The Bengali Chic

I was in love. The kind where you surrender your insecurity at the mercy of the other, hoping they would hide it with their affections. The kind where you could tell from their sigh what exactly they were feeling. I was in love,  the kind where you can tell how their day went by the tilt of their head, the kind where you could predict their moods for the ice cream flavour they craved. I was in love, the kind where I could feel his night mares in my dreams, the kind, where you get vulnerable to an extent where the scars are merely transparent glasses which show the heart, the kind where you feel no power yet fulfilled when they exists in your sphere.  I was in love, the kind where I could read his eyes and tell what his mind was thinking, the kind where I could predict his words and yet stay silenced only to hear it in his voice. I was in love with someone, who only existed in my dreams. for that kind of love only exists in books, which are written by mad men like me.  ...

Eccentric as it could get, the yearning of warmth from a body, to rekindle the joyous euphony of desires only to be lost in the symphony of your heart beat. I rise as the Phoenix from the ashes of your studded lustrous eyes, calling my name after 9pm at night. I fear not walk the halls to your office, which harbours your wife’s picture, I see no photo frame, since I ravaged on that table. Is it the chemistry of the endearing youthfulness, do you long to be taken by my younger vixens. I rather not look you in the eye as I walk past you in the hallway, the students you talking to might notice you longing for my essence.  It was not love, as you called it affection.  “Affection”, you say, what looked to me like an obvious rekindle. You crave the euphoria, eight years of marriage and yet you feel the fear, fear to explore your long wasted youth on your mediocre midwife, who I laid in my bed while you dreamed about our frugal encounter. I know you explored through my inches as you ...

I like a slow life.  A life which feels like floating in the lake on a summer noon. A life which drifts like a stream through the rough terrain. I like a calm life. Calm like the sea before a storm, Calm like the lilac sky on a spring evening. I fancy a mellow life. Mellow like the sound of rain on a midsummer night. Soothing like the sound of wind brushing though the leaves of tree in the park, while I lay on the grass reading my book.  I live a mellifluous life. A smooth gently swaying kind. A life which stops to admire the crowd. A life that sips tea sitting in the most beautiful cafe. A life which feels about enough on the most tiring days, Yet too fulfilling on the good days. A life curated by me.  Pritha Krishna

Hither goes my mind in full disparity of the reality, I assume it's not my thoughts of humanity, which keeps me distracted of this being. Hither goes my mind of the thought of life,  how frail does it look from my eyes with a crowd surrounding me? I feel no pleasure of this moment, I feel no pain of this misery, All I feel is nothingness of my presence in this universe, where you & I coexist. Must I bear with me this heavy weight of being nothing, Must I endure the void of my absolute uselessness, Till the meaning finds its way to me. Pritha Krishna

The lights were beaming as we walk hand in hand in Soho. The crowd so lively, felt like the town was alive, breathing on its own; We booked a table for two at the corner Pizza express cafe by the Soho Square.  Smiling unnoticeably to the presence of one another, while seated for dinner, face to face with delight embracing our reality with every breath and every statement we exchange. The conversation flew from hour to the hour and I could feel the warmth in his gaze, the smile was pure bliss for he enjoyed my chatty self. His pure indulgence to my words was exciting, it made my cheeks blush, I was feeling warmer than usual, more anxious but in a good way, the way you know you're being admired by someone.  My un-noticed self was getting the attention of the world, it almost felt surreal, I could feel the confidence flowing through my skin. I love how he makes me feel, is what I could think of in that moment.  Oh I love being cherished, who doesn't. Punish me if I defy the ...

Vividly wild it was to meet her. Her lips painted grudge brown, blue streaks in her pitch black hair stood out like crevices emanating light amidst the clouds. The amber in her eyes were brought out from the blue eyeliner she had on.  She sat across me on the couch, not taking any notice of the spellbound stupor that I fell in, by simply gazing at her.  She adjusted the crop jacket she had on. Green; I would have liked red on her. Was she aware of it ?  I reprimanded myself internally and asked her if she’d like some coffee. She looked at me, unconsciously biting her lower lip and said , “If you’re making it, then sure.” I could barely take my eyes off of her. Has she always been this beautiful ? Her doe eyes, with her eyeliner embarking on the subtle crease of her eye, almost aligning with the brown birth mark that she has always had on her face, right above her eyebrows.  Amidst reminiscing the days of the past and enjoying her presence, I felt her slowly hunching ...

Like a distant memory,  It seems a little faded away, The warmth of the skin, And the smirk of joy on his face. How can I forget those splendid moments? The thumb pressing through my shoulders; The fingers twirling my hair; The shine in the eyes, The legs pressing my thighs.  Like he owned every inch of me; Through my skin; To my lips. Like a prolonged chain of reactions aroused, With his hands on my thigh. It's the touch of his skin; That keeps me calm; It's the warmth in his eyes, That keeps me bright. The way his lips turn into a smile, Whenever I pass by, The way his face glows up like the sky, Whenever I stand by his side. It's the touch of his presence,  Beside my body, That helps me breathe. It's his hand on my waist, That keeps me from falling.  The way he holds my hand, As we walk to my house, Like my cells sending messages, "Please don't let this die". I wonder if it's him, That I'm crazy about, Or is it his unfettered kindness, That tell...