My Secret Orchard

I chuckle discreetly whenever they call me 'stone hearted', 'inhuman idol', 'unromantic', 'unfeminine' and the like. They do not know my secret orchard where I have planted my softer emotions and fantasies, to be nurtured and savored only by me. I believe that love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret. I am too unrealistic, wanting to relish every drop of my pleasure truly to myself. If I would attempt to rove in my orchard unfettered, well that  is what I am doing right now..

Romance is a state of mind, and I had felt romantic in the golden rays of the setting sun, which crept in through my window curtain; in the rain and breeze when I was standing on a hill temple with no roof to run for shelter, all these were in my teens. I had felt the same romance when I dreamt of the crowned Sun God driving a chariot, bright and shining. I also had a beautiful dream when I saw the  silvery full moon floating down above a lake, the reflection of the lake on the moon and a garland of jasmine  falling down and reaching just above my head and the then twenty year old me, jumping with stretched hands attempting to touch the flowers. I guess my finger tips slightly brushed on the cool petals, giving me the romance of a life time.  

It would be a deception if I wind up my romantic encounters with pointers to nature alone. The face is not clear in my mind yet, but I had been in love with this man whom I have never met, heard or known except in my mind. It is before him alone that I transform to a complete woman, wanting to be pampered and teased, at the same time. He would reach me to the height of anger and would hug me from behind when I turn away  in protest. I am sure I would slap him then. We would philosophize from our armchair, and sip an Irish Coffee. I would read a favourite work, listening to his plecktrum on the strings. I would pick a fight with him for no reason, would let the ego clash harder, hurt him, irritate him and be so unreasonable that he would swear and even raise his hand and punch on the wall behind me desperately and out of anger. He is the one for whom my ego will yield and a set of tears will roll down my cheeks whenever I give in after a fight. And I would mischeviously steal a puff from his burning fag, after we make love.

I am happy in my lovely orchard and would’nt let anyone enter!