Men love seeing their women in lingerie. But most men would rather walk on hot coals than actually walk into a lingerie store to purchase said lingerie. Yes, sometimes it is painfully hard to be a man. But here’s some math for you: 65% of women claim the lingerie is one of the best gift to give your lover and that means visiting lingerie stores. And what better day than Saint Valentine’s, to gift your significant other, some lovely lace. I went to the Enamor store in Orion Mall, Bangalore to understand exactly how to do just that. Read More…
Glowing everytime she speaks my name.
She is Polaris. Fixed in my sky, unmoving.
The other Dipper, the Bigger Bear. A pair do we make in the night sky.
To be seen by all throughout time.
Maybe I’ll grow cold and distant like Neptune.
Maybe you’ll end up like volatile and stormy Jupiter.
With an asteroid belt of our discarded feelings between us.
Or maybe you are the Sun, and I am the Earth. You keep me warm. We are just right.
Or maybe I am the Moon and you are the Earth. Teeming with life and joy.
I wax and wane in your reflected light, sometimes only a sliver of my former self.
My sway over you reduces. We seldom align. On those days I’ll reminisce.
Eventually you’ll end up wanting more moons, like Saturn.
You’ll be confused with all the moons, the rings and the debris around you.
Maybe I’m your Pluto, belittled and disregarded. Cast aside in spite of history. Small.
Maybe one day I’ll explode. A supernova of light. You’ll be impressed.
But again none of this matters.
Because you are all that matters. My world spins around you.
As you play dice with my universe.
You turned and as I was watching you our eyes met, briefly.
For a millisecond, maybe three. For a year, maybe a million.
The coffee I was holding went cold, long forgotten. Frozen.
I was lost in your eyes, Those endless icy spheres.
Wind stabbed at me as I trudged through them, frostbitten fingers reaching out for warmth.
I knew it would end, as soon as you looked away from me.
But did I really want to leave? I could get used to this, I thought.
Maybe light a fire in your eyes, live here forever. Perhaps.
And as quickly as it had come , the moment had passed. Wasted.
You were still looking at me. And yet I was here, wherever this was.
No one here save for us. Not a word was said.
Maybe I should’ve asked you where this was, or just said ‘Hey, Cold day’. Anything.
Deadlines, ‘Ill speak in an hour, at daybreak, or maybe tomorrow.’
Months passed. Not a word was said.
For a hundred years we stood there.
I learnt every curve of your face, the sequence of your breathing.
Slowly I fell in love. What was your name, I wondered.
And then one day you left.
You seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if waiting for me to speak.
But you were gone.Now nothing would ever be said.
The moment had passed.
I was still there.
Still content with just standing a little closer to you at the bus stop than is required.