In Your Nascent Days

Dear PACH, 

You know, luck lies in the availability of someone to love, someone to care for, someone to nurture, and someone to bask happily in the memories of. Luck lies in creating memories even when you are in the nascent stage of developing a relationship. Luck lies in being so content with the present that future can hold no disappointments; if anything, it can only tell you how smiles can be stretched beyond their extremes. 

Luck lies in knowing you, in being a part of you. In your nascent days, of course. You are not even a month old, but you are that cheerful infant whose chuckles reverberate day and night in my head. Like a lovely background score, to all my commitments in life.

At the last PACH, lost between hands which churn out most deft verses. 

You are not a commitment, you must always know. I ask myself, as much as others ask me - why do I spend so much time and energy into helping you grow, what is the incentive for being a PACH-pagal? The answer lies in the realm of intangible infinites. With you, incentives are such which will last me a lifetime. I commit myself to pecuniary incentives, so that they may fetch me comforts and happiness as a next step. With you, dear PACH, I leap straight into the arms of unadulterated bliss. I hence endeavour to stretch you ahead, while hoping you always sustain the innocence with which it all began. 

If anyone, it is this girl writing this rather gay letter, who is unaware of your trajectory, or your scope. All this girl wants to do is to chronicle all this overflowing mirth, before she gets used to it. These musings should have been given a vent on 14th July - the best PACH day ever - but there was an inertia of inaction, of just sitting down and running a montage of best moments, with nothing but absolute equanimity on my face. Oh, did you notice? In your nascent days, I already have a forever favourite tryst. You must be crazy, for you remind of the month I fell in love for the first time. Things were as sudden as now, I was as overwhelmed as now. Does it sound like an exaggeration? Well, it is after some six years that I have seen myself so simply, overwhelmingly happy. Try putting yourself in my shoes, and you will know what I am saying. If you can't, let me tell you, it is like falling in love again. 

So, why not poetry to express these thoughts, you ask? It is, because, about expression more than the form. I work well with prose, but someday, I will set you in verse, I promise. For now, I will let you know, how awesome you have been. Or wait, wasn't scintillating our word? It was. It is. You are. All shaky steps have culminated into fantastic dates with incredible people. It is the people who make you what you are - but you are scintillating, because you bring all those people together. You made me bring so many of diverse worlds together, and you gave me the privilege seeing these seemingly incongruous pieces fit together into a iridescent mosaic. You do know it is a personal account of my association with you, and nothing else, right? So this is me, talking from my vantage point, letting you know things as honestly as I can. There is a need for this honesty to pour out, for I know it makes me happy, and I reckon it will make some others happy too, especially in the moment they see me uncannily steal their thoughts. 

You, PACH, gave me the chance to see a silent, but ebullient girl dazzle people with her sophisticated oration. You introduced me to a girl whose pen flows with powerful might, but dwells on delicate sensibilities. She made me envious at first, but her words gave me the strength to love and appreciate that which is genuinely brilliant. You lured in a confessedly (and credibly) proud man, who could not save his soft side from surfacing. It was humbling, but enjoyable too, to see him shed a tear or two when PACH reached one of its crescendo moments. You showed me the subtlety of love between two people who are on the threshold of a life long nuptial agreement (God bless them). You gave fillip to the verses of someone who is perpetually hidden behind the lens, capturing others in their weird and cute states. You exposed the master of laughter - whose humour reflects on important learnings of life. He guffaws at his heaviness, only to make others feel so light. You drew many more people, who will soon creep into these musings, but not before I understand them well. 

You beguiled people who were not even poets, but came along to share songs, stories and smiles. Age no bar, profession no bar, you have not stopped causing a child-like zeal in many more who are awaiting your future manifestations, in and around Delhi. Will the PACH charisma work again? I don't know, and I don't care. I love you, but I have gained enough. All this, in your nascent, formative days. 

"My dear, we make new memories no more"

You know the most awesome thing you did? You made me trust myself to trust others. When I had secretly given up the thought of sharing my poems with this group of superlative poets, you gave me the confidence to take the plunge. I am glad, so glad I got the knowing nods and a tear in prize. Encouragement is secondary. My precious thoughts, I felt, had got their due. Oh, and you made me sing too, details of which are best left to kid around in all that playful space within me. 

You did not just bring the enchantment of poems with you, you brought the magic of stories, and the promise of mirth. You gave me a chance to let out secrets, and to mean something where I desired to feel important. You gave me new friends, who've made travelling in Delhi a slightly tougher task. You're aware that desires have no limits, but I'm so full that one extra smile, and it bounces off me to light up someone else's face. You know I can't stop talking about you to people, right?

And here you are, still a week away from being a month old. You must be crazy.

And to think, these are still your nascent days...

Still brewing...

PS - There has to be a postscript. I can't quite figure out what, but I know I am shutting up too soon. May be, keep up with this space for that one more priceless confession?