Of Love

I often feel like people believe that love is overrated. I know it isn’t. Too many who may not know me, I could come across as corny and even a bit of the chik-lit clan. And its funny, cause I never really liked those movies. I think its more because they make you expect too much. Like fairy tales, you know I never liked them much. Grew up with two brothers in the family so always was more of a lets fight sorta girl.

But love, well I was always a romantic at heart. I have grown up in a family where my mom and dad had the most conventional arranged marriage. They hadn’t really seen each other before marriage. And the way I have seen them I think thats what love is about. Its a bout patience and acceptance and just the little things that make life life. In 25 yrs of my parents marriage I have never seen them have a fight, arguments of course, but never a fight. I have seen them eat in the same plate, sing songs for each other in public places and just look at each other not just with love but with respect.

And so my belief that there is love, and that someday I will find that right person. Someone with whom it just feels right. And I have had my share of heartbreaks, lost people that mattered in the process. Been hurt enough to never recover as I thought. But just the other day I was talking to my mother on one of our long night chats, and she said something that I thought was very meaningful.

In our generation, with fast paced lives and changing priorities, we have somewhere forgotten to really belong. And when someone someday can make me feel like I belong, thats the man I am in love with. And then I sat down thinking when was the last time I felt like I belonged. Like it was to hands clasped. And I knew I had never been in love.

And being in love, and loving someone are two very different things she said. I think I have somehow figured that one out.

Bright stars, a moonless night,

There is a path I oft took.

The nooks and cranny of the winding road,

uncovered unexplored.

I am still peeping

still wondering,

still breathing the same air.

Slow dances and jazz

with poetry and flavour,

it knows not the sound of my step

and I hear it neither close.

But there is that story that was told.

And there is my story untold.