It’s been 8 years now and up until this moment, I have never wondered about this. I have been trying for most of the night but for the life of me, I can’t remember when I first saw her. I can’t remember when I first realized that we belonged together, that we were in love. I feel like I have always known her, that I have always been in love. There was no jolt of electricity, no lightning in the skies, there was just us. We always knew. No one had to proclaim love, nor propose. We just were.
It’s rather ironic that I am trying to figure out the beginning now, when the end is near. Or is it already here and I am stubbornly refusing to take it like a man? I’m not sure. I haven’t been sure of anything since the last 4 days, except for the voice in my head telling me that life isn’t possible without her in it.
A thousand messages a day and a hundred phone calls each day to tide me over until I could see her each evening for an hour after work. It begins with her “Morning sleepy head” and ends with her “U better go now, I need to sleep!!!” Weekends full of long drives, long lunches, long sweet nothings. I know no other way to spend a day.
It took us 8 years to fall into the routine of a married couple before we broached the subject with each other. We always knew we were going to get married. For all intents and purposes, we already were. Of course, our parents didn’t know that.
Her parents didn’t know that I loved her more than anything else in the world, that I would keep her happier than anyone else could ever imagine, that I would do anything for her no matter what, that she loved me as much as I her. They knew just one thing.
Mine didn’t know that she was the prettiest girl in the world, that she had the nicest heart anyone could possibly have, that she always topped her class, that she sang like an angel, that she loved me, that she was my life. They knew just one thing.
They knew just one thing. She prays in a temple. I pray in a church.
It had always amused me that she would want to wear a saree every fortnight to visit the temple. My “Who wears a salwar kameez, jeans are so much cooler” sweetheart, would wear beautiful sarees, put a string of jasmine flowers in her hair, put a pretty bindi on her forehead, line her eyes with kajal, put a dozen bangles(that have to match the color of her saree). She would pray to her heart’s content while I would try to have a polite albeit awkward conversation with her God. She would add a line of sandalwood paste above the bindi and look the part of the perfect woman. “God I love her” was always my way of ending my prayers.
And when we went to the church together, once in a month, she would worry about her footwear, about standing together, about how she was to pray to my God.
We hadn’t realized they were differences. We just treated that like it was just another habit that each other had and accommodated it into our lives. I mean, we live in the same city, we follow the same culture, we speak the same language, we studied the same subjects, we work in the same company, we eat the same food, we watch the same movies. And we started praying in the same places too.
We went to our parents’ home on Saturday to tell them we wanted to get married. Our prayers must have fallen short somewhere or we probably never bothered to pray about our parents agreeing for our marriage. All heavens and parts of hell broke loose upon us. My parents were displeased with me, but I will make sure things turn around. At the other end, the second her parents heard my name, they point blank refused to entertain any more conversation. They didn’t let her come back even to work. They aren’t talking to her. She’s all alone even at her own home. And I am so far away unable to do anything.
We talk occasionally but they are conversations I have never had before. The worry is eating away at her. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to console her. I don’t know how to console myself. I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is despair. The sadness I feel on the inside shows in my eyes. And here I am wondering how things got so bad so fast. And I wonder how long it has been that I haven’t set eyes on her. I wonder when I saw her for the first time.
This cannot be an ending. I can’t let it be. I won’t let it be.
It’s rather ironic that I am trying to figure out the beginning now, when the end is near. Or is it already here and I am stubbornly refusing to take it like a man? I’m not sure. I haven’t been sure of anything since the last 4 days, except for the voice in my head telling me that life isn’t possible without her in it.
A thousand messages a day and a hundred phone calls each day to tide me over until I could see her each evening for an hour after work. It begins with her “Morning sleepy head” and ends with her “U better go now, I need to sleep!!!” Weekends full of long drives, long lunches, long sweet nothings. I know no other way to spend a day.
It took us 8 years to fall into the routine of a married couple before we broached the subject with each other. We always knew we were going to get married. For all intents and purposes, we already were. Of course, our parents didn’t know that.
Her parents didn’t know that I loved her more than anything else in the world, that I would keep her happier than anyone else could ever imagine, that I would do anything for her no matter what, that she loved me as much as I her. They knew just one thing.
Mine didn’t know that she was the prettiest girl in the world, that she had the nicest heart anyone could possibly have, that she always topped her class, that she sang like an angel, that she loved me, that she was my life. They knew just one thing.
They knew just one thing. She prays in a temple. I pray in a church.
It had always amused me that she would want to wear a saree every fortnight to visit the temple. My “Who wears a salwar kameez, jeans are so much cooler” sweetheart, would wear beautiful sarees, put a string of jasmine flowers in her hair, put a pretty bindi on her forehead, line her eyes with kajal, put a dozen bangles(that have to match the color of her saree). She would pray to her heart’s content while I would try to have a polite albeit awkward conversation with her God. She would add a line of sandalwood paste above the bindi and look the part of the perfect woman. “God I love her” was always my way of ending my prayers.
And when we went to the church together, once in a month, she would worry about her footwear, about standing together, about how she was to pray to my God.
We hadn’t realized they were differences. We just treated that like it was just another habit that each other had and accommodated it into our lives. I mean, we live in the same city, we follow the same culture, we speak the same language, we studied the same subjects, we work in the same company, we eat the same food, we watch the same movies. And we started praying in the same places too.
We went to our parents’ home on Saturday to tell them we wanted to get married. Our prayers must have fallen short somewhere or we probably never bothered to pray about our parents agreeing for our marriage. All heavens and parts of hell broke loose upon us. My parents were displeased with me, but I will make sure things turn around. At the other end, the second her parents heard my name, they point blank refused to entertain any more conversation. They didn’t let her come back even to work. They aren’t talking to her. She’s all alone even at her own home. And I am so far away unable to do anything.
We talk occasionally but they are conversations I have never had before. The worry is eating away at her. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to console her. I don’t know how to console myself. I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is despair. The sadness I feel on the inside shows in my eyes. And here I am wondering how things got so bad so fast. And I wonder how long it has been that I haven’t set eyes on her. I wonder when I saw her for the first time.
This cannot be an ending. I can’t let it be. I won’t let it be.
2 comments:
Damn. Was eager to find out who this guy was till I saw the Label ;)beautifully written
“God I love her” was always my way of ending my prayers. Loved this line so cute it was. Thats all he can think of when is in a alien place (Temple)
Also loved the 9th para so true with most of us ;)
Thank you thank you :)
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