THE SEASON’S GATHERING

“Marne ke baad bhi meri aankhain khuli rahin,
Aadat jo parr gayi thi tere intizaar ki.”

Faiz Ahmad Faiz

13 February 1911 – 20 November 1984

(On His Birth Anniversary)

My Adore,

               I teach myself not to fall in love, for love gives me hundred and one reasons to live. And I don’t want to live long; I can’t bear the hypocrisy of this world.  Yet, again I find myself in agreement with you, after all, a genius like you have known love and madness ‘the twin’ better than me.

Spring is in the air.

A woman in love often elucidated the way her lover smelt, the attire he wore, and how his splendor mesmerized her. The lemon was sour, the knife was sharp, her hands were soft, the blood was red, she did not notice the deep cut when held captive by his charms.  She sings, ‘My feet gets numb and everything becomes blank. I don’t know whether he will ever summon up the courage to take a step, but then what? That will not be enough for me. I will expect him to say something more for the silence will kill me.’

A woman longing for her lover has often lamented, ‘The season does not look magnificent without him. He should not have smiled at me; it gave me a bad headache but, I still I keep on thinking of him. Now, he is gone and I am remembering the moments spend with him. He vanished without a trace and I don’t even know what his deepest likes and strongest dislikes are. Tell me will he pass my way? Will he be unfriendly and cold?  Whatever it is, I pray that he keeps his heart warm.’

In these, we find woman placed in two situations, one when in love and other when longing for her lover. In both the contexts, an element of love<obviously>despair, confusion, hope plays the tune. What about you? Were you ever confronted by such passion?  Yes, you were, for your ghazals were expressions of anguished love.

But my note to you does not rest here. It will be incomplete without letting you know my condition. I am not in love, I am longing for anyone, I am just waiting. I am yet to see his face, I am yet to know his name, I am yet to feel his touch, and that is why I look at the sky every night and chants, 'Come, whatever it takes either by boating, flying or walking.' And in all these I find myself waiting, waiting till my eyelashes become heavy and remember you, my dear poet.

                                                           Yours Truly,

                                                         Ayangti Longkumer

Note: Friends, whenever I write something intense you get emotional, which is good. However, the best part is there are a certain set of readers who think I am experiencing certain kind of emotion and starts speculating who that ‘lucky’ guy is? I am happy when they do that, after all, a good writer is someone who convinces the reader and makes them see the emotions in the way (s)he wants them to see.