That girl who has my heart.

I have vivid memories of when I fell in love for the very first time. It was magical. I can still feel that time when my heart used to beat so fast that I would have to put my hand on my chest to calm down. Sometimes, I would go weak in my knees. Rarely, it would be both and I would feel like a Bollywood hero about to die for love. I haven't changed much since then. I still look for love worth dying for. But she often pops into my thoughts, often without any warning or reason. I'd be doing the most mundane thing, like filling up water bottles to put in the fridge and almost like a film scene cutting into another, her kohl lined eyes appear before my eyes in close up, her scent filling up my senses.. like tear gas used to break a mob, it breaks up my momentary self into a thousand pieces. And as naturally, in the next moment, I smile to myself and get on with the water but it does, still, fill up my heart with love and warmth. 

The strange or stupid romantic fact is that I never told her. I never even made the effort. And I'm even more stupid to not even know why. 

I remember glimpses of her, of her cycling down the road, of her making funny eye gestures at me, of her silently walking back home in her school uniform, heartily laughing after winning a game... Oh, that laugh.. It could light a thousand lamps. I think I get my laughter from her. Every time I do, its a way of thanking her. And of course, my rosy hued memories are also coupled with my stupidities when in her presence, of making those phone calls to her and never really being able to say anything, of writing those endless letters to her and never posting them, of having the courage to make her a valentine card and dropping it in her mailbox. She was and is a rich girl, living in the upper creamy layer of society. And my only motivation ever of becoming rich and famous had been her. I remember being a fourteen year old riding his worn out bicycle and thinking of reasons I could not be with her. One of the main reasons was money and second was social standing. I didn't have both. I wanted to be with her and I wanted it like water. I felt my life would be worthless without her. I felt I would die if I couldn't be with her. It was my very own personal romanticized version of poor boy falling in love with the beautiful princess. 

My life was all about her. 

Still, I started working towards it. Inching my way into becoming my own person. I used to sit for hours and imagine my life with her, imagine the process of getting her, of how I would propose to her, of how we would be, of life and memories together. And all those thoughts and fragments of imagination converted into a profession and my bohemian selfish self took over. I started living for myself. But till today, I write and think of many concepts and stories. All of them end up being about love and the main character is invariably her. All my relationships are the way I would have been with her. It still is, in a way, all about her.

I owe my very existence to her. And yet, she does not know. She will never know. And I still don't know why I never told her. I don't know if that Valentines day card ever got to her, but I'm still waiting for a reply. 

Of reminiscences, nostalgia and home cooked food

Marriages in one's family, at least a punjabi family in Delhi, are really emotional experiences as I've come to realise. Its like a communal carnival making you feel a range of emotions. You think of the people who've played a part in your life, big or small. You recollect wisps of memories and try to put them together, savoring each one like a prized dessert from a secret bakery. And as I was going through these days, looking at those faces and taking in those smells, I realised, for the first time what being 'home' truly felt like. It felt like... home. 

Of a generation which has passed, children who have become adults, adults who have grown old or died out, of other peripheral people who have made homes, families and comfort zones of their own and even the chirpy stationary shop owner who now has his son to help him as he's too old...  all of these people make me want to think of my life, in the moment. In my reminiscence of the time now, many years from now, will I remember it with the same fulfillment and fondness that I remember my childhood with? Am I living...?