Skip to main content

Kissy-kissy...

It's a strange thing it is...kissing... I feel I am, at 40, very inured to the lure of a kiss...and from what I hear and the little I know, not many people are particularly good at it.
On the surface of it, it's pretty gross...saliva, bad breath, germs, non-skeletal organs twisting in battle...it should be enough to kill romance surely? we kiss in anger, we kiss to turn off thought, we kiss to turn off and turn on...we kiss out of affection we kiss to cover up hate...we kiss to maintain distance, we kiss to obliterate it...it's a pretty darn amazing gesture actually...
But somewhere in the deep recesses of the human soul is the need for that one perfect moment...we can live without it but we cannot live without the hope of it...

So what is it about a kiss that draws us so...in that perfect movie moment, when somehow looking into another's soul can only be sealed with a kiss...a pouring in of one soul into another through breath...in that one-breath stealing breath melding moment of togetherness...
it's a thing of beauty really that even my cynical self cannot deny...where there is promise...there is hope...and truly there is love...when there is dewy-eyed romance and the dew is in the audience's eyes even more than the participants...that is a kiss that is worth writing about...that is possibly a kiss worth waiting for...dare I say it?...Dying for...
So as I watch my latest kiss-y moment in the split second before the lips lock I hold my breath and pray for the protagonist's happiness..for a kiss a day can keep a lifetime's sadness at bay...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Blessed to write

I spent some time tonight going through blogs and thinking about stuff...I've spent a few years locking myself away and have grieved only one thing the most..the loss of my words...a comment on another blog left me grateful and humbled...when the mind finds a way to read, to write, to paint to dance to sing, it's a gift that ought not to be taken lightly. I spent a joyous half hour with my daughter tonight ostensibly helping her write a speech...what it helped was to free me from self-imposed cages of the mind. It's a hard habit to break when one pretends one does not need to write. especially when it is the one thing one cherishes the most...so I shall see how long my gratefulness and humility last...how long I can put pen to paper and try to write...not to publish nor be read but for windows to the soul and for the soul...a voice that begs to be heard apart from the recesses of one's brain....so write I shall till I can...for it makes me whole again...

Of pigeons

All dressed in gray, with a touch of black and white, The mighty pigeon heads home tonight! Why, if I had only the right, I would give them such a fight. A peskier bird you would be hard pressed to find, Annoying and fit to drive me out of my mind! Pigeon poop as sticky as glue, I hate the pigeons, I tell you I do. Pigeons, oh God! the dreadful pigeons, they do talk at you, Gurgle-gurgle...would it be so hard to coo? Many a time the nonsense they spout, Makes you want to chase them out! Flapping their wings, all a-flutter, They do houses clutter, While annoying the poor housewife, Driving her to madness, within an inch of her life! So, dear friends, I beg of you, When a pigeon you find, Chase the feathered menace away, Before you do lose your mind! P.S. This was from a long while ago... And now I know the answer to the pigeon riddle, I hide myself away and don't give a fiddle!

Feeling for roots

For those who know me, the rant I go off on about being "displaced" is not a new one. I went through a period of putting down roots in this great and free land and somehow these past few years, those tentative spreads to "settling down" seem to have badly failed. So now I am in the "when can I return" phase of the life of an immigrant. Into this equation is a new variable: D-Poo. She's of course an ABCD (American born confused desi for those of my audience who STILL don't know it)who says: "schooal" and "yennai," has never been to a temple and has no concept of eating "kaamam" at all. Has never had dosai/idli for breakfast and wouldn't miss it. But somehow I want her to. I have long held dear the claim to myself and all and sundry that a new land when adopted has to be in all its glory: dating for all and meat in the lunchroom even for Tam-brahms and white boys to marry. I have freely mocked the old fuddy-duddies ...