Imbroglio-Smitten by ‘Her’ Love

It was a cold noon, with the sun’s rays not shining through the leaves and cascading onto the staircase that flanked my room. My phone screen on the side desk blared up. ‘On a vacation trying to escape the harsh realities of life?’ was what she had asked. Not my girlfriend. But my girl. The girl who had been, through the ebbs and tides of time. The soft duvet swooned me, trying to lull me back into sleep. Getting up, I walk in a half-asleep trance onto the door, adjacent to the balcony. As I unlatched the door, a reinvigorating gust hit me hard on my face. I didn’t feel the gust, I simply melted into it, just like butter on barbeque. What met my eyes, was an absolute panorama of beauty, encased in serenity. Rain had lashed down some moments back, infusing that green look to whatever seemed lifeless and barren, until now. I was holidaying in Manali, the Switzerland of India. Rightly so, for the scene in front of me was breathtaking.

An inn of two storeys, was my refuge. Standing in the upper reaches, it overlooked the small settlement from atop a hill, through the clouds. I could see the cobbled road winding down like a serpent, eventually mixing into the haze of the faraway daily market. Men, with flat caps that reveal hair grey with age, riding bicycles past women, making omelette sandwiches on stalls were all I could see, as I strolled down the cobbled serpent.

Wandering, I came to a square from where crossroads spun on forth. Victorian in look, it looked rustic. I gave air to my gasping lungs, sitting down on a cemented bench, after wiping it off with my kerchief. The weather was not freezing, still the rain had cooled the weather further. I regretted not wearing my gloves, as I rubbed my hands to ward off the cold.

I wasn’t hungry, though my belly grudges made it obvious. My eyes caught a glance of a girl of around seven, in a school, on the other side of the street. She handed over some bucks in exchange to the man in the sweet shop, in exchange of a small paper bag, stained with oil at places. I was curious. I didn’t follow. Kept staring. She took the hands of the puny boy walking behind her, and crossed the street. They walked up to the same bench as me. Carefully, she lifted the boy – her brother and placed him on the bench. Opening the paper bag, she took out a jalebi and reached out to her little brother to have the first bite. What surprised me, was her turning around and asking me for a bite. I couldn’t simply say a no. I took a piece, and conveyed my thanks, coupled with a smile. Strange it was, though not unfamiliar. I could see her face etched on the water. Water, that filled the small potholes on the street, a few paces ahead. My sister. We hadn’t shared half of our lives with each other. Though miles away, yet connected to me she was always. I could hear her laughs echoing in the pitter-patter and sounds of splashing water, as the skies let loose once again. The kids ran away, hand in hand, lest they would get wet. I miss her at times though, you know. For not being by my side, always.

The day doesn’t end here. Forgive me, for testing your patience.

I muttered a good bye to the kids and re-embarked on the afternoon walk, that had come to a pause. It was raining hard now, so I had to worry. Streaks of water lined the roads. I reached a shed beside the cobbled road. There were few others too. A boy of ten maybe, was standing there. What set this boy apart from others, was his satchel and uniform, not forgetting the worry lines on his face. Maybe he was late for school. The blaring of a horn, broke the newspaper reading spree of an old man sitting there. A school bus came into sight. So did the face of a pretty girl, waving from the doorstep of the bus. The boy smiled and went out of the shed. What happened next was unfortunate. An untied shoe gave way, and the boy tripped on his own lace, falling on his knees. The girl, jumped from the bus and walked down to the boy, helping him set his laces right. The bus wheels set into motion. They ran. Hand-in-hand. They managed to get onboard the bus, laughing heartily to each other. I pulled out my phone, to text her. I saw her face in the profile picture, which I do often. A face that conveys love encapsulated with care. Yes, the girl I mentioned at the beginning of this long document. She is pretty nevertheless. Days have passed, since we last met. I manage to catchup with her as often I can. She does suite. Life has changed. We have our own lives now. Miles away, she still remains connected to me like no one else. She is the vital cog that runs the gear of my every single day. I feel lost, without her. An oar to my boat, lost in the tides of time, struggling to reach the shore You are. My friend, I miss you a lot.

Wandering aimlessly, the cobbled path led me onto a hillside, from where were visible the many tea gardens that dotted the countryside. Many women I could see, busy plucking the ripe leaves of tea. One of them in particular sight, was toiling hard. The curve of her belly, gave away it to me, that she was expecting. Must be very difficult, to bear the pangs of childbirth and walking on stepped edges of the hill, working for you baby and yourself. No one can do that, but a mother. All this time, she was worried about me. Called thrice in the morning, to ask of my how-abouts. She is like that. The love of my life. You are reading what I have written. Both would have been incomplete, without her intervention. Your mother. My mother.

Love is a whole feeling. Incomplete without the girl, you love. She is pretty. She is everything you can hope for. She has a heart of gold. Gold that was never found in the Yukon and Californian Gold Rush. She is invaluable. Treasure her. Pamper her. Protect her. And above all, love her. The lady you love, the lady you call your mother, the lady who is your bestie and the lady who is your sister. Maybe your boss or teacher too. I can’t be sure of that, can I? It’s your choice.

The reason why you are getting to read this a day after Women’s Day, is because even I was busy with the ladies in my life. It’s just a Rembrandt to actually regard and value them on the day after 8^th of March and throughout the year. Hope you are smitten by their love. Return that back, and the world will be yours.