Maya , Oh Maya

Maya , Oh Maya

Written By : Sanjay Shharma

Desire is not a quiet thing.

It is a fever, a thirst, a gnawing ache that begins somewhere deep in the belly—
and spreads like wildfire.

It does not ask for permission.

A glance across a crowded room.
A woman adjusting the pleats of her saree, fingers grazing the curve of her hip—
unaware of the storm she has just summoned.

The scent of jasmine in the night, wrapping around a man like an invisible silk noose.

Men are not drawn to women.
They are drawn to their own hunger.

The thrill is in the chase, in the almost, in the what if?

They see a woman across the street, the way the kohl in her eyes deepens when she smiles, and suddenly—
they must have her.

Not for love.
Not even for lust.
But for conquest.

They will shower her with attention, spend fortunes to win her favor,
craft poetry in the heat of their wanting.

And if she gives in?

If she surrenders, lets him drink from the cup of her body,
hear her gasp his name in the dark,
lets him claim the softness of her neck in his mouth—

The hunger vanishes.

The chase was the ecstasy.
The capture is the ruin.

And so, the cycle begins again.

Some women learn this truth early.

They know that desire is not in giving, but in the art of withholding.

They master the dance—
the way a dupatta slips but never falls,
the way a glance lingers but never commits.

They understand that a man does not crave what is given—
he craves what is denied.

They let him worship at the altar of their beauty,
let him kneel, let him beg, let him burn.

And just when he believes he has reached the divine—

They turn away.

They are Maya—
the illusion, the mirage, the forever unattainable.

And men?

They empty their pockets, their souls, their sanity,
believing they are choosing—
never realizing they are being chosen.

But not all women are Maya.

Some are wives.

Women who were once the goddesses men chased,
but now lie beside them, night after night,
familiar, known, possessed.

A wife is not chased.
She is kept.

The husband who once ached for her now sees her without looking.

The lips he once dreamed of tasting—
now remind him to buy vegetables.

The curves he once worshipped—
now blend into the background of routine.

The perfume she wears—
no longer summons him,
no longer ignites him,
no longer undoes him.

And so, he hungers again.

Not for her.

For the chase.

For the thrill of new skin,
new mystery,
new surrender.

A married man walks into a café and sees a woman adjusting her hair
in the reflection of a spoon.

He notices the delicate slope of her neck,
the way her bangles catch the light,
and suddenly—

he is alive again.

Not because he loves her.
Not because he even knows her.
But because she is unknown.

She is not yet his.

And so, he will lean in,
speak softer,
let his fingers brush against hers as he hands her the menu.

He will wake up earlier, dress sharper, smell better—
not for the woman who has spent years beside him,
but for the one who has never touched him at all.

And his wife?

She will see it in the way he smiles at his phone,
in the new energy in his step,
in the way he no longer lingers in bed
but rushes to be somewhere… anywhere.

And she will wonder—

When did she stop being the chase?
When did she become the kept?

Desire is a drug.

Most men will never stop chasing it.

They will go from woman to woman,
believing the next will satisfy them in a way the last could not.

They will lie, cheat, spend, destroy—
all for the promise of the unknown.

But there are some—few, rare, different—who see through the illusion.

Who know that no woman, no body, no night of passion
will ever be enough.

Because the hunger is not in the woman—
it is in the man.

And the wise man?

He does not chase.
He does not hunger.
He does not seek fulfillment in the next body,
the next touch,
the next sigh in the dark.

He creates his own fire.

And that is a hunger no mere skin can satisfy.

But Maya, oh Maya—

She is watching.

She sees the ones who chase,
and the ones who burn.

One night, she lets herself be caught.

She lets him taste the illusion,
lets him believe he has won.

She moans,
she trembles,
she shudders in his arms—

And then…

she laughs.

A soft, knowing laugh.

The kind that shatters worlds.

And in that moment, he knows.

Knows that the conquest was always a trick of the mind,
a game played on his own desires.

He watches her slip away—
like smoke, like mist,
like a dream he can never hold.

And in the hollow silence she leaves behind,
he finally understands.

He was never chasing a woman.

He was chasing his own emptiness.

And the wife?

She does not wait to be the kept.

One day, she steps into the light.

She is no longer routine.

She is mystery.

The wife who was once forgotten now moves with a new fire,
a new glow,
a scent he does not recognize,
a smile that is not his to claim.

And suddenly—

She is the chase.

She is the Maya he cannot hold,
the fire he cannot tame,
the hunger that has no end.

And now—

he burns.

And so it goes…

The world will keep spinning.
Men will keep chasing.
Women will keep luring.

Some will wake up to the truth.
Most will remain fools.

And Maya?

She will smile in the shadows,
watching them all…

Because fascinating the fools
is the oldest seduction of all.

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About the Author

Sanjay Shharma is an engineer, management graduate, and second-generation entrepreneur with over 35 years of experience in shaping products, markets, teams, and institutions. Deeply rooted in Indian culture and the unspoken rhythms of life, his writing weaves sharp psychological insight with evocative storytelling. He dissects human desires, relationships, and societal shifts with an observer’s eye and a philosopher’s heart, compelling readers to confront the illusions they chase. In a world caught between tradition and modernity, his narratives provoke, question, and linger—long after the last word is read.