Yellowing Whites...

He had called her. It was her birthday. The first one since the song had broken into its notes, and remerged as a discordant disharmony. From conversations that lasted for hours in the nights, till the moon blue morphed into cloudy pink and melted in the sunny orange; now it was for the few minutes that seemingly stretched into uneasy silences.

Then it was a bouquet of Red Roses, red for passion, red of love. And now white roses, of fading emotions and the white sands drying after the tide has unwillingly retreated. Then her voice seemed to drown in ecstasy. Today it was like a beach that had seen the tempest pass; like the times when you thank the waiter for bringing you the bill; customary.

He had called her twice. Both time said the same customary lines and then hang up. She had called him back, in the night and asked him why did he do that. He had said nothing, for he had nothing to say. What does a bird say to the storm that has taken her nest away? What can a candle say to the storm that has taken away its flame? Somethings gotta give, it was one of those things.

'Things have changed a lot havent they, ? Last year on my borthday it was so different, and this year...?'

' Well it is a different year...'

'Maybe when you come to days like these, when you can actually compare the way things are and the way that they used to be. Then we actually know. Isnt it?'

"Something like relativity?'

'Cant you talk in simple terms?'

He thought, 'are we actually talking? Arent we carrying the sham of a conversation? Trying to console ourselves that even after the tsunami has gone the life goes on. Losing touch with reality in a conjured world of fake foundations and presumed facts, a living rhetoric.'

'So did you celebrate my birthday?'

'Did i...? Celebrate??'

'So were mourning instead?'

'Well i wasnt mourning.. why would i mourn? But the one who has a birthday is the one who celebrates... Isnt it so?'

'Yeah.. okay bye then!'

'Bye.'

Later he called her back, just before the watches reached the 12:00 of the night and calendars made up their minds to take another name and face. He tried to put things into perspective. Told her that how he always ends up saying things like he did, and that she should not let him spoil her moods.

'You also know na, that i cant help my mood fade on hearing such things from you...'

'Yes, I know. We both know...'

'Thankyou so much for making this call...'

'Okay so long then. Once again Happy Birthday before the day ends. Have fun. And take care.'

After hanging up he thought. She who used to get angry when he didnt call on the not-so-special days; had actually thanked him when he called on her birthday. What hurt him was that ease had turned to disease. And natural was now mass manufactured. But what hurt him the most was that she had meant it when she thanked him.

He thought about the way things had changed themselves in the months that made the recent history. He could see the textures morph, the colors change. He could see those peach and white roses that he had sent, wither and wilt in the window sill of her room. The peach turning brown, the whites turning yellow...