A little bit of a Londoner!

I should have worn the waterproof mascara. Crying in the flight is a bad idea especially when the airhostess is giving you emergency landing instructions. I decided to write my little tribute to London on the flight because I needed to bid a fitting good bye...and words are all I have sometimes, most of the times. And apparently, raw emotions make for compelling writing.

But this is just so difficult. What do I write about you, London? What could be a meaningful tribute! You've been so wonderful on most days London, but also so painful and lonely on so many others. This feels like a breakup. But like a good breakup (if there is such thing). A breakup with a partner who is incredibly amazing but somehow could not be just right for you. And it's so painful to part with them because you wish you could make the relationship work.

I'll miss you, London. I'll miss the privilege of casually watching a Westend musical on any given evening, and always having 50 shows to choose from. I'll miss the red buses. I'll miss them a lot. I'll miss walking to Barbican Centre and writing there quietly for hours, and marveling every time at how such a spectacular location was freely accessible to everyone. I'll miss the parks – the ducks at Regent’s Park, and views from Primrose Hill. I'll miss nonchalantly walking by the London Bridge and not gasping at its beauty every single time. How I took your beauty for granted! I'll miss Tate Modern. I'll the privilege of living in a gorgeous Victorian house with a fireplace. I'll miss the tube. I'll miss the glorious display of diversity every single day on the streets of London. I'll miss the spontaneity of a whimsical weekend getaway in an exotic European city. I'll also miss the absolute unpredictability of the weather. And needlessly discussing it all the time, with everyone. Oh God, I'll miss you London.

Thank you for the beautiful people, London. They say it’s tough to build genuine friendships as you grow older. I remember coming to you being so stuck up with my best friends home that I almost did not give space for new friendships to bloom. But I am glad I gradually let people in, and how lucky am I to have found so many incredibly intelligent, funny, creative and lovable people. All of them so unique and beautiful.

London, you have been so transformational for me and taught me so much. These three years have pushed me to grow immensely in aspects both big and small. I have so much to be grateful for, but my biggest accomplishment is easily my dramatically improved map reading abilities. Heck, I even lead the navigation on some walking excursions now. I can set better boundaries than I could three years ago (this is massive work in progress but it's something). For the first time in a long time, I have actually enjoyed and felt fulfilled at work. You opened myriad of opportunities for me. Also, you introduced me to painting, and I think I am half decent at it.

You taught me to be perseverant, London. I would be lying if I say you weren't painful on a lot of days, London. Despite so much to do and so many lovely people, it was lonely and difficult many times. You pushed me to learn to love myself and my solitude a bit more. You also pushed me explore what else could be out there for me, and I am thankful for that.

Thank you for everything, London. So many beautiful memories, so many tears, so much hope. I think I will always be a little bit of a Londoner. On to, next! I hope you'll match the bar, Seattle❤.

My one-sided love affair with Hyderabad

Dear Hyderabad,

This comes a little too late, and I wonder if it would make you question the sincerity of it. I left without stopping to say a heartfelt goodbye. Today, however, sitting thousands of miles away from you in this foreign city, I miss you a little too much, a little too deeply. And, when I miss people and places, I do the only thing I feel I do well…I bleed words. 

Five years ago, when I came to Hyderabad, little did I know that you would become home. Before I realized, you started feeling more like home than Allahabad ever did. I know it makes me sounds like a traitor of my native place. What sort of a person loves another city more than their native place? But, hear me, will you? I think Allahabad confined me and never really let me be myself. I felt trapped by considerations of the length of my skirt, of secluded roads that need to be avoided post 9 PM, of having a guy friend drop me back home, of being decorous being more important than being happy. And then, when I came to you, I felt for the first time what being truly liberated feels like. I could for the first time care more about the colour of my dress than its appropriate length, about the parties and not who would drop me back home, and when I had to bike back home at 12:30 in the night after rehearsals, I knew I would be fine. You empowered me with independence, and I felt like I finally found myself there. 

You welcomed me with open arms and introduced me to people, places and activities that became a part of my being. I found people who didn't push me away for not knowing Telegu or for my Hindi being too far from ‘Hyderabadi Hindi'. They loved, deeply and fondly.  As I was falling in love with the people, you introduced me to theatre. Theatre, that opened arms to amateurs. Theatre, that was not elitist and did not sit on a high horse turning away people who did not start acting when they were 3. Theatre, that understood, almost always, that a different job may put the bread on your table while theatre may be the jam you spread on it occasionally. You introduced me to art and gave me something to feed my soul with every time I felt empty. How can I ever thank you enough for making theatre such an endearing part of my life!

Thank you for the ‘Biryani', Hyderabad. The Biryani, Haleem, the Irani chai and the Osmania biscuits. Why are Osmania biscuits orgasmic and how do they make it perfectly porous to let just the right amount of tea soak into them? 

Did I ever tell you that you are paced extremely well, Hyderabad? You never made me feel like I was lagging, even when everyone seemed to run past me. You always had space to let me stop for a while and breathe, and tell you that I have had enough and I cannot run anymore. I could lose myself on one of your rocks beside the magnificent lakes and just stare into eternity. And, when I wanted to get back to the grind, I could get back to the crowd again!

And your forts, how can one not get smitten by them? Standing tall and strong, telling stories lost in History books. Would it be too much if I told you that I miss your roads? But I do…the roads, the pathways, the cafes, the clubs. I feel like I have left pieces of my self there…on the stalls, at the signals, at the cafes, on the dance floor, at the theatres, and dare I say, on the stage? Pieces of my liberated, complete self. 

Today, as I sit here, yearning too deeply to be around you, I fear only one thing. I wonder, if you ever, at all, loved me back Hyderabad? Will you, ever, if I choose to come back to you, be as delighted to have me back as delighted as I would be to be back? Or would you smugly tell me that you were never mine to love? Would you tell me that I was pretentious to have claimed to love you without knowing you in your entirety? I never asked you, if ‘outsiders' were allowed to love you deeply and what qualifies one to be a ‘Hyderabadi'. It scares me, but then I tell myself that maybe, just maybe you would be able to see my love beyond my disappointing ‘Hyderabadi Hindi' and also understand that love does not necessarily need to be a function of time. 

I love you, Hyderabad. Not in a colloquial way, but the way when you love someone who touches your life so profoundly that you are never, ever the same. And I hope someday, you would love me back!  

Women, age and the ticking time bomb!

“So, when are you planning to get married?”, I was asked for the 126^th time or was it 127^th? I usually laugh away these questions but this time they came from a dear friend, so I gave it a thought. “4-5 years, maybe.”, I said after thinking for a while; “What about you? When does marriage fall in your life plan?”, I added. “Same – 4 to 5 years”, he responded. “Goodness gracious! We will be 31 by then. Damn! You would be so old, Charul”, he said.

“What do you mean by I would be so old? We would be the same age. Do women age faster than men?”, I responded with my signature eye-roll.

“I mean…you are a girl. 31 is quite old for a girl to get married but not so much for a guy”, he replied in a seemingly matter-of-factly tone.  I rebuked him and called him names, something like a patriarch, an asshole or a sexist. I think I called him a patriarchal sexist asshole.

Even though I rejected my friend’s words, the conversation with him got me thinking because he clearly reflected what a huge fraction of the Indian society believes in. The thought urged me to write this piece hoping optimistically that maybe it will drive the point home to at least 1% of my meager blog audience.

I want to start by deconstructing the famous ‘Girls mature faster than boys’ notion. This notion is highly unhealthy for young girls to be fed with.  It is popularized and even encouraged to justify women handling more emotional labor than men are ever expected to bear. Girls are conditioned into believing that they are more mature than their ‘naughty’ brother, and hence more qualified candidates to help mother with the household chores. This grows into women being expected to remember birthdays, keep the groceries stacked, organize parties and maintain family relationships.

This notion is the reason why men are often encouraged to engage in romantic relationships with much younger women(in which there is a substantial power gap) while women are often rebuked for dating men much younger to them. This notion excuses boys from being held responsible for their actions but holds women accountable from a much younger age. There is little to no scientific evidence suggesting that emotionally girls mature faster than boys. Yes, girls generally hit puberty sooner than boys but there is no substantial scientific inference to link early puberty to early emotional maturity. More than science, this is more of a gender-stereotype passed on from generations without being challenged leading to girls and boys essentially responding to behaviors that are expected of them.

Women are viewed as a declining asset whose worth post 30 in the marriage market exponentially drops. There is a constant pressure on women to figure out themselves and their career as soon as possible – there are hard deadlines imposed on schooling, college and settling down in the dream job. All of them need to be met precisely on time and there is little to no negotiation allowed in the timelines. In most Indian families, you are expected to achieve these milestones by 24; if you are from a more liberal family you may be blessed with 3 more years and if you have been extremely lucky you may be allowed to touch 29.9 but not 30…30 is blasphemy! Women bear the pressures of these deadlines from a very young age. These are not only unfair but may also restrain them from realizing their full potential and living their dreams. While men get more freedom and breathing space to achieve their goals, women are forced to accelerate their career timeline to stay relevant in the marriage market.

Another argument often sought when debating in favor of early marriage for women is that their fertility may go for a hit if they marry too late. It is important to understand that women are more than baby breeding machines and their fulfillment and happiness is more important than that of the life they will bring into this world. Their priorities and expectations out of life may be beyond having the perfect family or maybe their perfect family does not have children or maybe it has adopted children or maybe the children are produced through frozen eggs. All of these expectations and priorities are important and correct in their own regard.

Can we just let women be? I could have referenced ‘people’ but the world’s sometimes a little harsher to women, so I chose women for this article. Can we give them the space to breathe, to figure themselves out and settle down in life when they want to and not when they ought to? Marriage can wait and so can children, but personal goals and dreams cannot. If women require those three, four or how-many-ever years to be at peace with themselves, can we please stop shaming them for it?

The woods are lovely, dark and deep but can we not for once hold people accountable for the promises they never made and let them venture into the deep, dark woods to their hearts’ contentment.

The curious case of Dadda

It's been way too long…six years, I believe. I was looking at your picture and reminiscing about how you were so peculiarly adorable. You were anything but a regular father. I remember talking to my friends about their fathers and I always wondered how you were nothing of those sorts. I wondered sometimes if you were even cut out for marriage or for having kids because sometimes you did not seem to fit in…your world seemed more fit for solitude. I am not sure if you were actively my mentor or my guide, but I do know that you taught me a lot about love, life and embracing my individuality.

I think I would miss our tea-time conversations the most – I wish there were more of them and I wish I had the opportunity to know you more. Regardless, I was looking at your picture and felt the need to write about your colorful personality, your ideologies, and quirks.

In a world where nothing but selflessness is expected out of parents and the most sacrificing parents are placed on the highest pedestal, your focus on self-care came as a welcome change. You taught me how it is not selfish to have your own opinions, choices, and idea of life and to not change it for anyone. You taught me that it is okay to care for yourself first because one cannot pour from an empty cup.

You taught me that you must always keep the child alive in you. You taught me that you're never too old for jujubes, gifts or stealing toothpicks from restaurants. I remember you getting mad at us for not getting gifts for you on your birthday. You taught me that we must say ‘I love you' to each other and say it often. "I love you the most, Charul. I will live with you after you get married. You must clearly lay this out as a precondition with your boyfriend". Later, you would add, "Also, don't get a boyfriend at this age. All men of this age care about is sex."

You taught me that it is okay to embrace your individuality and not blend in for the comfort of others. I remember how you would much rather sit with the women and discuss food than get into the men's room and watch cricket matches because you did not feel like it(much to mother's embarrassment, though). I admired how you valued people for who they were and how beautiful their souls were, rather than attaching importance to their social status. I remember how you would become best friends with some taxi drivers and spend hours talking to them and conveniently ignore certain VIPs because you just did not like them. I am dazzled by how you loved without bias, loved often and loved intensely. You always stood up for the people you loved, even when you were at your lowest. “You need to be there in people’s grief, Charul. In their happiness, they can still do without you. In grief, they need more support.” I still remember how your students doted on you and how everyone loved you too much. I covet the candor with which you could just be who you were, love the people you want and do the things you love without caring about the world judging you for it.

You taught me that it's okay to be brutally honest (I still believe in being kindly honest, though!). I remember asking you how I looked on my farewell, to which you replied (much to my displeasure), "You look ugly, Charul. You have a terrible dressing sense." I did not feel like talking to you then, but I do laugh about it now. I remember asking you what your hobby was, to which you looked me in the eye and said, "A poor man does not have a hobby. Hobby is a privilege." You taught me the importance of money, albeit in a harsh manner, "The day I stop giving you money, you will stop calling me your father." I loved how you did not believe in pleasantries and small talk, how you spoke what you felt and felt what you spoke. It was almost funny how you reacted at demises and said ‘Everyone dies', ‘It was due time' rather than the usual euphemisms.

I admire your zeal to be the best at whatever you chose to do. You didn’t believe in second places and you were unapologetically blunt about it, “There are no second places, Charul. A miss is as good as a mile. You just lose the first place.”

You taught me that men can cry, feel pain and be hopelessly vulnerable. You showed that true strength lies in embracing our weaknesses. You taught me that it was okay to ask for love, affection and even gifts. It was funny and adorable how you would cry even at Ekta Kapoor serials. I loved how you could laugh at yourself and not take yourself too seriously. "Why did you choose to become a teacher, dad?". I remember you laughing and saying, "It was a mistake. Never become a teacher, Charul."

Most importantly, you taught me to believe in destiny, stars, magic, and love. You taught me to never give up on life and to make the most out of it every single day. You traveled to your favorite destinations till your last day even though your health was critical. You traveled and lived life with the vigor and excitement of a 12-year-old. You lived the phrase, "It's not the years in your life that count; it's the life in your years." There was so much life in every moment that you lived, daddy!

You were beautiful, charismatic, unique, and stood out as a shining star in my life and the lives of so many. You will always be missed Dadda and your idiosyncrasies cherished in fond remembrance.

To all the women I met in the restrooms!

I must confess that I have an affinity for restrooms. They remain some measure of home to me, probably because the largest chunk of my self-reflection took place in the restrooms. Some of my favorite conversations and life advice came from them. Sometimes it was me reflecting in the restroom mirrors and telling myself that I can do it, sometimes it was other, mostly drunk females.

It is surprising how few pegs of alcohol and the comfort of a restroom can turn women into such thick allies. I have been extremely lucky to have had real, uninhibited conversations, and exchanged some real, uninhibited hugs. Destiny ensured that I met my amazing ladies at a time when I probably needed to hear those words of advice and hold on those hugs. Considering that all these women in ways big and small added a lot of wisdom to my life, I feel that it is only fitting for me to express my gratitude to them through the only medium I know best - words.

Here’s to the lady who told me that I don’t look okay and asked me if I would like to talk. I didn’t know you and I am not sure why I opened to you, but it felt so relieving to be able to talk and not be judged. I want to let you know that you lending your ears mattered, so did your advice and most importantly your embrace.

Here’s to the group of girls who told me that I have the most beautiful hair in the world and that applying some extra red lipstick is totally alright.  I remember fixing each-others hair, helping touch up the make-up and checking on whether each one of us is alright. These little gestures that were so heartfelt made me wonder who these imaginary women are who just hate each other, the ones the world keeps talking about.

To all the women I hugged too hard and told how much I loved them times too many, I want you to know that it was not just the alcohol talking. If I could, I would say it every day but it probably makes you look goofy to keep uttering “I-love-you’ s” on random evenings. I cannot forget this girl who told me that I should dump the guy I was dating and that he was an asshole. I didn’t listen to you then but in retrospect, I realize how I should have taken your word for it.

The girl who’s shoulder I cried upon after a failed performance, who held my hand and told me that I have so much potential and that failure helps us grow, I want you to know that it meant a lot to me. It made a difference to my life, so thank you for that!

Washrooms are these private spaces which somehow have the power to enable people to confide, apologize and confront. I couldn’t muster enough courage to apologize to this girl I had wronged, but the other day at the restroom I could drop off my wall and tell her that I was sorry. I am not sure if it seemed sincere to you then, but I want you to know that I meant it.

It has been mildly surprising and deeply heartening to come to terms with my vulnerabilities and emotions in the comfort of the cohort of women who surprisingly emerged to have my back. It makes me wonder how beautiful this world would be if women continue to be as comforting outside the walls of the restroom. I think maybe the world requires us to wear blinkers, swallow tears and embrace stoicism to align with the expectation of strong women. I think restrooms are kind to us – they don’t judge, they let us be and we take our time there to let our emotions flow. No wonder we spend way too much time in the restrooms.

Hopping on to 25 – the less glamorous other side!

There is something unnerving about pre-birthday nights for me. I have been telling myself for the past five years that I have outgrown birthdays. Apparently, I had dropped the expectation from people to treat me like the almighty’s choicest creation and turn their lives around to make me feel special. Only that, I hadn’t outgrown them. It is in equal parts ridiculous and egotistical to expect people to spend time and effort to make the day you just happened to pop out of your mother’s womb, special. However, my heart and mind rarely choose to live in harmony.

My extent of making people feel special has been only stretched to pouring the contents of Knorr soup in a cup of boiling water and offering it to a sick friend. I had almost reveled in happiness and gave myself a pat on the back for exuding such compassion. Despite embodying such shallow standards of affection; hypocritically enough, I still expect people to drop everything and invest the entirety of their time in the glorious event that’s my birthday.

It was finally the birthday eve. It was 12 AM; I was half sloshed and cutting my overly priced ice-cream cake, half of which would be thrown away next day because there was no way it would get over. The next thing I remember was making forced attempts at having fun and making everyone around me to do the same. Alcohol is supposed to do that, right? Only that sometimes, it doesn’t. It doesn’t when you have been shoving gallons of it within yourself since the past two days of the extended long weekend because what else is 24-year-old frustrated IT folks excuse for fun? However, my friends still tried with all their might to fabricate fun out of their exhausted bodies, to swing on ‘Taarein gin-gin yaad main teri’, and periodically shout, “Shots, shots”. I glared at their sleep-deprived eyes, alcohol bloated bodies and decided that maybe we could do without more ‘fun’ that evening and called it a night.

I wished everyone a good night and thought of hitting the bed. “Oh God, let me turn my phone to silent mode. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with all the calls and messages. And Facebook, shit, I thought I will remove my birthday this year. All the unnecessary wall posts, man – so many notifications. I can’t handle them.”

I woke up the next morning and suddenly the realization seeped in – I am 25! Everything that followed, reiterated it, in not so fancy ways. I picked up my phone expecting at least a dozen missed calls like every year. It’s funny how I tried to mask my embarrassment from my own self when my phone read ‘2 missed calls’ and one of them was from mom. Then, I opened Facebook and pretended to nonchalantly browse through the newsfeed. I heard something break inside me when I saw only three notifications. I tried to rationalize it in my head by telling myself that those ‘HBD Charul’ posts are the ones I give two hoots about, but deep within it pained to know that I am not even getting those irritating ‘HBD Charul’ posts. It’s like that feeling you get when the creepy guys stop making passes at you-you never wanted them in the first place, they were outrageously annoying, but it makes you stop and wonder for a while if you’re attractive anymore.

25 is a rather funny age. You’re old enough to understand the things that shouldn’t matter anymore but still too young to stop caring. It gradually dawns on you that the attention and affection that became too difficult to handle at one point in your life has gradually moved out when you were busy growing up. That Skype call from friends settled in the US did not happen this time. I realized that along with me, they grew up too and finding jobs and looking after their fiancé became more important. The birthday messages in the ‘Others’ folder also shrunk down to three from thirty-three. The creepy guy who religiously sent monthly poetry to my inbox also seemed to have found another muse. I judged myself so hard when I almost missed that weird poetry.

My old friend from college called up, I acted cute and asked him to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, he blatantly refused and asked me to grow up. I spent a significant amount of time wondering how old one is supposed to grow in a year because he did sing it last year. I laughed; a light, hollow laugh that was meant to mask my inner chaotic battle. My mom called next, “Baby, Deepali aunty asked for your hand in marriage.” “Mom, I need 5 more years”. “Honey, who do you think will be interested in marrying you after 5 years. The rate at which your beauty is deteriorating, do you think that even you would consider marrying yourself after 5 years”, she said, matter-of-factly. I stared at myself in the mirror and my growing acne and weight seemed to suggest that mom wasn’t just trying to be sarcastic and funny.

Gradually, it sunk in – the horrible realization that I am now on the less glamorous other side. Life is a bit harder this side, you may end up looking less pretty and your likability radar may shrink, one bit at a time. The less glamourous side may not seem as amazing, but it is more peaceful. It throws you out there amongst the crashing, fast waves. However, I believe that eventually, you learn how to swim and reach the shore stronger than ever. The other side is intimidating and often sprinkled with spells of loneliness. You learn to find comfort in those spells. You explore the forgotten, uncharted spaces of yourself and serendipitously discover solace in them. The extras get trimmed out and the constants remain, and they are the only ones who matter – the only ones who ever mattered. The next morning, with the maturity of the first quarter sinking in, I happily welcomed myself to the other side.

The quest for the ultimate purpose is killing me!

You have been thinking, over thinking about the purpose of your life since the time you could make out what the words ‘purpose of life’ mean. It is a fancy term and you love the idea that we’re all here to add some value to the world around us; that your existence, your presence has a larger purpose to solve. You believe or have been believing, for a very long time that each one of us has a unique gift to offer to this world. When you realize what gift you bring along with you, you can start adding more beauty, more value to that gift each day so that when you’re gone, your gifts have reached their utmost potential.

It becomes overwhelming and even frustrating sometimes to keep seeking for that one place where you belong. You feel empty inside and think that maybe you will stumble upon some place where it will suddenly start to make sense, when your existence will suddenly become life. You keep looking for that place which will probably have all the answers. You try with all your might and put together your skill-set, interest and pragmatism and look for the most probable places where you might seek solace. However, after a while you realize that the shoes just don’t fit right. They are either a little too big, a little too small or bite a little too much but you’re looking everywhere for that perfect pair.

You have read so many articles on how to be more productive and turn your twenty-four hours into forty-eight hours, how to be successful and achieve your dreams. Suddenly, it strikes you that you don’t know what your dream is and you have been existing here for twenty-three years not knowing where you have to go. You’re stuck at the platform, the trains are passing by and people are catching their trains. They are bidding goodbyes. Some are happy, some have moist eyes, but they know their destination. You, on the other hand are standing at the platform, not knowing which train to take; not knowing where to go. Before you can make a choice, you’re pushed onto a train because it’s a crowded platform, people have to keep moving on and the world cannot give you forever to make your choices.

Then, you get down at another station and it feels home for a while and you feel maybe destiny got you to the right place. After sometime, you realize that the language is foreign and the people don’t seem friendly anymore. You want to spend more time here to understand the language better. You want to spend time getting closer to the people but you’re torn between spending more time at this place or exploring another place, which you might identify more closely with.

This goes on for a long time and you’re left thinking if you’re a misfit completely. You wonder whether you will fit in anywhere at all. You wonder if you will ever be good enough for anything. This seeps into your soul and gives you shudders sometimes. You have list of things to accomplish each day. You have a list of tasks to track your growth. When you check on them, there is a green checklist but you still feel stagnant and wonder if you performed the right tasks at all.  

Every day, you go on with your life telling yourself that probably this is how it is supposed to be, this is how it is for everyone. You tell yourself that this is real life and that it’s only in a Utopian world where people love what they do and do what they love and are content with their lives. You make peace with it and seek refuge for a while in a book or in that dance during which you almost break a leg at the pub. You seek happiness in pieces and tell yourself that eventually you will be able to put them together and it will make sense, complete sense then.

You’re too drained after wandering for way too long, too drained looking for that purpose everywhere, searching every nook and corner of the world for it. Exhausted, dejected and failed; you return home and you cannot believe what you see there. There, amidst everything that you had and everything that you brought along with you when you left, lay your purpose. No, it was not always there. All along when you thought you were wandering aimlessly; you were creating it. Ironically, just when you thought everything was over, your purpose was born.

Ordinary Is Beautiful!

 “What is your true calling?”, “What is that one thing that you crave to do every waking moment of your life?”, “What is it that you’re meant for Riya?”, he threw one question after another at her.

“Umm…I don’t know. I like to dance sometimes and sometimes I like to read. Sometimes, I just want to delve deeper into aerospace engineering; leave everything aside and just design those magnificent planes. Sometimes, I love to see those planes get lost in the skies as I marvel at their beauty, at the sheer brilliance of their design. Sometimes, I just like to sit and think about…about you and the next exotic place where we will make love and everything you would do to my body and I would do to yours. Oh…I love all of it and crave to do all of it every single day. How do you get to know Rehaan? How do you know what your true calling is?”

“Not like that. I mean…okay, think about this. What if I told you that you don’t have to care about money? Would you still continue doing this job? What if you had all the money in the world and you just had to do whatever you enjoy doing? What will choose to do then? What is your passion? What is that makes your eyes twinkle with joy? What is it that you would put all your heart and soul into and not breathe a word about the hard work that you have put in? What is it Riya? "

“Do you mind if I kiss you before I answer this? I mean…I am seeing you after six months. Do we really need to have this conversation right now?”

“Well…you totally can and my manhood would be put on question if I say no, but I would still say no because I do not think we can go back to having a conversation if you come any closer to me. We need to talk about this first. What do you want out of life, Riya? I have quit my job because I knew I wanted to start something of my own. Quitting my well-paying job, moving from a sprawling 3BHK apartment in gated community with a swimming pool to a tiny 1 BHK which four sweaty boys who do not even bathe every day, was not exactly an easy decision for me. I had to go through the month in 10k and days went by when we would just live on Top-Ramen for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was hard, more hard than my vocabulary can allow me to describe. But you know what, I did not complain. I did not complain at any point of time because I was passionately in love with my work. And I swear to the lords, nothing…nothing compares to happiness I felt when we got the venture capital funding. I was ecstatic. It has been a huge struggle for me and it will continue to be so for say 1,2 or even 3 years…who knows! But, I don’t mind the struggle because I enjoy the work that I am doing. Do you feel that way about your work Riya? Have you come even close to figuring out what you’re meant for? You’re just doing this job because it’s convenient. Because why would you try so hard to figure out what you would really enjoy doing when it is so convenient to let life make choices for you.”

“Rehaaan…stop it. I’m tired of this constant pressure to find a mould for myself to fit in…finding where I belong, finding that one thing that my heart will ache to do even if it’s five in the morning and I haven’t been sleeping well since the past two days because the love of my life chose to surprise me on a weekday. Well, I guess I know what it is…my passion…it’s you Rehaan.”, Riya said playfully and started caressing his hair.

“No, I’m serious Riya. What is it that describes you best? Who are you?”

“Why do I have to be someone specific Rehaan. Why do I have to be rigid enough and find a mould which will fit me? Maybe I am not meant for one particular thing. Maybe I am not meant to be a master. I guess I am a jack and however notorious they may sound; they are not all that bad after all. I like spending hours designing planes on AutoCAD. Sometimes I do it because I genuinely enjoy designing those structures and sometimes I do it even when I am terribly bored because I love money...like a lot; more than I love you, maybe.”, she winked.

“I love to keep taking these notes on my phone whenever a strong thought strikes me and I make sure I write about it whenever I get time. I think writing is an emotional release of sorts for me. I like it as much as I like designing those planes. And then sometimes…sometimes I just want to dance my heart, muscles and feet out. I have no idea whether that line makes sense but yeah…sometimes I just want to dance to my soul’s content, dance till my feet ache and I fall down on the floor exhausted. Yes, I want to continue dancing till then.

And you. Oh, I love you! I can spend hours and days and months just being around you and the most boring job in the world will become fascinating if you’re just around me. I think you define me Rehaan, as much as anything else that I love doing does. I don’t think I want to go ahead and do something extraordinary to make a difference in the world. I just want to do my part well enough and eventually I will make a difference. I don’t know what is that one thing that defines me Rehaan. I think I am bits and pieces of many things put together and all those things complete me. I cannot choose one. It would be unjust to choose one. What do I really want out of life, you asked. I think it is to go to bed each day smiling to myself, content with the way I spent my time. I think this is what I really want out of life. Maybe I am ordinary Rehaan, but I love being ordinary. Ordinary is content, happy and beautiful.”

“You don’t always make sense but when you do, I end up falling madly in love all over again with you. Oh…you were right it has been way too long. I have almost forgotten what your lips feel like. Can we make mad love like today is going to be our last day alive?”

And then they kissed while he caressed each curve of her body and she felt his chest after what seemed like an eternity. And then they made love and it was nothing like ordinary. Yet, it was beautiful, content and happy. Also, it was magical!