I wrote this a long time ago. Much has changed since then and most importantly I haven’t written a blog post in ages. In the last month I have attended my first north Indian wedding, was the master of ceremonies at my first corporate event and flew out of the country for the first time. One would think I have many stories to tell, anecdotes to share, abuses to hurl and jokes to crack. But strangely I found the much/less awaited sequel to that post I wrote aeons ago as a fitting comeback. In that post I denounced love, surrendered to a greater understanding and all in all rubbed it in the mud, only to plunge right into deep love just a couple of months later. While that story is not the one you are going to hear this sultry night, what i have to share is just about a couple of people at a table a few days ago in Bangalore who made me realize that it was time to settle this debate or atleast dignify it with another take.
SO like I said, table, people, me. The table being the one at this lovely Coorg cuisine restaurant in Bangalore, the people being some of my closest friends ever and the me being the guy who really found the fork more interesting than some of the conversations at the table. About twenty minutes into that lunch the pace of the conversations picked up and while I began to engage a part of me broke free and sat and watched the people around me. Yes they spoke, with verve and purpose but some of their eyes betrayed them. My good friend was all actions and big eyes as he spoke of a suicide in the floor above while his eyes kept shifting towards his phone, waiting for a call from his love. My best friend’s girl stole glances at his increasingly shocked face while his hand inched closer to hers. The bride to be couldn’t stop blushing even though we spoke of another’s wedding. The youngest of us all watched on in shock and joy while her mind wandered miles away wondering of the hours ahead when she will dial his number and hear his lovely voice and finally my bestie declared war on everyone at the mention of her not ending up with the man of her, well, beautiful reality. And as this transcendental ‘me’ returned back into my own body I realized my mind was empty. There wasn’t an endgame, there wasn’t a point of reference. There seemed to be this purpose within them all driven by their love and it made me wonder if the bubble I was living in was truly never going to burst.
I believe I have known true love and I believe it can be truly, completely and wholeheartedly felt only that one time. Bollywood, of recent has begun to disagree with that notion and so do many others but contrary to thoughts from my earlier post, I believe I have realized that now. This isn’t a timid submission to the power of love, far from it, it is just a the realization of a man finally deciding to accept his fate. While I will continue to choose to stay away from the illusion of love, the faces at that table will always remind me that mine is a long battle and one that I hope I have it in me to stomach. Immersing myself into this realization I reached home that evening, stricken and reeling. While my sister and friends chatted and laughed it slowly came upon me again, that warm fuzzy feeling when your heart melts and you realize that all can be good again. She ran into my arms with her huge eyes and lovely smile as everyone turned towards her. She didn’t have much to say other than, ‘Hi Som Mammu’, and she was gone chasing after her dolls and pieces of paper.
Maybe all wasn’t lost yet. Maybe true love does happen again. My darling niece has laid that debate to rest for sometime now.
Until next time, look out for those eyes…