EMINENT LOVE
The value of friendship
​

Surrounded by the scents of jasmine as she graced the sacred steps towards her love, her lace intricacies casted shadows alongside her own. A calling of friendship interrupted her heart beat for a moment to establish a new chapter of her liking; true love. Her heartfelt desire to be with him was her dream come true. Alisha was ready to start her life but before I tell her story, allow me to elaborate upon her bridal henna diary. Grandmother, her mother and best friend were conversing in the early morning of Alisha Lalji's mehndi moments. Her aftercare was being prepared as she went for an adventure starting with a hairdryer. I arrived to Whitby, Ontario on June 27th while being greeted by her very intrusive cat. What a bumble and bee. This kitty was nonchalant about her wedding as well as very much interrogative while she lay there wherever we would be. When it came to adorning her feet the desire to have some space was persuasively interrupted by an adorable meow-sigh of 1, 2, 3..there was much more.

Alisha - definition (Sanskrit) protected by God.

How beautiful. So, she was a blessing bestowed on her family. How perfectly woven she was within her family and friends. She had approached me online while I was in London, England last year and we scheduled in an online consultation at 1 am - Toronto time. As an entrepreneur one is always excited to establish good relations with their clients. In addition to that, I was going through a hard time sleeping when I knew my family in Toronto was celebrating the sun's rays and of course my significant other who I couldn't bare to be a part from. The vows of friendship started to call on old memories. 

It took me some time to render her design as she is also an Artist; a creative individual, a visionary, a possible critic and most importantly a valued artisan. I knew that I had to envision a pattern that would evoke not only her own stories but an exceptional rendering of fine lines and filled filigree that would adorn her hands with lush greens and florals. The vines which encircled her ambient friendship and eternal love churned a wine of reds and deep mahogany on the insides of her palms and crawled curiously throughout her arms and feet. When I received these beautiful photographs from photographer Gillian Williamson I was moved by the modesty in the ornamental details seen in her diary once again. 

As I hold my breath and let it relax throughout my ribcage, I feel the need to talk to love. As love is my truest friend and comes in all colours. To love, this is what I wrote today: "Love with all its thoughts on you. Devouring its subtle glances as you moved. ​I was there, inquisitive for every detail that made you, you. Tranquilized by labour and the day's work, I let go of my every sorrow and turned to you with kindness and forgiveness. Never to forgive myself for the pain that I brought to you. You were always delighted and I shared my pain with you. You never uttered a word of sympathy and congratulated my motive. Each notion paid tribute to my undying note of orchestrating chaos. You still loved me love. You quote my beauty with verses of great voyage and deliver a beautiful smile. I am loud and independent, yet, I cannot fathom any commitment without your consent. I wish to become you as you desire me.

Love 
    & 
Tea

Photography: Monika Mistry

 
COME into the garden, Maud,
  For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
  I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,        5
  And the musk of the rose is blown.
 
For a breeze of morning moves,
  And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
  On a bed of daffodil sky,        10
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
  To faint in his light, and to die.
 
All night have the roses heard
  The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d        15
  To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till silence fell with the waking bird,
  And a hush with the setting moon.
 
I said to the lily, “There is but one
  With whom she has heart to be gay.        20
When will the dancers leave her alone?
  She is weary of dance and play.”
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
  And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone        25
  The last wheel echoes away.
 
I said to the rose, “The brief night goes
  In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
  For one that will never be thine?        30
But mine, but mine,” I sware to the rose,
  “For ever and ever, mine.”
 
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
  As the music clash’d in the hall:
And long by the garden lake I stood,        35
  For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
  Our wood, that is dearer than all;
 
From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
  That whenever a March-wind sighs        40
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
  In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
  And the valleys of Paradise.
 
The slender acacia would not shake        45
  One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
  As the pimpernel doz’d on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
  Knowing your promise to me;        50
The lilies and roses were all awake,
  They sigh’d for the dawn and thee.
 
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
  Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,        55
  Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
  To the flowers, and be their sun.
 
There has fallen a splendid tear
  From the passion-flower at the gate.        60
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
  She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near;”
  And the white rose weeps, “She is late;”
The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;”        65
  And the lily whispers, “I wait.”
 
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
  Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
  Were it earth in an earthy bed;        70
My dust would hear her and beat,
  Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
  And blossom in purple and red.