Follow Your Bliss

They say there’s a thin line between devotion and obsession. Or love and madness. I really dont know anymore. I’ve heard it all by now – from friends, well-wishers, exes even. A voice in my head asserts you just want to be friends. You need to focus on your future, it says. I shush it and look at you, tuning back into our conversation.

It’s a warm, lazy afternoon, and sunshine flooding into the cafe highlights your molten chocolate eyes. You smile, and the corners of your eyes crinkle. My heart soars, and I laugh along, slyly placing my hand over yours on the table. I love the shape of your fingers. You catch on, and remove your hand pretending to check your watch. It shows 4pm. Damn, I only have two more hours with you. Will it help if I hide your wallet, I wonder? If I pretend to faint and be sick now, will you drop me home? Should I send an anonymous email to the airport claiming a bomb threat?

“Hello! Earth calling!”.Your voice brings me back to reality. “Sorry, what were you asking?”, I stammer.”Congratulations once again, madam! Your semester starts in June, what are your plans till then?” 

I smile. The answer rolls off my tongue easily “I have to wrap up my life here, relocate to Delhi, find an apartment close to campus, find roommates, choose my electives for sem 1.. the list goes on.” “You and your lists.. accept it, Excel sheets turn you on.” you laugh.

I raise an eyebrow. I can’t resist a below-the-belt response.”You know exactly what turns me on.” Instantly the mood at our table shifts. You’re no longer the happy guy with the open face and hearty laugh. I don’t like this sullen, angry stranger in front of me. Truth be told, he scares me a little. You speak in a deadly calm voice that rattles me, “That was.. a mistake. A long time ago. And nothing happened that night after I stopped the kiss. You agreed we both should move on from that “silly incident” to save our friendship.”

“Absolutely V! You know me and my dark jokes. Anyway, tell me, how did your presentation go?”, I cast about, desperate to change the subject. The tension in the air dissolves slowly as you animatedly discuss marketing pitches, and year end reviews. Time is my enemy, and soon enough, you have to leave.

I watch you pay the check, furiously fighting back tears. You notice anyway. “Hey..”, your voice softens, as you pull me into a hug, “This is a great opportunity for you. A power move for your career. Before you know it, I will be sending you my resume for a position in your company. Grab this chance. And for heaven’s sake, don’t over think it.”

I raise my head slightly, and brush my lips against yours. You step back, and put an arm’s distance between us. “I gotta go. Take care. You’re brilliant, creative, and a go-getter. Follow your bliss.” These are your parting words as you walk out of the cafe and my city and my life.

I wipe my tears, and full throated laughter erupts out of me. I cackle and hug myself, swaying from side to side. What was it you called me – brilliant, creative and a go-getter. What will you do when you walk in to your office next week and meet your new team lead? Wonder how you will react when your new neighbour knocks on your door to invite you for a cup of coffee. After all, I will be doing exactly what you said – Follow your bliss.

It’s only words..

Today I had to explain to an eight year old what it means to write a letter to someone and mail it. As I used the words ” it’s like you send a voice note or WhatsApp text, but with pen and paper.”, I could feel the full weight of a mid life crisis crush my spirit. When was the last time I wrote a letter, I wondered? Not an email, an actual honest-to-goodness ink and parchment affair.

So dear reader, what was the first letter you ever wrote in your life? Did you have pen-pals, the OG exciting way to make new friends before A/S/L was a thing? (God, my ancient-ness is showing!) Was there a special person who wrote to you from their hostel, trying to be all friendly and breezy, but failing miserably because they would somehow blurt out how much they missed you, by the end of the letter? Did you ever write a difficult message in your life, marking the page with crossed out lines and blurring it with your tears, trying to find words to match your feelings? Have you ever poured your heart in a letter, rambling on and on, for 18 pages, front and back? Better yet, have you burnt said letter?

If you had a chance to write a letter to someone in your life today, what would it say?

A pinch, a dash, a spot

My mom is a great cook. Correction – she is a good cook normally, but a fantastic culinary expert – albeit under one specific condition. She’ll whip up tasty delights when she enters the kitchen 20 minutes before meal time. Like a student who frantically remembers his answers and furiously scribbles at the end of an exam, her mind and body go into the zone, muscle memory kicks in, and she grinds and fries and stirs and unleashes a tsunami of aromas in the house. She was brought up in a family that forbade tasting food before serving, so her nose and eyes serve as her quality check team. In a split second, the smell of the rasam will inform her it needs more salt, or the colour of the curry will point out what spice it needs.

When I began my kitchen apprenticeship ( we’ll call it that since ‘training-to-be-good-wife-material’ sounds stupid) under her, I foolishly imagined an organized syllabus, a beautiful mother-daughter team working in tandem, thoughtfully curated recipe books, with personally scribbled remarks when I added my unique touch to a dish. ( Yes, in my head, I was Hermione excelling in Potions class). I am a lists, pros-cons, and data kind of person. Imagine my reaction when her instructions went like this:

“Add a pinch of salt”

“Take a handful of rice”

“Give it 1 quick whirr in the mixer”

“Throw in a bunch of chopped vegetables”

“When it smells fragrant, turn off the gas” (what does that even mean!)

“Mix the batter, and let it rest” (Should I tuck it in bed, and turn off the lights, ma?)

There was a lot of trial and error, tears and tantrum at first. But slowly, I learned what she was also trying to drum into my head. My mother, a woman of few words, (fewer still when she could speak louder with actions) was training me to hone my instinct and trust my inner voice to make quick decisions. The time crunch eliminated the need to over-think, she said.

Of course, at the time, I saw no method here, only madness. But now I understand.

When I sign up for scuba diving lessons. OR When I handle tough interviews. OR When I approve my BFF’s dating choices OR When I avoid being alone with a creepy professor OR When I break up  with a complicated situation.  There’s no data, no dashboard, no roadmap. Only the voice in your head.  Some times it’s mine. Some times it belongs to the stubborn woman who has never measured an ingredient in life.

Best laid plans

I watched him walk across the cafe to my table. My breath caught in my throat I saw him in that black kurta. The same thing he’d worn at the Christmas party six months ago. I had a thing for black and white ever since that night.

Like all girls my age, I had a perfectly normal life – work, dates, hobbies, like everyone else. I had a plan, dammit. I’ll date a few boys, like one of them enough to be in a relationship, and move in, and begin the rest of my life, I thought. Not once did I imagine myself so desperately craving somebody.

Some times I smile to myself humming cheesy love songs. I look at a book and think of that rainy afternoon at that Goan cafe. I recall the walk up to that hotel room – a hundred doubts in my head, and desire in the driver’s seat. The best night of my life. I can still recall those kisses along my collarbone and the whiff of Davidoff.

The best night of my life. Regret came late in the morning, along with the breakfast we shared in bed. Just like that, I was in an extra marital affair. A home-wrecker. I hated myself, hated the relationship, yet it was the only thing that made sense to me in my entire life. We loved all the good and ugly bits of each other. I learned to love freely, laugh openly and live fully.

But I was the one who insisted on a “no tell, only kiss” policy. I didn’t want to talk about what it meant, or where it would go. Let us see where lust takes us, I said stupidly that day. Now I know. I want more. I want a life-time of togetherness, openly sharing a home and proudly calling each other lovers.

He was at my table now, all charm and smiles. My God, he’s hot, I realized.

He ordered an espresso, leaned back in his seat, and looped his hands behind his head, and looked at me, “Hey, neighbor, what’s up?”

I took a deep breath, and began, “We need to talk…”.

Fingers trembling, I hit #1 on my speed dial. “Hi baby, It’s me. I met your husband now. Told him about us… Yes, it’s done. He’s coming home to talk to you.. Take care honey, I love you. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow”.