Life

I have the life. The ‘textbook’ dream life. I have a car, with four rings on its rear end. A house, with more rooms than people it accommodates. I possess all the branded synthetic skins you can think of, from the Gs to the Ps to the As. My wardrobe covers it all. I have an over paid staff who is at my beck and call, and an overtly glamorous social circle, who really has nothing better to do in life. I have it, I have it all. Even though I wasn’t born with these luxuries, I have them. You ask how? Cause I married the right not-so-beautiful guy. The man I call my husband.

I use to be ambitious, I was. That is, until I hit 25. Then my life changed. I had to succumb to the ‘Indian society’ laws. I was a girl, and it didn’t matter if I didn’t have a career. ‘I don’t have to provide for a family, that was my husband’s responsibility.’ Of course, I didn’t agree to that, poor men in India, such great pressure on their shoulders. But my parents didn’t listen to me, I was a child they said, who didn’t know what life requires and needs; too naïve, to take this decision for myself. Comfort requires money, stability requires money, a standard of living requires money. Passion? Passion is fleeting, it evaporates. Love? You can learn to love later, ‘learn’ it. That’s what you do, that’s how the world functions, and I was told. ‘Be practical’ they said. Emotions don’t run life, practicality does. It made sense, that time, so many years ago. Practicality does help you survive better. So I did what they asked of me.  I married the not-so-beautiful guy sleeping next to me, and left you behind.

I got everything I accounted for; the comfort, the calm, the stability, the standard of living. All my practical calculations were awarded with over the top results .Despite all this, my only problem? Were the things I didn’t calculate for.

I didn’t calculate how I would miss us fitting so perfectly together, you and me. How the curve of my neck would accommodate your face, as if we were the only two people in the world lost in a cave in wonderland. I didn’t calculate how I would miss your deep dark eyes, and how easily they saw through me and wiped away all my fears. I didn’t calculate how your arms were the only place that made me feel, like I have come home, the only place I could sleep blissfully in. I haven’t slept well in 7 years now. I didn’t calculate that I would miss being alone in your company; that I would miss being encapsulated by our bubble, I liked being disconnected from reality. I didn’t calculate that I would have to learn to live with the gnawing pain in my chest, for the rest of my life. That I would feel empty, at all times, for the rest of my life. I didn’t calculate any of this, you said I would move on, during our last meeting, you said I would be happier now; I need to just give it time, give myself time. I did, gave myself time, I did. I am 32 now, and I still don’t feel moved on.

I learned to love the man sleeping besides me, like my parents told me I would. He is kind, sweet and treats me well enough. He doesn’t ask me where I spent the money he gave me, or the bills that generate. Actually he doesn’t ask me anything at all. Is it wrong to compare my husband to you? To miss talking about the wind, the colour of the sky, the rhythm of the water? Is it wrong that I miss being kissed with a fervour that use to ignite my nerve endings? Is it wrong that I realised I don’t care for this money, if I don’t have you? I know it is pointless, these questions. They have no answers. People would kill to be in my shoes, but then again, I might kill to be in theirs.

I see you now and then, on the posters, the bulletin boards, television. You are doing so well now, for yourself. I wish I had waited. I wish. I am still your number one fan, just like old times. You still calm me, you still make my heart swell, and you still enchant me with your eyes. Just that, you do that to so many others too now. Your ardour on screen isn’t just for me anymore. I doubt you even remember who I am, now.

 I haven’t told my not-so-beautiful husband about you. You are my secret, always will be. He doesn’t need to know, he doesn’t need to know of our long lost ardour. No one does.

I know I will have you, in me. I know I will take comfort, on your incomplete shoulders, I will still swell at your almost touch and feel ten feet tall at your fading ‘I love you(s)’ etched in my memories. I know you will never be mine, and belong to me just the same. I know there is just you and me, in my world, still. Despite the man sleeping besides me.

I have the life. The ’textbook’ dream life; without the dream.