the she and the he: fiction one


she would be produced by the sultry summer. he would be produced by the wet monsoon. they both are quite opposites in a way. but at some level they needed each other. heat begs for water. and wetness is lost without heat. she was red. and he was blue. she never believed in love as deeds. he never believed in loving glances. hence, they would spend endless hours staring at the glass windows of the local coffee shop. she demanded attention. he hoped for recognition. both artists, caught in the web of each other’s shadows and opinions. she always believed that one must do the right thing. and called up her girlfriends at night to say that she deserved an award for doing the right thing. he always believed that every crime has a context. right and wrong were at the heels of this context. so he chose his dress carefully before he began to dig the grave of a stranger. she would devour chunks of literature. he would simply dabble in poetry – without much structure and more of subtexts – that would fuel his imagination. she had pictures of herself on the wall. he had pictures of his mother on the wall. she never moaned. he never performed. one balmy afternoon while they lay close to each other, he asked her, “you know that sense of wonder that at some point acquires the rift of the meanings spoken between two people or two passages?” she assured with a confident smile, “yeah dude. i know it. happens between us every time!” he pondered for a while and asked her, “are we in love?” quickly she snapped “no. we are in a marriage”. they faced their moment of truth. quite bravely. like adults.


~ by rb on November 13, 2011.

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