One of them is in love with you: A sequel

One-and-a-half years into writing "One of them is in love with you," I finally managed give it a logical end. The first poem had its own mystery, the second may not. But my primary aim was to put it to bed, because, sometimes it just feels like the right thing to do. Hope you enjoy it, as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Link to the original poem: http://www.janeborges9.blogspot.com/2010/08/one-of-them-is-in-love-with-you.html
P.S. You will have to read the original poem, to understand the one below.


One of them is in love with you: A sequel 


She had nothing to hide, and nothing to fear,

But that night had been far too long, and the four quite near, 

Until then, they just seemed friendly and nice,

But as hours swept, she felt otherwise,
And when dawn broke for their journey to resume,
Something in her heart, so heavy began to loom,
Pride fell from her eyes like fresh morning's dew,
It happened when she fell in love with with all of you.


Her feet crawled and her mind moved slow,
Like blood in the body had stopped its flow,
If only the knights had not requested a ride,
And used her as a soul to confide,
She would not have loved, and not have cried,
For, she knew how much she had lied,
Then, suddenly she thought of the blue cloak in the shed she threw,
She had no choice, but to return to the knights she loved, she knew. 


She turned back, and wondered if it were a Godly plan,
Or the viciousness of the "wily" young man,
In the past, he played a trick or two,
To win her from a couple few,
But the "charmer" had the knack of such a genius,
Yet, she knew, he couldn't quite commit a crime so serious, 
And so, she trudged the rocky path thinking of who,
If it were not among the two of you.


When miles she walked, she stopped by a stream,
And noticed the escaping of the sun light beam,
She hurried before dusk set soon,
With her mind now shifting to the "docile" little moon,
But his innocence was a big tale in the country,
So if it weren't him, it was definitely the "visionary",   
But then it struck her so hard, but true,
None had loved her like she had loved the four of you.  


Her feet gained now the strength of time,
To collect the cloak that she had forgotten in the shed sublime,
She wondered if the knights had stayed today,
Hoping she'd come to take this last garment away,
But when she reached it was darker than black,
Only the shed was lit, and the noise of firewood cracked,
She entered inside amused and without a clue,
There, standing was a knight, who resembled none of the four of you.  

A village lost in concrete

 It's a small little village nestled in the otherwise concretised town of Mumbai. Dotted with century-old mansions, patches of greens and winding alleys, this gaothan will take you back in time, to an era now erased in our memory. What is surprising is the effort and the indomitable spirit of its residents, who have time and again refused to relinquish their fiefdom and buckle under pressure of the authorities and corrupt builders. Khotachiwadi, as it is known, is one of the very few vestiges of our past glory. With over 200 years of rich tradition, Khotachiwadi, located in the Girgaum area of South Mumbai, holds more of Mumbai than any part of the city actually does. But, who cares! A visit to the gorgeous mansion of fashion designer James Ferreira in this small little gaothan is only a reaffirmation of the old-world charm, now lost, but open to translation in a million different ways. Ferreira is not only passionate about clothing, but also a great lover of arts (if his home is anything to go by). He loves his home and he loves Khotachiwadi, and dare you harm his nest... Ferreira speaks candidly about what Khotachiwadi meant, and what it still means to him. I sit back, relax and take comfort in the beauty of his home, as he takes over, with his soliloquy.

 It’s devastating to witness the slow death of a community; one that was so beautiful and vibrant, but now shrinking and losing out at the hands of corrupt money-making scoundrels. The village of Khotachiwadi, the only home I have ever known, is the victim of this urban delusion. Dotted with 19th century bungalows and narrow bylanes, this sleepy little village is almost struggling to retain its old-world charm and aesthetics. Today, from 65 bungalows, we are down to a shocking 27; my heart pains every time I think of what we are losing. Fortunately, ever since we were given the heritage status in 1996, the residents of this area have become more “house proud” and have started looking after their homes. But this too is a challenge. Despite the heritage status, three bungalows have been sold to builders, with a seven-storey already having made inroads into the area.

To be honest, we have lost out as a cultural community. Most of the original inhabitants (the East Indians and Pathare Prabhus), have migrated to other countries, what remains is a few of us, who are

witnesses to this vanishing culture. I still remember the Christmas festivities at Khotachiwadi back in the days of old. The entire affair was so exciting and beautiful. My father would organise week-long

celebrations, which would begin with putting up the Christmas tree on December 25 and end with a bonfire on December 31. During the week, we would visit each other’s households for dinner parties, and also invite other gaothans in the neighbourhood to join in the celebrations. 

Unfortunately, we don’t see anything of that sort anymore.  Take my home for instance, we were eight of us, but now it’s just me and my 90-year-old mother. Most of the residents are old and ailing. Now, we just have six children in the area, who come out in the evenings to play their chor-police and catching cook games. Unlike the past, the lanes are silent and almost abandoned. Two years ago, the iconic Malwani restaurant — Ananth Ashram — in Khotachi wadi shutdown; in November

last year another bungalow was sold to a builder.  The transition and loot continues undeterred.

But no battle can be considered lost without a struggle. I realised that the best way to preserve our village was by putting it in public memory. With the help of a few generous souls we started Khotachiwadi heritage tour. Every year over 100 to 200 people visit this place. Today, it has been voted as India’s most successful heritage tour. We are trying our best to preserve what we have.

I feel fortunate to have this beautiful house, this sprawling balcony and such large open spaces. I can still leave my windows and doors opened and feel safe. There are sparrows all over my house and the

ambience here is so perfect and so different from the Mumbai we actually live in. I don’t understand this fascination with glass and concrete.  The past was beautiful, but the present is disconcerting.

"You are dark 'BUT' you have good features"

24 years gone, but I still hear it now,

The colour of my skin always 'but'ted somehow

with features good, or may be sharp,

Or may be something on the pretext to harp.

I wonder then if I was really complimented,

Or if you tried to ensure that I wasn't offended,

By pronouncing me dark and then correcting yourself,  

and garnishing it with words from your shelf.

And then you say I should not have this complex,

For not being the fairest in my sex.

But whether I should believe you or not, 

Is better left for another day's food for thought.

For now, know that I don't need this reconciliation,

Or any sort of well-worded juxtaposition,

I have worn this colour on my skin far too long,

but please care about those who believe in your racist song.  




P.S.
On many occasions, I have been thrown the "you are dark, but have great features" remark. I wouldn't deny that in the past I have blushed, only to realise that people were trying to find a reason to see beauty in a colour that they otherwise, believed wasn't really...
Food for thought, how many times have you made such an interesting remark, or have you ever said, "oh! she is fair, but what great features". 
Aren't most of us then closeted racists? Language is the threshold of the mind, it is a reflection of our tendency to be politically correct, yet an indication of our flaws in faking to be one.  

An Unbearable Loss

Five years have passed,

A long one I thought,

All our good days amassed,

And the bad ones forgot.

But now I walk alone in this tide,

Remembering days, all of yore,

There is so much to talk, but now I hide,

Only wishing the harmony like before.

We fought, but soon made peace,

Our egos unconvinced by the anger of our souls,

We loved, and how each other we teased,

Despite being two unlikely poles.

And now as I drift between being happy and sad, 

I am both aghast and fearful of this resolve,

to distance you from me, though its bad,

It's so hard that sometimes I still wait for your call.

They saw us and joked,

We are almost like lovers, they said,

And you too often poked,

I secretly wish for it in my head.

How now, it came to this,

Others know of us more than we do of each other,

They share with us our bliss,

Our bond, now seems lighter than a feather.

I am happy for you,

And I know you feel the same for me,

But clouds have covered this blue hue,

And nothing feels like it used to be.

Our weakness' have become the others' argument,

To shield from any blame, 

We need now only to defend,

To shift from being the wrong one in this game.

It's funny if I'd say it doesn't hurt,

And how I wish for it all to be the same,

I tried to teach you a lesson, and turned hostile and curt,

Sometimes I really find it to be lame.

My selfishness has taken position,

and I am only protecting myself of future pain,

But often I still get a vision,

That you are with me and we are no longer insane.

  

Steps never stop...

I climb a few steps daily,
Some lead to my home,
Some to work,
But most just take me to another step,
So many to climb, so much more to learn.

On my way down,
I see my follies and regrets,

And skip a step or two,

Hoping to avoid repeats,

So many to climb, I might just land on the wrong.

On my way up,  

I absorb happiness and success,

But I walk with caution still,

What if i trip or just stop?

So many to climb, how I wish it never stopped.

So I keep climbing a few steps daily, 

Some lead home, some to work,

Some to friends, others to enemies, 

But most just take me to another step,

So many to climb, its impossible not to learn.