Love Letter
Dear...no…my dearest Samar,
I have never written a letter. Not to you...to anyone.
Never felt the need.
Never knew what to write. And more importantly to whom to write.
Yet, this will be my first and last letter to you.
I am sitting in my chair.
You know the corner chair that abuts the window.
The one that’s next to the table wherein sits my desktop.
Yeah! The very same computer that stores all yours and mine favourite old Hindi songs.
Remember those endless nights when we used to have food, make love, eat, make love again, eat again even as Lata and Kishore and Rafi sang as if in competition their most romantic as well as heart wrenching numbers.
Remember jaan...!
And do you remember this one song in particular... the song we listened on loop...the song you insisted on playing every night you stole your way into my house...every night when Omkar was away.
Lag jaa gale ki phir haseen raat ho na ho..shayad ki is janam men…Remember how you used to run this song and then step back and pull me into the sofa and we would lock eyes and in the soft misty glow of the moonrays as it filtered in through the curtains, how you and I would lose ourselves, two lovers, two souls entwined in one, lipsyncing as Lata di croons mulakat hon a no...
Jaan...we both know why you and I loved this song...why we played this song again and again.
All lovers live on borrowed time.
Therefore, every hour, every minute, every second that two hearts spend with one another is most precious, more valuable than all the wealth in the world.
Our love was a destiny waiting to unfold and when it happened, it turned out to be a tragedy dying to end.
I know this was inevitable.
They say extra marital affairs come with expiry dates.
Fate is a weapon powerful enough to triumph over will.
I belong to Omkar and you to Priya.
We are married to people we don't love; are in love with people we aren't married to.
How does that sound!
Ironic, cruel, sad, laughable
All lovers are creators and destroyers at the same time.
This world that sees man and woman as nothing more than cows and buffaloes yoked to the chattel, don't deserve us.
Don't deserve good souls such as us.
I don't know about you, my love.
I don't know why you have turned silent.
Why don't you pick the phone anymore?
Answer my texts...my fervent pleas?
Perhaps, you have succumbed.
Surrendered yourself to the ways of the world.
I know, and I understand.
And don't begrudge you.
But I am a failed lover.
I can't turn my back as you have done.
I can only look upwards.
The ceiling fan beckons.
Goodbye, jaan.
Hope we meet in another life...another time, when time stands still for us.
Yours in eternity,
Nazreen
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