Lust

I must have gone crazy that by as early as 10:30, this is my fourth post of the day. Am I in some kind of blog writing spree, or I want to reach the number of 50 as soon as possible. Nothing of that sort. Had my wish been reaching 50, I would have dug up my Google mail archives and found as many scraps as I wanted. Now am I in some kind of spree, its unlikely, I have always thought in the smallest of the matters and flied as far as possible erasing the tracks behind. How do you think I got insomnia? Many nights I crash into my bed close my eyes and wander inside myself. There are criss-crossed echoing tunnels inside me and I stroll on those tunnels with nothing specific to do. I fumble across smallest of thing, person or event and they get expanded and expanded until I have wasted a lot of my sleep. I turn from one side to another and if its too late, the sleeping pill comes to the rescue. I gulp those pills at the cost of the next day which is destined to become hazy.
Now again I have drifted from the basic theme which I wanted to write upon. This always happens with me. Now I can’t remember for sure what it was when I was writing the first line of this post. I was occupied with not less than ten things. I have myriad of subjects competing to be written religion, today’s children, google, creativity, travelling, and blogs. Let me give this space to the lady who sells the tea leaves and grains near our regular restaurant.
Well, she is not a beautiful woman per se. A mid-sized woman of Mongolian origin but has peculiar kind of shyness which the women of Mongol origin especially the Sherpas do not have. She however has a very attractive body, a body anyone would like to hold, embrace with strength with pure lust and nothing more. Her face does not have any kind of innocence but an impressive brightness, an impeccable energy. She is always spotted in her trademark vest and washed jeans that make her look seductive. I have heard her speak. Her tone is low yet clear. She appears like a character who is breathed to life. Its not love she sprouts, its pure lust in its crudest form but this lust does not spring with hatred but with love, love for that well carved body. Now when I say a well carved body its not like those of seductive models of 24X36X36 or something of that sort. Its tight rather bulged. She does not have something that will keep her alive in memory long after one sees her but she is a good watch.
I usually do not like dyed hair. The hair look discolored, it seems as if the natural color has been cursed to loose its beauty. Her hair is dyed blonde but it has brought no risk to her beauty. I am not her lover so I do not remember how she manages her hair but I think she clips them but I am not sure. Its not however the hair I would like to caress but it looks good on her.
There are not many occasions where our eyes have collided but whenever they have hers have faltered. Its inherent to her personality and she would behave thus whenever she looks at a stranger. I have studied her in small quanta of time like a subject to ponder upon as if a piece of renaissance art in a museum. I do not mean women are objects, they are the creators but here it’s a different theme I have taken up.
Why in all these days, I chose to pick her up to be written? Well I had never been able to imagine her (though I don’t remember thinking about her when she is not around my sight) without the same vest and washed jeans. She surprised me and many others by picking a kurta-salwar. I am no designer so I don’t know what the design of her kurta is but it’s a tight kind of kurta obviously to make woman look sexier. She had spotted a green kurta but it was a no match. I don’t know what it was but I know not all colors match to everyone. Green was not a matching color for her. She was running from one shop to next asking if they have a thousand rupee change but no one had.
Yes my lust arouses when I see her but calms down just as she disappears from the sight.