Conversation

Conversation

(Entries NOW closed)

1.	informal interchange of thoughts, information, etc., by spoken words; oral communication between persons; talk; colloquy.

2.	an instance of this.

3.	association or social intercourse; intimate acquaintance.

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Free Woman (137)

Lovers that left without a goodbye

Did you meet someone new, was everything a lie?

Did I do something wrong, when did you decide

That this was not it…I wonder if you cried

I don’t want you back, just want to know why

To ask all the questions, and for you to reply

To have one last conversation, to find peace of mind

To move on with my life, and leave you behind

Loved ones that died when it was least expected

Did I tell you enough, you were loved and respected?

How much you meant to me, what an impact you had

The stories I remember, both happy and sad

Your time was up, and you had to go

Just wish I had told you all I wanted you to know

To have one last conversation…

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Niharika (131)

Crumpling the warrant he walked unsteadily towards the criminal , surrounded by an inquisitive crowd.

Remembering coversations aeons ago "Neighbours have shunned us because of my vocation , I'm sending Vincet away to a land where he wont be known as my son ". Everyday Vincet would ask "Dad can we go for a walk over the bridge and talk ? ". Hurrying away he would reply in a gruff voice "No, I have a sentence to execute ! "

Wishing he had given his son a ear ! Made him understand that his family didnt exile him with hate but love !

His hand was on the lever ,quivering ..Vincet s neck was on the guillotine .. theirs eyes met ..

It was the widest bridge and lengthiest conversation !

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Amandeep Parmar (120)

When the white zen used to tread on those half-hearted roads, there was always a silent mischief in progress. I used to think about the TV channels. Would I miss them? The rickety old man who refused to call me Aman without 'deep' attached to it was no more. They gave my cousin an iron bell with a wooden hammer. I carried a bunch of peacock feathers as they carried him through the village to the crematory. Every now and then my cousin would hit the bell and I would wave the feathers over his body. How does it feel to be telepathic with the deceased? I could hear "Amandeep!" – Loud and Clear. How do you end such a conversation?

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Duperman (120)

"The thing about cats is" the fireman told me, "They suck."

80 year old Pansy Pingleton's 8 year old cat had managed to climb a tree only to realize that it had done the wrong thing.

"Someone has to get her down" I made a futile attempt to invoke cat-love in the fireman who was listening to his I Pod to avoid hearing Pansy's shrieks.

He looked at me contemptuously, "Why don't you do it, Mr. Fancy Dress?"

The conversation with the heartless fireman had ignited my saving the world instinct.

I dusted my silver robe and in one jump got up the tree and got the cat down.

The fireman was dumbstruck as Pansy shouted, "Duperman saved my cat"

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Richa Gupta (110)

Bharitye rail ki general bogie
Apne jheli to kabhi zaroor hogi!!
Ek din hamara bhi number aaya,
Jab general bogie ne humko bulaya.
Chad gaye le kar hari ka naam-
Raksha karma hey bhagwan.
Kisi ne maari kohni kisi ne dhakka lagaya
Finally bogie ke beecho beech khud ko paya

Wahan ka nazaara tha sabse alag
Lagta tha maano machhli bazaar ho ekdum sajag
Makhiyoon ki bhinbhinat si thi sabki awaaz
Bhinn bhinn the sur pahiyyon ka tha saaz
“abbey dikhta nahi kya” “bhrasth hai sarkar”
“saala kameena kahin ka” kahin thi baatein kahin takraar
dekhi humne general bogie ki yeh nirrali reet
ajnabiyon mein bhi hoti hai jamke baat-cheet

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Mandappa KC (118)

Conversation – doesn't count as a word

For Pidi

She's been long gone now. About three and a half years. Tonnes of times I've reminisced.

Of the 2 years we spent together. We were lost in each other. No futile fantasy or perfunctory sex. No serenading outside windows or threats of slashed wrists.

Time has gone and changed a lot of things like it always does. I don't remember the escapades. I don't remember the details.

All I remember were endless conversations. 9-10 hours every day lost in each others words and worlds. At the end of which we still found enough to write little love letters running pages long.

That's something special, I'll treasure forever.

Endless, meaningful conversations, day after day.

True love is just that.

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Truth Dude (120)

"No."
"No?"
"Never."
"But why?"
"Because..."
"It's not right. It's not what you believe in. It's not what was taught to you."
"Yes."
"Jesus! Get out of your mindset already."
"You don't get to tell me what to do."
"Why not?"
"Because… I'm not your possession.."
"So?"
"So nothing…shut up."
"Bitch."
"Loser."
"I love you."
"I love you too!"
"So can we...?"
"No."
"Aaargh!"
"We can't, it's not right."
"But it wouldn't hurt to try though would it?"
"And why not?"
"Because I stand to get hurt...not you."
"But I'd be hurt too. After all, it's you getting hurt."
"So? Like that hasn't happened before."
"Ok, just this once."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Here you go…"
"What's that?"
"My wallet."
Fataaak.
"Oww!"

Mickey The Monkey (120)

He was the master of conversation. He could talk on any subject. Steering the conversation from mundane to complex was a child's play for him. Page-3 socialites dreaded him. He could dig out their deepest secrets in a few tricky questions. He had a very special guest for tonight's show. He went to the studio unprepared, as usual. On the hot seat was a monkey.

"Hello! Karan, I am Mickey."

"Nice Coffee!"

"Have you seen my latest movie?"

"How did you like my role?"

"How was my chemistry with Jane?"

"How about casting me in your next film?"

The master conversationalist was speechless. "Err! Hello Sir" was all he could mutter to justify his talk show In Konversation with Karan

Sarang Mahajan (120)

When Sharmon’s armed messenger returned, the sky was clear. But soon it might be filled with painful cries and dust clouds, the land beneath it bathing in the blood of many sons, husbands and fathers.

“Jidan will conversate,” said the Messenger, failing to hide hope in his voice.

Sharmon nodded and kicked his horse off. When the two kings met between armies, Jidan, a massive man, scanned Sharmon’s diminutive figure contemptuously.

“I only want your wife, Jidan,” said Sharmon.

“And I your head.” Jidan spat.

“Then let the men return home,” said Sharmon feeling the hidden dagger at his thigh. “Let our own arms decide our fate.”

Jidan nodded with a grunt, then jumped off his horse for a duel.

Lord Summer (120)

“Hello there, my lady! The hilltop is so damn smelly!”

I said to the lovely mare, feeling jitters in my belly

She blinked her eyes befuddled, and my heart went cold and numb

I said in my mind sadly, “Oh no, she’s deaf and dumb.”

But then I smiled wider, striking an honest conversation

Knowing she wouldn’t hear me, I told her my true intention

“I am a looser of a horse, got no grass, nor any stable,

“But I’ll find both if you be with me, for I am quite willing and able.”

She could not hear my words, but in my eyes she could see

When she nodded with a smile, they were filled with joy and glee

Dok Saab (57)

Every time
When she was
With me
In my dreams
Holding her hands
I told her
All I wanted to
Tell her!

But That day
When she was
With me
On that bench
Under the tree
In that park
I became speechless

Still…

She understood
All I wanted to
Tell her!

Our eyes
Did all the

Conversation

Willy Wingfoot (115)

Drooling monsters of my dreams turned to Fairies.

Getting wet in the rain, won over hot coffee by the fireside.

"Sure", always said my tongue, while "Cant!" screamed my mind.

By the window, beneath the moon, fetched me sleep. My AC failed.

Ducks and Doves amused me. And Dogs stared at me, I smiled.

My bathroom found a new stand. My Cell stood upon it.

Thoughts learnt to travel as SMS, and wishes, calls.

I called 3, a crowd.

And my heart thought of its own.

HOW?...you ask....

Before the sea, beside my rigid self,
"Start a Conversation”, said she.
I did.
And so it all began...
as I ended up, confessing,
"I Love You".

NM (118)

I dreamt as a kid, to fly a kite, high in the crimson sky…

To be a hawk at times, at times a butterfly…

To have a white house with pink walls…

To sleep on a cloud, with mom, dad and my two little dolls…

I wished to have a conversation everyday with God…

To tell him all; fair, square, even, and odd…

I smiled, laughed and occasionally cried…

Till time blinked, each dream slowly died…

The dolls withered, the clouds sank…

The kite faded, all hopes shrank…

Mom left dad, I went along…

God fumbled; I think he went wrong…

He made the walls white, the sky grey…

I still hear those broken conversations, far and away.

The Genuine Fake (128)

Silence added to the melancholy of the room, as I sat there, watching Jane changing Amie's fever bands. Amie and I, meanwhile, were in our own unspoken conversation. Expressionless, even when she was rushed to the ER, her gaze asked, "Will it hurt?"
I smiled, saying, "No."
She kept her stark gaze while the doctors tried to revive her decreasing pulse. I held her hand and whispered,"Its time."
Her eyes quizzed me in despair, "Can Mommy come along?"...Another negative.
As her body gave way, she cried, "Will she understand?"
I smiled and replied, "Yes with time."
As we walked through the doorway, her final question was, "Are you God?"
I looked through her this time and replied, "No, I am the Messenger".
The brightness of the dark awaited us.

Misanthrope (110)

And he quaffed from the glass in front of him,

The conversation is about to begin,

Agility of his black eye balls,

And cautious movements of his fist,

A thin line of sweat formed on his forehead,

When he saw that his all sins were not dead !

That little change in the shine of his eyes,

& he feared the pernicious thought that came to his mind,

By stealing sights,

He contrite for the thoughts he saw,

Vestiges of which reflected in his eyes !

I didn't speak a word,

Patience won the conversation again,

Or may be the fear,

That broke the enigmatic charisma of the killer !!!

Priyanka Acharya (120)

Julianne entered the room, smiling at her twin sister. Anna looked peaceful, but then she always did. They both were identical twins, down to the birthmark on their shoulders. Julianne always looked forward to these weekly visits to her sister. It gave her the chance to unload her weekly burden. She narrated about everything that had happened in the whole week - her job-change, the new apartment and the new guy in her life. And Anna listened patiently; at least Julianne hoped she did. It had been two years since Anna had been in a coma and Julianne tried to reach out to her sister with these one-sided conversations, hoping that some day it will help her sister regain consciousness.

Konfessioner Singh (119)

“How I’d love, love, love to dance with my father again…”

I can’t get that lyric out of my head. Especially now, when I’m sitting with my chai in the porch after years… Years after dadaji passed away, years after we last talked.

Those early Sunday mornings, sitting here in the porch, our unending fights over everything in the news with dadima acting as the partial mediator… how he’d mark articles for me to read…I miss him, I miss our conversations and our walks together. What would he have said about my new subjects for example?

He would have approved, I just know it…I guess I have enough conversations stored in me to know what he’d have said…right now.