100 Paths

He often asks me why I never write about him on my blog.

Because I haven’t yet introduced you to my parents, is one of my excuses – won’t my family mind if I declared you to everyone else but them? Another silly one is, I don’t have the time. The third is a self-question: What would I write about him?

Then today a few things happened.

One. A feeling. That what is, is. And sometimes there’s no right time and every time is right.

Two. A song. I usually listen to mantras in the car, but today I tuned into 92.7, which was playing lovey-dovey old Hindi tracks. And the theme of the day was, ta da, ‘Romance’. “Roop tera mastana, pyaar mera deewana, bhool koi humse na ho jaye…”

It’s happening, the bhool (mistake).

Three. A mail. It was a forward by his friend, which he forwarded to me, a link to this piece. And he never usually sends sweet stuff like this – his forwards are intellectual and rare – so I was quite moved. And mushy.

So here it is. My piece on him. And I am somewhat speechless. I guess that’s what romance does to you in your late thirties – there’s so much to say that you have no words for it.

Love is someone you can talk to for hours, I once said to him a few years ago. Love is also someone you can have meaningful silences with, he replied.

He’s my non-stop conversation. He’s also the meaningful silence. He’s the Man, the God, the beauty, the pleasure, the joy, the discovery in my life. He’s the mirror into which I glance and see the best of myself shine back. He’s my magic wand, my lucky charm. He’s a good man, and he’s my love.

Mauj koi saahil se takraye… e… e… e… 
(The joy finds its shore…)

There, so I said it. Now if I can only ensure no one in my family reads this until they’ve actually met him…