Was it Crazy, Stupid Love, or Love Actually? I fail to recollect. My sister and I were discussing one of these two, goodness knows why. We were surely vouching for which one was worse. Dad eavesdropped into the conversation as usual because you see, he's cute that way. Also, you rightfully get perturbed when you hear your kids speak about nonsensical gibberish such as love. Trust me, we all turn into our parents, no matter how hard you try.
Upon hearing the title of one of the aforementioned movies, he exclaimed "Love??" His shocked and almost agitated, and positively hilarious countenance became an inside joke between us siblings. In fact, even today, our old man drops unannounced into our conversations and we sort of chuckle at each other thinking of "Love??" Back then, yours truly was yet to wean himself from the flowery construct that love has been made into. Butterflies in the stomach were a thing back then. Or, at least you felt those incoherently flappy insects. And now?
Class seven was the first time the tummy tumbled and ached at the sight of a girl. The hormones hadn't kicked in yet, or were on the cusp of knocking you out, and the mind was perpetually confused. At 12, you really didn't know what you want out of your crush, or romantic interest, did you? Of course, you'd seen the kissing scenes, and some of us precocious ones watched a little porn here and there. However, if someone came and told you "Your dad fucked your mom," you'd feel betrayed. Yeah, the world was just unfolding, kid. Anyway, you learned along the way.
Now, I won't even bother when someone says "I'll fuck your mom." I almost killed someone for saying that some eight years ago. He and I are best friends today. You see, somewhere, I realised... can this nitwit really even touch my mom? For one, there's the logistics part. He needs to know my address. He doesn't. Second, even if he does, why would my mum spare her rolling pin the pleasure of cracking this retard's skull? Third, he thinks that my dad will let him in. Fourth, will my dad let this filth near my mum? Correct, I got my sequence jumbled there. Nevertheless, logic says that our man here's not thought his threats through. Anyway, back to learning.
At 15, I set myself up for a second heartbreak. Trust me, the girl was cute. She still is. Last, she liked some post of mine on Instagram, but then I deleted my Facebook and Instagram accounts rather randomly. She liking the post and I surrendering social media were mutually exclusive events. LinkedIn was last resort where I thought I would run into her again. But, she's not the pseudo-professional, suit-wearing kind. Shitty, I know. I'll admit that it was puppy love, the innocent kind. Also the unrequited kind.
Next up, engineering college, far from home, and happily so. It was the first day in college, and I was walking to my department. This large, and mostly empty complex on the other side of the galaxy (read campus) had this daunting flight of stairs at its entrance. Strong legs came handy, trust me. The never-ending staircase was also where I saw this woman for the first time. I trailed this girl, all clad in black, by about 100 meters, as she climbed. A little voice in my head said "Fucker, she's trouble." I'd not even seen her face till then. Your inner instinct is sharp, fellow earthling! Trust it.
Four years went by like a silent but deadly fart. She threw questions at me that I couldn't fully comprehend back then. "Do you like me?" "Do you love me?" Again, we spoke of weirdly innocent stuff while waltzing around, quite literally. The skeptic in me took a backseat and the blind, dumb, romantic buffoon jumped at the helm. You know that shit's hit the fan when you're too invested and you don't realise it. You become possessive, the idiotic temper leaks through your pores, and before long, you've scared the woman away. I'm surprised how she and I are still in touch, or that we haven't missed each other's birthdays for what, the past eight years?
Work came along after college, the dream job in the truest sense of the word. Imagine having your byline in the magazine that you bought when you were all of five, and could barely read. Few are lucky that way. What I wasn't was a player. I saw this woman and was prompted by some part of my gut to go and ask for her number. Strangely, she didn't resist. I returned to my seat with a chest measuring 50 inches. Of course, it's another story that I got overtly invested over the next two years and made little progress in the romantic department with this gorgeous creature.
I'd learned little in my 25 years of existence, but in retrospect, the woman was kind. She meant no evil. Was she the one that got away? I don't know. She certainly was the one who taught me that there will be some point in life where your ego will take a backseat and you'll put everything at stake. It's important too that this happens to you. It's humbling when you risk rejection and go down on your knees. That's because no matter the result, you'll come out stronger when you stand back up. Yes, the rejection stung like a thousand bees, but it raised my pain threshold. 'No' doesn't hurt anymore. Also, innocence remained a companion, not something I could say a year down the line.
We met during a trip to Coorg. This rather stunning woman and I had a mutual friend. Of course, we started off with a fight, lashing out at each other every chance we got. It was chemistry gone wonky, and the group we were part of sensed something. They couldn't put a finger on it, neither could this woman, nor could I. Somewhere, we hit it off. Chalk and cheese coalesced, but don't worry. It doesn't get stranger than fiction. She stayed abroad, so after the trip, we parted ways. Only that Skype didn't let us. A year and a half later, we met again, much more familiar with each other.
Sparks and fireworks followed, and the emotional investor in me went long. Benjamin Graham would be ashamed. Bad investor joke notwithstanding, it was time to short my position. This part of my life taught me to step out of any situation where you feel mistreated. Notice when it happens the first time. If the poor treatment happens the second time around and a wild gong doesn't go off inside your head, sorry, you're too invested. Ideally, the third time shouldn't happen. In such situations, you can't, afford to confuse self-esteem with ego, and absolutely must stand your ground and bail out. Come. What. May.
The heart will bitch and moan about its precious emotions, and how you're about break something precious. This bit is good as long as it's in a movie script. In reality, it's a bad idea. In reality, only sanity trumps Donald. Letting go hurts, but it also makes you harder. Well, that sort of came out wrong, but please catch the drift. In fact, the deeper you're invested, the harder you get hit when coping with all the letting go. "We ran out of condoms," she said, explaining one of her escapades. Something shattered inside and I think it was innocence. If you're reading this, here's a humble request. Do not wish such a crushing heartbreak even for your sworn enemy.
I left home soon enough. A new city awaited, no relatives, no acquaintances, it was all left to me. Not exactly candy land, but again, Bangalore's been kind. It gave me shelter, taught me to put food on the table, and fend for myself. The shattered shards were thankfully clumped together, and not blasted all over from a shotgun going off. Then, akin to man discovering fire, yours truly discovered swiping. This part of life taught me to be ultra-choosy. I'm choosier than your girlfriend, guaranteed. Without a description, even Marilyn Monroe shall not pass. That said, the ladies in my life have been largely kind. The apps were surprisingly kind too.
Single dates, I've had my fair share of. These are perhaps part of the learning curve, because you realise that not every 'match' results in good bonding. Some, you leave after settling the bills, some reach till dessert, some fizzle by the second date. The ones that last beyond the second date are largely a thumbs-up. Pat yourself on the back, sire. Again, you might want some to reach the second date, and then some. That won't necessarily pan out, but that's where you'll have to trust your gut, and let go. During one of my early dates, the woman and I hit it off . The photos were borderline bait-ish, but heck. The conversations we struck, you could ignore small discrepancies.
Having uttered the last line, if you hear lines about empowerment despite the mismatch, skip and press next. Some things are permissible, some are not. Yeah, by this part, the heart had hardened a little, perhaps noticeably. The first date happened. "I don't sleep with the guy on the first date, you know..." she quipped. "Second date then," I thought to myself. Who would have known that I was right. The second time around, a slightly possessive friend of hers happened to be an accompaniment. The gent seemed simple, and I'm glad he came along for some reason. It taught me how to handle unexpected situations, and be firm about three being too much company when the time came.
"Brother, it was nice meeting you, but I want to take your friend out on a dinner date. We'd like to take your leave," I said, much to my own surprise. The woman followed me without batting an eyelid. Moral: You don't have to be a dick to be a man. Sure, you have to be firm, but not an arsehole. I'll concede this much. This woman turned me into a man. I'll remain indebted to her for that. She's smart, engaging, and stimulating in every sense of the word. About six months in, though, she was scouting again. I wasn't, and that pinched.
When two people drift off, there are two forces at play. It's not as simple as saying that it was his/her fault, or asking "Where did I go wrong?" The drifting apart became obvious, and you know it in your gut when you're drifting away from someone. When I found her scouting, I knew it was time to bail out. Till now, I felt the innocence being crushed in me. Seeing her scout felt like having shards explode inside. Emotional attachment no longer meant much. I could finally walk away from a romantic interest without getting illogically bogged down. But, there's a message here I'd like to leave. You're never entitled to affection. It was just your time to be with a woman/man. Accept when it's over.
Charming, yours truly may not be. So, when someone speaks in positive adjectives, or throws a compliment my way, it takes me a bit to digest. The skeptic in me identifies with the father who says "How much money do you want?" when the son comes to hand him a glass of water. The woman I met next was a 'woman' woman. Yes, she looks just fine in a t-shirt, but in a saree, holy wow. I'd gladly make a poster out of her photo and plaster it all across MG Road. Surprisingly, she's remained consistent with the compliments which is both humbling and terrifying.
She taught me how to hug. Previously, what I thought of as a hug is apparently called a bro-hug. The arms get in the way and the body dynamics get thrown off. Perhaps, we should ditch the word hug and call it 'embrace'. For as much as we love or hate our cute Modiji, the man hugs and how, what with his 56-inch chest and the works. He's probably multiplied the actual figure by 4/3. Then again, we didn't vote the man for his factual accuracy. On PR skills however, the gentleman scores 21/10.
About this woman who taught me to hug, she's warm, forgiving to a fault, and boy can she hold a conversation about anything in the world. Fair enough, the conversationalist is sort of my type, or so I realise now. However, not many people, let alone women, have it in them to mend a heart, watch a man cry, and yet praise him for no reason. Faith restored in the idea of love? Not exactly. However, she makes you want to be a better man.
She's someone you'd go back to after a bad day and feel relieved after a conversation. She's also someone who you'd want to make soft love to endlessly. And when she says that how you two made love last time was the best she'd experienced till date, a part of you wants to believe her. She inspires that confidence in you, makes you believe in yourself. The innocent heart that wants to romanticise with the idea of puppy love, must die though.
Upon hearing the title of one of the aforementioned movies, he exclaimed "Love??" His shocked and almost agitated, and positively hilarious countenance became an inside joke between us siblings. In fact, even today, our old man drops unannounced into our conversations and we sort of chuckle at each other thinking of "Love??" Back then, yours truly was yet to wean himself from the flowery construct that love has been made into. Butterflies in the stomach were a thing back then. Or, at least you felt those incoherently flappy insects. And now?
Class seven was the first time the tummy tumbled and ached at the sight of a girl. The hormones hadn't kicked in yet, or were on the cusp of knocking you out, and the mind was perpetually confused. At 12, you really didn't know what you want out of your crush, or romantic interest, did you? Of course, you'd seen the kissing scenes, and some of us precocious ones watched a little porn here and there. However, if someone came and told you "Your dad fucked your mom," you'd feel betrayed. Yeah, the world was just unfolding, kid. Anyway, you learned along the way.
Now, I won't even bother when someone says "I'll fuck your mom." I almost killed someone for saying that some eight years ago. He and I are best friends today. You see, somewhere, I realised... can this nitwit really even touch my mom? For one, there's the logistics part. He needs to know my address. He doesn't. Second, even if he does, why would my mum spare her rolling pin the pleasure of cracking this retard's skull? Third, he thinks that my dad will let him in. Fourth, will my dad let this filth near my mum? Correct, I got my sequence jumbled there. Nevertheless, logic says that our man here's not thought his threats through. Anyway, back to learning.
At 15, I set myself up for a second heartbreak. Trust me, the girl was cute. She still is. Last, she liked some post of mine on Instagram, but then I deleted my Facebook and Instagram accounts rather randomly. She liking the post and I surrendering social media were mutually exclusive events. LinkedIn was last resort where I thought I would run into her again. But, she's not the pseudo-professional, suit-wearing kind. Shitty, I know. I'll admit that it was puppy love, the innocent kind. Also the unrequited kind.
Next up, engineering college, far from home, and happily so. It was the first day in college, and I was walking to my department. This large, and mostly empty complex on the other side of the galaxy (read campus) had this daunting flight of stairs at its entrance. Strong legs came handy, trust me. The never-ending staircase was also where I saw this woman for the first time. I trailed this girl, all clad in black, by about 100 meters, as she climbed. A little voice in my head said "Fucker, she's trouble." I'd not even seen her face till then. Your inner instinct is sharp, fellow earthling! Trust it.
Four years went by like a silent but deadly fart. She threw questions at me that I couldn't fully comprehend back then. "Do you like me?" "Do you love me?" Again, we spoke of weirdly innocent stuff while waltzing around, quite literally. The skeptic in me took a backseat and the blind, dumb, romantic buffoon jumped at the helm. You know that shit's hit the fan when you're too invested and you don't realise it. You become possessive, the idiotic temper leaks through your pores, and before long, you've scared the woman away. I'm surprised how she and I are still in touch, or that we haven't missed each other's birthdays for what, the past eight years?
Work came along after college, the dream job in the truest sense of the word. Imagine having your byline in the magazine that you bought when you were all of five, and could barely read. Few are lucky that way. What I wasn't was a player. I saw this woman and was prompted by some part of my gut to go and ask for her number. Strangely, she didn't resist. I returned to my seat with a chest measuring 50 inches. Of course, it's another story that I got overtly invested over the next two years and made little progress in the romantic department with this gorgeous creature.
I'd learned little in my 25 years of existence, but in retrospect, the woman was kind. She meant no evil. Was she the one that got away? I don't know. She certainly was the one who taught me that there will be some point in life where your ego will take a backseat and you'll put everything at stake. It's important too that this happens to you. It's humbling when you risk rejection and go down on your knees. That's because no matter the result, you'll come out stronger when you stand back up. Yes, the rejection stung like a thousand bees, but it raised my pain threshold. 'No' doesn't hurt anymore. Also, innocence remained a companion, not something I could say a year down the line.
We met during a trip to Coorg. This rather stunning woman and I had a mutual friend. Of course, we started off with a fight, lashing out at each other every chance we got. It was chemistry gone wonky, and the group we were part of sensed something. They couldn't put a finger on it, neither could this woman, nor could I. Somewhere, we hit it off. Chalk and cheese coalesced, but don't worry. It doesn't get stranger than fiction. She stayed abroad, so after the trip, we parted ways. Only that Skype didn't let us. A year and a half later, we met again, much more familiar with each other.
Sparks and fireworks followed, and the emotional investor in me went long. Benjamin Graham would be ashamed. Bad investor joke notwithstanding, it was time to short my position. This part of my life taught me to step out of any situation where you feel mistreated. Notice when it happens the first time. If the poor treatment happens the second time around and a wild gong doesn't go off inside your head, sorry, you're too invested. Ideally, the third time shouldn't happen. In such situations, you can't, afford to confuse self-esteem with ego, and absolutely must stand your ground and bail out. Come. What. May.
The heart will bitch and moan about its precious emotions, and how you're about break something precious. This bit is good as long as it's in a movie script. In reality, it's a bad idea. In reality, only sanity trumps Donald. Letting go hurts, but it also makes you harder. Well, that sort of came out wrong, but please catch the drift. In fact, the deeper you're invested, the harder you get hit when coping with all the letting go. "We ran out of condoms," she said, explaining one of her escapades. Something shattered inside and I think it was innocence. If you're reading this, here's a humble request. Do not wish such a crushing heartbreak even for your sworn enemy.
I left home soon enough. A new city awaited, no relatives, no acquaintances, it was all left to me. Not exactly candy land, but again, Bangalore's been kind. It gave me shelter, taught me to put food on the table, and fend for myself. The shattered shards were thankfully clumped together, and not blasted all over from a shotgun going off. Then, akin to man discovering fire, yours truly discovered swiping. This part of life taught me to be ultra-choosy. I'm choosier than your girlfriend, guaranteed. Without a description, even Marilyn Monroe shall not pass. That said, the ladies in my life have been largely kind. The apps were surprisingly kind too.
Single dates, I've had my fair share of. These are perhaps part of the learning curve, because you realise that not every 'match' results in good bonding. Some, you leave after settling the bills, some reach till dessert, some fizzle by the second date. The ones that last beyond the second date are largely a thumbs-up. Pat yourself on the back, sire. Again, you might want some to reach the second date, and then some. That won't necessarily pan out, but that's where you'll have to trust your gut, and let go. During one of my early dates, the woman and I hit it off . The photos were borderline bait-ish, but heck. The conversations we struck, you could ignore small discrepancies.
Having uttered the last line, if you hear lines about empowerment despite the mismatch, skip and press next. Some things are permissible, some are not. Yeah, by this part, the heart had hardened a little, perhaps noticeably. The first date happened. "I don't sleep with the guy on the first date, you know..." she quipped. "Second date then," I thought to myself. Who would have known that I was right. The second time around, a slightly possessive friend of hers happened to be an accompaniment. The gent seemed simple, and I'm glad he came along for some reason. It taught me how to handle unexpected situations, and be firm about three being too much company when the time came.
"Brother, it was nice meeting you, but I want to take your friend out on a dinner date. We'd like to take your leave," I said, much to my own surprise. The woman followed me without batting an eyelid. Moral: You don't have to be a dick to be a man. Sure, you have to be firm, but not an arsehole. I'll concede this much. This woman turned me into a man. I'll remain indebted to her for that. She's smart, engaging, and stimulating in every sense of the word. About six months in, though, she was scouting again. I wasn't, and that pinched.
When two people drift off, there are two forces at play. It's not as simple as saying that it was his/her fault, or asking "Where did I go wrong?" The drifting apart became obvious, and you know it in your gut when you're drifting away from someone. When I found her scouting, I knew it was time to bail out. Till now, I felt the innocence being crushed in me. Seeing her scout felt like having shards explode inside. Emotional attachment no longer meant much. I could finally walk away from a romantic interest without getting illogically bogged down. But, there's a message here I'd like to leave. You're never entitled to affection. It was just your time to be with a woman/man. Accept when it's over.
Charming, yours truly may not be. So, when someone speaks in positive adjectives, or throws a compliment my way, it takes me a bit to digest. The skeptic in me identifies with the father who says "How much money do you want?" when the son comes to hand him a glass of water. The woman I met next was a 'woman' woman. Yes, she looks just fine in a t-shirt, but in a saree, holy wow. I'd gladly make a poster out of her photo and plaster it all across MG Road. Surprisingly, she's remained consistent with the compliments which is both humbling and terrifying.
She taught me how to hug. Previously, what I thought of as a hug is apparently called a bro-hug. The arms get in the way and the body dynamics get thrown off. Perhaps, we should ditch the word hug and call it 'embrace'. For as much as we love or hate our cute Modiji, the man hugs and how, what with his 56-inch chest and the works. He's probably multiplied the actual figure by 4/3. Then again, we didn't vote the man for his factual accuracy. On PR skills however, the gentleman scores 21/10.
About this woman who taught me to hug, she's warm, forgiving to a fault, and boy can she hold a conversation about anything in the world. Fair enough, the conversationalist is sort of my type, or so I realise now. However, not many people, let alone women, have it in them to mend a heart, watch a man cry, and yet praise him for no reason. Faith restored in the idea of love? Not exactly. However, she makes you want to be a better man.
She's someone you'd go back to after a bad day and feel relieved after a conversation. She's also someone who you'd want to make soft love to endlessly. And when she says that how you two made love last time was the best she'd experienced till date, a part of you wants to believe her. She inspires that confidence in you, makes you believe in yourself. The innocent heart that wants to romanticise with the idea of puppy love, must die though.
