language of love...

Bring Back The Touch

For years, it had been, as if, the cold winter night had never seen the warmth of summer. 

For years, it had been, as if strangers had lived in a caravan, drifting with the direction of the dry coarse blowing sand. 

For years, it had been, as if N and S had lived in the same rooms like camatose, dead furniture; until that day, when S's three petite fingers brushed past N's palm, while they exchanged the cauliflower. 

On being touched by a sensation so known but forgotten, both dropped the cauliflower which lied on the kitchen floor, staring at two strangers who were once best of friends.

They looked into each others eyes, all most, like having met for the first time as they stood fidgeting till the short-lived spell was broken by reality which made them both bend for the cauliflower, lying on the floor, happily enjoying viewing the ice melt.

As they inadequately moved downwards, both their hands, reaching for the cauliflower, their heads almost dashed into one another.

N trying to comfort her and S trying to soothe him.

The cauliflower on the cold kitchen tile, which wasn't all that cold anymore, started to feel GLOBAL WARMING as a reality.

N had his hand on her tresses while hers, she took away coyly: when both smiled, in a manner they had known, eons of years ago.

Twenty years back; when N, had never known Cauliflower as he knew it now and S, being almost a self proclaimed tomboy had never bothered to know the difference between cabbage and cauliflower, were walking towards the church near their college. 

N and S were only college friends, in double inverted commas.

S had promised N to take him to the church besides which was her taekwon-do class. N was shy, timid, self-prosecuted recluse. S was everything N wasn't.

They walked back from the church; when S held N's hand as if she owned him. He shyly looked around for piercing eyes of by standers as they walked passed crowded lanes.

The cauliflower happily placed on the kitchen table now gazed as N and S sank into their past, reliving that blissful moment. Those moments, which they so much relished once but in the drift and drags of humdrum lives, were frozen to death.

The touch melted some of it but the icicles of routine, stubbornly refused.

N raised the knife about to cut the poor ice breaker when S held his hand in a manner known to them, and said "Its my turn today!"

N's hold on the knife diminished while S's grip on his, magnified. Sweating, the cauliflower felt blessed.

S was stubborn, N knew but he resisted, knowingly. While she dared him to try and snatch the cauliflower from her hand.

Now it was a game and the vegii a part, a major part of it.

Like twenty years back the Mumbai local, in which N and S traveled in the gents compartment, was.

S was standing by the door, wind forcing its way through, blowing her long tresses which were a part of her equally long mane. N protectively stood like a barrier forming an arc of his muscular arm. N watched her tresses dance to the tune of the the blow while the mischief in S's eyes played havoc on N's almost untapped libido.

Twenty five minutes they passed as in every moment it beheld was a lifetime in it. Without a touch, N touched her in places and S melted, playfully, asking for more.

The cauliflower was not only happy, for it was to live more, but also for having discovered a new unspoken language of Love.

The knife in N's hand and the witness of this love play in S's possession; they both hooked to the same game, years back, they had learnt to play. Rules, they made as they played; scores, they didn't bother to keep, as no one ever lost.

They played along.

The tresses weren't as long as then, neither did they blow. His arms sagging. But the gaze they realised was the same.

They touched each other, almost burning the cauliflower alive... but only with their eyes again. 

They melted like before and the warm sunlight peeped from somewhere to end the wrath of the frost. 

The sandstorm relented and they met at the oasis once again like they had known each other since more than a lifetime.

While from the background to their immune eardrums fell a voice which said something like this; "Mom... dad. Can someone open the door... i am in the loo., it must be the maid."

It took some time for them to deport themselves from where they had been, even if just for a while.

The cauliflower which had almost thought it was born immortal lay on the lunch table, warm with coldness.

The sacrifice of the mortal veggi hadn't gone waste. . . .since the ICE had melted for ever. . .

Beneath the table, away from the prying eyes of J, and cauliflower; N and S started a new game almost resembling football.

At times, with your fingers; at times, with your hands; at times, with your entire being; you have touched me upon: but your eyes do wonders still and touch me in places I had never known. 

Lost in a maze of their small little fantasy world which they discovered that day on, within their huge mammoth reality, sometimes they mouth these words and sometimes they just know without even vocally spelling them. 

The Language of love, probably, only they had known or may be, even the . . ,

©Nozzer Pardiwala 

With the new Parachute Advansed Body Lotion ... #BringBackTheTouch