Apology

No one at his club knows our secret, or so we
Would like to believe. They know me by another
Name, they know me as one who writes poems.
I flutter around wearing mother’s sarees and during
The brief time-outs when I keep to myself, men float up
And settle on either side of my couch trying to know my
Age. I smile and laugh with all the flamboyance of a flirt,
And occasionally one of them would politely ask for a
Picture, in memory of an evening spent with someone who
Writes poems. Once in a while I catch him staring at me from
A crowded corner of the hall, and then, affecting nonchalance
At the pretty sight of me clad in a saree and lost in the company
Of other men. “There is pleasure in this side of the world, too”, I
Tell him, when we later resign into the night. Raising his soft,
Liquid eyes he kisses me gently on the forehead and as I nuzzle
Closer I’m invariably reminded of another face,
Another set of arms,where I had found
A similar unsatisfying warmth…


Now Playing:: Wahin chal mere dil.......Suresh Wadkar