Benaam Si Khwahishein

I stepped inside the room and at once felt naked. Well, I was wearing clothes but then his gaze always made me feel like I was standing naked in front of him as if her could see me through. It excited me and made me nervous at the same point of time. He directed me towards a chair and it was my cue to sit down without questioning. It has been 3 months that I met him and since then I don't know what is it about him that I can't stop myself from coming to him.

            Was he handsome? No, nobody would spare him a second look (except me, I guess). Was he chivalrous? Hah! You got to be kidding me. Did he make me feel good about myself? Ummm... I don't know that but whenever I was with him I was something that I never knew I could be. He cleared his throat and it was his way to tell me that I should better concentrate rather than let my mind wander somewhere from where the way back was impossible. Standing in front of me was Saransh, the renowned painter and I was his forced muse.

            Well, I wasn't a forced muse when he approached me for the first time. It was a November morning. Winter had started making its presence felt but at times as if sun wasn't ready to let go of his importance used to shine to its fullest. So, just like me and my life even the weather was unpredictable. The only predictable thing that happened that day was that my friends and I decided to bunk college and roam around Purana Qila. No, I wasn't a history student. Even though I was studying hardcore consumer behaviorism still architecture, forts, poems and verses tempted me. I never said this aloud because being a brilliant student I had already bagged a prestigious job with a wow package while still doing my MBA and citing that I would want to study Literature would give a chance to people to ridicule me.

            Actually nobody wanted to roam around Purana Qila. My friends wanted to watch some Salman Khan flick but as usual India is full of diehard fans so before we could fathom, the tickets were sold out and my friends had no other option but to go ahead with my plan. Not beautiful, but I've amazing influencing power. So, in the end we ended up doing thing that I wanted. I was still reeling over the beauty of the amazingly built Purana Qila when somebody tapped on my shoulder. A man in his late thirties with a full grown beard and hair nicely tucked in a ponytail was looking at me with questioning eyes. His action should have startled me had I not focused on his eyes.

            Hazel brown eyes with a clarity. I've told you that being a Literature buff I'm really into these verses. His eyes bore a clarity regarding his thoughts that I don't think I'll ever be able to achieve. Without any formality, he just told me that he wanted to paint me the way I was marveling the beauty of the architecture. I was so carried away by the way he was looking at me that all I could do was nod my head. He painted me. It wasn't a portrait or something. He painted me sideways due to which a little light was falling on my face and the rest was increasing the beauty of a darwaza of the Qila. Breeze had kind of tangled my hair but the way he painted those tangles, it looked like a new sheen was added to my hair. He told me the purpose that his paintings would be showcased in a gallery and as he painted me almost without an approval contract, he wouldn't be keeping the painting or selling it but would give it back to me.

            That was my first of many meetings with him. I went to his exhibition and realized that my painting was kind of modest in front of his other work. Even if he was startled to see me there he didn't say anything and like a gentleman he gave me back my painting. And since then I kind of knocked the door of his studio every now and then without any cause. At first he was kind of frustrated with the idyllic chit chat. Then we came on a mutual agreement, that he would paint me the way he would want and would showcase it in his exhibitions. (Like I told earlier, I'm not beautiful but super influencing. So, I guess it did its work on him also).

            "Kavya, will you please pay attention? I've to finish this portrait by tomorrow or the effort would be wasted." I felt a pang of disappointment but then pulled my thoughts together so that he could get what he wanted. He wasn't into small talks and frankly neither was I. He intimidated me to such a level that I preferred to keep my mouth shut but then there were days when I wanted to tell him everything that I was feeling but then never did thinking what would be his reaction. But honestly there were times when I wished that while painting me he would just start talking or probably listen to what all I've to say. However I knew it would never happen.

            At times I wonder why everytime I ended up coming to his studio? What was it that I was searching that ended there? Though I never got any answer but I guess I never needed any too. I had fallen in for him the day I looked into his eyes and the problem was that even if he knew it he made it evident that it was never possible. At times I wanted to ask him if he was blind to see what I felt for him? And if he wasn't blind why wouldn't he tell me to back off in case he didn't want me? Although I was glad that he didn't. My psyche has got so used to of these visits to his studio that even the thought of stopping them was enough to give me a heart attack. God! So like Tess of the d'Urbervilles quote - "O my love, why do I love you so!" she whispered there alone; "for she you love is not my real self but one in my image; the one I might have been!"

Anyways, for him I was just like others. I existed that's it, but for me when he became one and only I had no idea. And with every other day he was becoming much more than he was yesterday. Honestly, this intensity of my feelings for him scared me. Not that it could make me turn into a demon but it could unleash the monster inside me and it was eating me slowly and steadily. Many times I wanted not to come back to his studio again. He might not even miss me. But every time I betrayed my own vow to just get a glimpse of him. It wasn't love but it was insanity. Somehow my sanity had found its abode in my insanity only.

            How I wish to be able to touch him or to wrap my arms around him to actually feel that he was real and not figment of my imagination but I couldn't do that. Not that he would stop me (or maybe he will) but I didn't think I was allowed to do that. What would you say to those feelings wherein you feel that your life orbits around a person but somehow you don't have even basic right on him? Wherein you can't hold his hand without raising an eyebrow? Does anyone like to feel that vulnerable and miserable? I certainly don't. I hated the hold he had on me and that I wasn't able to breakfree myself from that shackle. Infinite times I've told myself to put a stop to my misery and move on, afterall there is not even a relationship in between us still I'm not able to break that umbilical cord. Kavya, who people think have such influencing powers that she can move heaven and Earth sits her engulfed in misery for a man whom she loves the most but can't even tell him the same. I hope that someday he might realize and just look at me lovingly even if it is for once.

            Nevertheless, sitting there I was sure of one thing. I couldn't do that more. A tear dropped from my eye. He saw it but as usual didn't point it out. He did look disturbed for a few seconds and somehow I badly wanted to stand up from his chair and without any words just hug me as if he had acknowledged my pain and feelings for him and was allowing me to move on. But he never did. I didn't try to stop my tears. They kept on rolling and he kept on painting.

            Suddenly his voice brought me back to reality. "Finally the portrait is done." His tone didn't sound victorious but it sounded like that of a soldier who was so tired of fighting that once the battle got over he didn't even care to know who won. All he wanted to was to take refuge of something that could save his withered body from crumbling. I got up nervously and for the first time his expressions matched mine. I dropped myself to my knees and slowly moved my fingers on his face. My eyes closed as if I wanted to lock the sensation forever. Before he had time to think and retaliate, I hugged him hard. I was expecting to be thrown away but at first he was stunned and then his body tensed thereby relaxing later on.

            "I don't think I would be able to come again." He took few seconds to understand what I actually meant and suddenly I felt his grip tightening around me.

            "You're doing the right thing and it's about time that you end this misery that you have brought on to yourself." I stirred in his grip but he didn't let go of his hold on me. "And don't think I don't know or appreciate. It just can't happen."

            With this I let my tears roll down in their full glory. We sat there for a long time. After I was completely spent, I got up and looked at him once last time. His eyes bore the same clarity that was there when I first met him.

            Time passed and I kept my promise. I never went inside his studio but I never stopped visiting his studio. Every time I visited, I kind of glazed from window and saw him doing one thing or another on the canvass. My insanity still prevails over my sanity. My feelings still grow stronger for him with every passing day. I'll break my promise that day when I would feel that I can no longer live the rest of my life in the warmth of his hug. After all some Benaam Khwahishein should be left the way they are.