird expression from before adorned his face, maybe mixed in with a little bit of pain and something. She didn't want to dissect it. It wonât do her any good.
âDonât. Just-â she sighed.
He looked like he was about to cry.
She leaned over the console, closer to him and placed her hand on his arm in hopes of comforting him somehow.Â
âPurani baat hai woh, it's in the past, I have forgiven you, isliye idhar tere saath car mai baithi hu. Wouldn't be in the car with you if I hadn't.âÂ
âI miss you. I miss us.â
She had nothing to say to this. Just rubbed her hand down his arm. She hoped he understood that she couldn't give him more even if she wanted to.
They sat there for god knows how long, just him looking at her from his place in the driverâs seat and her staring out of the windshield at nothing.Â
Dhanak ghata kaliyan aur tare sab hain tera roop
Ghazalen hon ya geet hon mere sub mein tera roop
Yunhi chamakti rahe hamesha tere husn ki dhoop
(All these lush valleys, colourful flowers and the twinkling stars are comparable to your looks
Whether it be my poems or my songs, they are meant to pay ode to your beauty
May the sun of your beauty be everlasting.)
âWe should get going now.â She broke the silence this time round.
The sun was about to set and it was getting slightly darker.Â
He nodded, shook himself out of his stupor and turned the key in the ignition. His eyes always aimed at the street as he drove through them.Â
It was her turn to look at him now. And look at him, she did. She stared at how the sun hit the curves and edges of his face, how effortlessly the wind swept his hair upwards in the front, how carelessly his glasses sat on the bridge of his face.Â
She looked at the lines of his arm and how his muscles rippled under the skin as his hands moved over the steering wheel. How his watch, the one he inherited from his grandfather, the one which was according to her slightly too big for him but âit is exactly how it is supposed to be, Y/Nâ according to a very annoyed him dangled from his wrist.Â
She missed him too. She really did, whether she wants to accept it or not is an argument sheâll have with herself later.
He turned to look at her and oh. Hopefully she didn't have the same look on her face that he had had earlier in the day.
He lifted his eyebrows- Kya dekh rahi hai? What are you looking at? Â
She shrugged in response- Tujhe nahi dikh raha? Figure it out for yourself.
He smiled.Â
Abhi na jao chhod kar ke dil abhi bhara nahi
Abhi abhi to aayi ho, abhi abhi to
Abhi abhi to aayi ho, bahar banke chhayi ho
Hawa zara mehak to le, nazar zara behak to le
Yeh shaam dhal to le zara
Yeh shaam dhal to le zara
Yeh dil sambhal to le zara
(Please donât leave just yet, my heart hasnât had its fill.
You have just arrived, have just bloomed in like spring.
At least let the air gain your fragrance, at least let my eyes take you in.
At least let the evening set in
At least let my heart have its fill.)
âWe are here.â he said and reached across the stereo to turn the music down.
âThat was eerily poetic, wasnât it.â He looked at her, a weird glint in his eyes.
She chuckled. It really was creepily perfect.Â
âWait for a couple more minutes? Dil abhi bhara nahi.â He asked, dramatically grabbing her hands.Â
She couldnât bring herself to deny him this, she had already been too rude to him. So she leaned back in the seat again and turned to look at him while he did the same, her hand closest to him still held in his hand. They just sat there looking at each other and for those couple of moments, everything apart from them and the present faded away.Â
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, almost too reverently for her to bear. She closed her eyes and sighed.Â
âI should leave now.âÂ
He let out a shaky sigh.Â
âYeah. Yeah.â
He moved to open his side of the door and she stopped him. She got out of the car on her own and came round to his side.Â
âWe should do this again sometime.â he said, tentatively, a little hopefully.
âYeah, maybe. Our little sutta escapade.â
âYou should bring chai in a little thermos next time. Then it can be a chai-sutta escapade.â
âOkay.â
âOkay.â
She stood there for a moment more.Â
âBye.â she said and turned around to walk home. Bye and not her usual see ya.
âBye,â he hollered. âSee yaâ he whispered into the car as he reignited the engine.Â
Hey so I have this request in my ask box. Whoever sent it, first of all, thank you. I am honored that you considered me a good enough writer to put that story in words. Secondly, I am sorry for not acknowledging it till now. But due to some reasons I won't be able to write it right now. I do want to write it, it's an amazing prompt! Quite close to my heart as well. But the earliest I can possibly write it down is April of next year which is not any time soon. But if you're ready to put it off for that long, I do want to write it, I think about hat prompt everyday.
Summary: This is the story of peacock feathers and a boy in love.
A/N: I was watching the mythological T.V shaow âRadha Krishnaâ and got so inspired that i had to write this down. Man, the show is absolute trash. But it reminded me oh my âMahabhatatâ obsession days. It is short, but still!
There was an odd look in their eyes. The two of them. As if they were far too old than they looked. They seemed in their mid teens but their eyes seemed to tell century old stories. They whispered in some archaic language, it always made others around them feel that they did not know much about the world. At least not more than the 2 boys. The two brothers were only cow herders with starry-deep-eyes and wild unconstricted charm. The elder with long hair and unparalleled strength and the younger with mysterious dark eyes and a peacock feather in his hair.
 The two brothers always brought about an atmosphere of joy with them. Joking and fooling about with people all around them. It seemed that they had an aura around them that made everybody to fall in love with them.
The younger brother was the more puckish of the duo. He was a charmer. Enthralling everyone with his smart ways and riddle ridden language. His elfin face helping him. There was always a smug glint in his eyes. Smug in a way that he knew something that others didnât. Smug in the implication that he had more control over things that others didnât.
He always said that he was searching for his lost love. To anyone it would seem that he was just saying great things in his adolescent naivety but there was something in him that told otherwise. The far-off, sad, nostalgic look that took over his face every time he spoke of his lost love didnât seem like a look that should belong on the face of a 16 year old. Â But he spoke of love often. He knew a lot about love. Even the tunes of his flute played soulful notes of love. A love that attracted men and women alike. A tune that made the village members forget everything and dance immersed in the sweet unrestrained feeling of love. And his eyes always searched for the one in the crowd.
He told his âDaauâ, his elder brother that he would teach everyone about love. After all he was here for the sole purpose of finding and searching for love. Â He told Daau laughingly that he indeed wanted to find his millennium old lost lover even though he was cursed that she wouldnât even recognize him for the next 100 years. But he was sure he would make her fall into love with him again. Just like he had all those years ago. He knew of all the obstacles that lied ahead of him and he was sure he would overcome them.
But Daau knew. He knew how to look under all those layers of mischief and playfulness and charm. He had seen the secret tears his younger brother had shed when he saw his âDharaâ, his âRaadhaâ but she couldnât recognize him as anything other than a charming, lying cow herder. But then they were here to stay for a long time. And daau knew that he would do what he wishes to.
Daau always just smiled. An unsure, unsurprised, unknowing smile. He always got a transcendental smile and a tearful gaze in return. The peacock feather always kept swaying with his younger brotherâs hair. The peacock feather reminded Daau of his brotherâs true eternal nature.
This was Krishna. The dark skinned boy with beautiful eyes. A cowherder, protector of people along with his Daau, Balraam. He did many things further on. He was the reincarnation of god. But Krishna was also a preacher of love. And his heart belonged to his Raadha. His love, the essence of bhakti.
