It has always been Love!

 First love is overrated..my thoughts when I was in love for the first time. But then I was not to know that that was not going to be the only love saga in my life. There was magic of course; chemistry, very much, but chimes in air, stars in the eyes...phew..

      My childhood crush proposed to me (Mind you, he did, not I!). Tall and handsome, obviously, he was. But what made me blush when he was not around was his aggression; be in sports or in classes or when we chose to bunk both and burn rubber atop his Royal Enfield. Wide and relatively empty Ring Roads during early evenings were our haunts. Zooming past the startled cattle in the adjacent fields and overtaking the random trucks, it was breathtaking and exhilarating. 

      One day, he asked me to drive, though his bike was supposed to be all masculine, it was not all that tough. But within a couple of kilometers, I did what I thought was not possible. I hit the edge of the pavement while trying to avoid a small rock and crashed into a pushcart and another bike parked next into it. I sat dazed and wordless on the road. After a few minutes, when the world again came into focus, I realized we were not injured except for bruises due to sliding sideways on the asphalt. I turned and saw him handling the pushcart peddler and two angry youth who obviously owned the bike we dashed into. Right mix of aggression, persuasion and suiting body language, despite myself, I smiled. Smiled at my choice, smiled at my future and smiled also because his trousers were torn from behind and I suddenly knew he wears boxers. Of course, I did not mention all this when we took the road again; only whispered in his ears, ‘I love you’; he was surprised but very pleased as I hardly coo such endearments in the typical girly fashion.

     I was not for ‘settling well’ kind of romances where your families approve and fix dates, elaborate rituals, grandiose mandap and fancy sounding menu, never ending festivities. He agreed with me, joking even that, he would rethink of our marriage if he ever had to go through all this rigmarole.

     I was 22. I was in love. New in a cushy job and future never looked more assured. Being in the same city means our encounters were often and our fights, which were often too, ended in increased love.

    Whenever they say, “Dreams coming true” kind of phrases, I used to chuckle and wanted to tell them, whoever they were, that one needs to wake up too!

    Well, I did wake up and that was a hard and harsh reality I woke up to.

    It would be bollywoodish to say parents did not approve of our adventures, but they had almost imprisoned me for a few weeks and married me off in haste.

   Whatever I thought I would never do in a marriage, I did; draped in a very expensive and a very heavy attire, I took Phere in a glorious mandap surrounded by equally heavily attired relatives whose exercise of time pass for those days was my wedding. When I saw my husband obliging all those ‘buas’, ‘mausis’ with a wide and plastic smile, something inside me died.

   I missed my boyfriend, badly; those rides on the empty roads, the confident conversations with other roadies, the hero of the college and my dreams. I heard time heals all wounds but I was not sure of it as in my case it was numbness and a massive indifference. What is life, I thought, but a strange admixture in the crucible of fate!

   We had a girl with my husband’s good looks and my rebellious (but, useless) streak. Rebellious, my foot, I could not stand up to my parents when my marriage was brought onto me so early and in such a grand fashion! I saw more of my younger self in my daughter and that depressed me.

   Before we perceived her change from diapers to denims, coloring books to literary classics, cartoon network to HBO, she was all grown up. Her choice of career, journalism did puzzle us. That puzzlement turned into consternation when she brought home her boy friend announcing their intention of marrying, eventually, of course.

   We agreed, as if there was any other choice. Of course, his was a case, which was rested before the appeal itself. I could not have chosen a better husband for our daughter. My husband also had fallen in line, again, as if he had some choice. One thing, I noticed in my husband, during all these years, was his immediate obedience to my diktats and later to our daughter’s. Why men become like these after marriage, I used to wonder. All these instances still make me miss my boy friend. (Don’t glare at me, not very often)

   Oh my! My daughter has a boyfriend and ready for the wedding and I still rant about missing my boyfriend of some 30 years ago.

   My daughter, hence she chose a very inconvenient time to be iconoclastic. She refused to wear the one tonne heavy bridal dress and the rituals that were to extend into the early hours of the morning. Wedding is not for tiring ourselves out only for enjoying a grand family time, she reminded both the sides. Both sides naturally were furious. I was giving her a piece of my mind about traditions, values and what the hell, about out prestige and image in the society if we do not fall in line by imitating all the gala weddings that happened before. Then my husband for some strange reason, sided with my daughter.

    He argued and he argued well for a middle path. His aggression was measured but well directed. He was polite but never let go off what our daughter wanted. Luckily our prospective son in law also took this in which eventually helped my husband to win the day. Bridal attire got a few quintals lighter, rituals were to end by eleven and most importantly the grand reception would be replaced by a dinner at home. I was looking at my daughter who was beaming with ill concealed pride for her father.

    It was like seeing my husband for the first time. This avatar of his was a surprise revelation. Naturally, I was reminded of ‘him’ – to be reminded of him gave me a jolt. I never perceived my husband to be capable of such behavior, aggressive and confident.

     I didn’t think I would ever fall in love again. I know that everyone says that after a heartbreak, but the difference is that I’m not heartbroken. I’m not cynical, or pessimistic, or sad. I’m just someone who once felt something bigger than anything else I’d ever felt and when I lost it, I honestly believed I would never have that again. But... I was 22 then and life is long. And I’m feeling things right now that I haven’t in a long, long time. 

   That night he was changing for going to bed. I went up to him, and said in his ears, ‘I love you’. He turned around with surprise and smiled as this was after a very long time.

   ‘I love you too, dear...what happened’

   ‘Nothing. Can’t I say that to my husband?’

   ‘You can and please do it as often as possible’, he hugged me.

  Then I asked,

  ‘Can I ask you something?”

  ‘yep?’

  ‘Why do you like wearing boxers? I have been thinking of asking this since those days of our road trips?’

  His laughter was not exactly an answer. But I was in love again.