LettersWriting letters is never easy. I can’t stop thinking that perhaps you won’t get this one, or perhaps you’ll forget where you kept it, and you’ll never hear the words I had to say. The words that I’ve thought of, softly for you, chosen for you. These are the words that I would whisper to you at night, if I could, and you would fall asleep to my voice. I would be tender, I would promise. I would push your strands of hair behind your ear, and softly whisper, touch by touch, and my tongue would lull you to sleep.
I love you. Is there anything ever as insipid as that?
I adore you. Is there anything ever as desperate as that?
But that is not here for me, any more, and so I write. I put pen to paper, thought to word, intent to action, and I hope that you read me. I hope that you hear me, and I hope that you understand me. There is, after all, only one thing that I have to say.
I love you.
*******************
My love,
I am well.
Do not worry.
I have had to move fast, so that I have not had the time yet, nor the opportunity, to read the letter that you have sent. But I know what you must have written about, and so I can answer even now, without having torn the envelope. I love you.
Stay well.
*******************
I wept that day, when they brought me word of you. I held that tiny scrap of paper to my heart and tears rolled down from my eyes. I am silly, I know. I should not behave like this. You are still here, in my heart of hearts. You are still here, where I cherish you the most.
Do you hear my words then? I trust that you do. I touched the pillow tonight, and the crisp cotton cooled my fevered hand. It was your touch, I knew, that soothed me. You were there with me, even while you’re not here.
I go on and on and on and on.
Why would you want to listen to me prattle like this?
Save for, I love you.
*******************
My love,
Yes, I hear your voice. Your whispers against my ear. I can almost feel your fingers touch my hair, stroke it softly, soothe me to sleep.
Stay well, my love, for I shall soon be back. I shall soon be back.
I am moving again. I think I know some place where I can get the job done. It should not take me too long. Wish me luck. Wish me... love.
But I already have that from you, don’t I?
*******************
I am distressed, for I have had no word from you.
I am in love with you, and yet, when I quell my heart to listen for signs of you from the rustling wind, I hear nothing stir. Save fear.
Where are you? Are you safe?
Will this reach you? Will it find you safe?
I love you. I always will.
*******************
My love,
There is nothing to fear. I got sidetracked for a while. But there is nothing to worry. I have made a new friend. He can help me, he says. We shall soon have what we have always longed for, you and I. The end is near.
Do not worry. There will no purpose served. There is nothing wrong. I got your last two letters but did not have the time to –
Do not worry.
Understand that great things take time.
I remain, as always, yours.
*******************
I should be calmed by what you have said, yet I find I am not.
There is something amiss, I know that, but cannot tell what.
I sound like a dolt. I sound like a mocking soldier. A mad hatter. A soothsayer who can tell evil from the stars. And yet, I feel that I’m not completely mistaken.
I touched your pillow last night. It gave me no comfort. I write in the hope that my fears are wrong, ill founded, silly, maudlin, sly. I will not be betrayed by my fears. They will not change me. Or the way I feel about you.
They must not do this. They must be controlled.
For what else could I do, save love you?
*******************
No word.
No word.
There is, still, no word.
I am beside myself with worry. The mountains are covered with mist.
Is it a sign?
I believe in you, come what may. I believe in you.
*******************
My dear,
Things are almost at an end.
Take care.
*******************
I tell myself what you said.
Things are almost at an end. You will come back. I am sure of that.
So I went out today. I stood in front of the store windows, and imagined what you would bring home for me. Would that be something for me to wear? Something around my neck? Something glittering for my ears? Something in leather? Would you bring something for the table? I crumble at your touch.
All I need from you is your touch. That is all. A smile can devastate me and prop me up for eons. I am sure you will come back soon.
Things are almost at an end. You said that.
So I touched the pillow, and stared at it last night. Imagined you lying next to me, and I loved you again. I would touch you, the ridge of your back, the slight tremble in your ears, the silk of your dark hair, and I would love you. I held you in my arms tight last night, and told you again and again, for as long as I could –
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.
*******************
It is done.
You will hear from me soon.
Be happy.
Yes, it is done.*******************
I am happy beyond words!
So happy…
*******************
They were whispering to me last night. They were asking me why it has taken so long. You should be here by now. You should be walking up the road, smiling, holding your arm out for me. They are small, and petty, and… things I cannot bring myself to say. They should not have asked me that about you. They should not have asked me.
I wait.
I am sure you will come soon.
I love you, as always.
There were brief moments as I read this when I felt pangs of the past come rushing back.
Times when I too put pen to paper and lick to stamp. A hesitant and never completely assured hand dropping the letter into the post box... not knowing when it would reach its destination, if it would reach its destination..when would someone read it, would someone read it...would it get lost in transit, and take with it my deepest thoughts...
and now, cyberspace brings everything closer, yet in some ways draws the letter writers and readers apart
do show us the last letter...
The use of epistolary style made this one interesting...specially juxtpaosed against your usual thoughts-exchange style. It was kind of interesting to try and read between the lines of the letters - to read what else could have been meant by those words.
Ofcourse what wasn't clear was where this man has gone - I considred several possibilites, soldier at war, he's abandoned her, he's stuck in some prob and the mafia has kidnapped him. Even while this is interesting it somewhere frustrates me not to know...
On a diff note, I like writing letters and receiving them too. Emails are good, but the joy of receving a letter is something else all together, na?
disclaimer again: i rarely write letters... in gfact, i usually hate them! ;-) had ta go thru a lot of coaxing to write letters to mum when i was in delhi and chennai.. but now, i've stopped completely!
vague - thanx for de kind words.
geet - i wanted to keep the unknown, actually. keeps ya guessing, i'm glad.
i liked the flow of emotions and the shifting moods just through the use of words....the whole letter funda to xpress that longing and ache is just superb
How are you?Long time since I've dropped any of my characteristically long comments here...so this one is to make it up:)
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What I've noticed in most of your work is that there is this peculiar smile behind the words. It is there in all different kinds of your work. In fact that is one thing I find most constant.And that is what fascinates me. It's a smile that is rakish,indulgent and distanced all at the same time.
I've been reading some of your stories again to figure out if I can explain it better...but the closest I can come to pinning it down is only this-a peculiar smile-and nothing else.
For example in your latest work the smile is most visible here:
"I love you. Is there anything ever as insipid as that?
I adore you. Is there anything ever as desperate as that?
...
There is, after all, only one thing that I have to say.
I love you."
Also,repitition of these words only makes clearer the precariousness of the situation-that is where your smile comes in again...
It is the smile of a secret that you hold,that you wish the reader to cull from what you give. It is the smile of an author who knows he's good at what he is doing. Above all it is the smile of playing a little unspoken game and thoroughly enjoying it.
Maybe i have it all wrong..but i am fascinated by this detail scattered between your various words.
--Ellipses M
ok, i've been to my own blog after ages... have been reading some of de old stuff here and there, feeling kinda nostalgic! ;-)
erratica - thanx a bunch. hope u don't ACHE too much!
ellipse - u can be sure i'm smiling NOW. ;-) Thank you for a very astute observation. I'm not sure whether you'll ever read dis comment (not sure whether i shud post this comment on ure blog directly!)... but yes, thanx for a REALLY close observation. Yes, I smile when I write some of this stuff. What's behind it? I'm not sure. A part of me believes in it, a part of me mocks at it, a part of me thinks its ludicrous to feel this way... the schizophrenic in me rejoices.
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11:02 AM
G Shrivastava, at
11:08 AM
