Metro Diaries: Some Love Stories are forever

By


A long, tiring day at work and all I could think of was an early quiet dinner before whisking off to dreamland. Feeling too lazy to cook I just landed up at my favourite restaurant, knowing well the comfort its food and ambience would bring. Old things do that; bring along a sense of belonging to you soothing your fraying nerves. Perhaps that is the reason we rummage through old stuff when upset, as we try to find that one piece of belonging that will connect us to ourselves and everything will fall into place. 

I arrive at my usual place – same table and almost same order every time. I prefer the table by the window as I love staring out at the beautiful city line that adorns the restaurant view while I munch onto my food. Having been quite a regular here even the waiters know me here now, making it all the more better for me to be here as I see a smile here somewhere and a knowing nod of acknowledgement there. 

I am busy lost in my thoughts trying to grab a thread out of imagination when my eyes fall into the mirror on the opposite wall. I see a couple entering the restaurant. Old, perhaps in their seventies, the gentleman is dressed in a casual t shirt and trousers while the lady is impeccably dressed in a crisp cotton saree, both of them so elegant, not a hair out of place. My entire attention is on them now as I wonder, what brings them at this age here to a place where there is nothing that would entice their taste buds (Well that is what my grandmother says who is as old as them!) 

Source: Google Images
They stopped at the table just adjacent to mine, giving me an ample view of what was going to happen. He, very diligently held the chair out till she settled down completely after which he occupied his seat. Between comfortable sips of water he looked at her with a smile playing on his lips and said, “The usual?” To which she nodded in reply with a smile. After placing the order he once again looked at her, “After this we will go to eat your favourite ice cream.” A beautiful smile spread across her face, the wrinkles highlighting it all the more making her look so adorable; no wonder that man was smitten. She looked resplendent, with her eyes talking volumes about how beautiful she would have been in her youth. And he, well he was charm personified. His manners, etiquette, the way he treated the woman of his life spoke a lot about what kind of a person he was. Needless to say I was smiling. 

Much to my surprise the man started singing a song immediately and the lady seemed to be blushing just listening to it. However much I strained my ears I couldn’t catch the lyrics but I knew whatever it was, it was full of love. For the bliss on both their faces was witness to it. There was something in that moment which made me stop everything as I kept staring at them in awe.

Isn’t this what we all crave for? The love, attention and care which is forever. Even when the teeth are gone, the hair has more silvers in it than blacks and those twinkling eyes are hidden behind hideous glasses, but then what continues to string two hearts together even at such times is true love. 

At that moment, I knew what it meant to be at peace. For that is what I experienced, peace and contentment for having witnessed something so profound. That moment I learned what it meant to celebrate life and love. I learned how it felt to live every moment and love with all that you had. Nothing mattered beyond the fact that there was atleast one heart in this world that could sing back the tune your heart wanted to hear. Those heartbreaks that were at one time the end of the world, today it all felt right. Those guys who thought it wasn’t worth it all, today looked worthless completely. 

I smiled at my frivolous thoughts when I suddenly noticed that the couple had left the restaurant.I turned around to see them getting into a car together, perhaps headed to her favourite ice cream joint. As I saw their silhouettes getting lost in the crowd I realized how empty we are all from within waiting for someone to come and fill us up completely with love to make us resonate with what we are supposed to be – love.
Maybe someone had rightly said, some love stories are like wine, the older the better. 
Source: Google Images

Popular posts from this blog

Essay: How to mourn the loss of love?

By
Image
Image Source: Unsplash.com I remember the first time I mourned the loss of love was when I was eleven.  For me, dance was love at that time. I had discovered a strange joy as I glided in and out of those movements. Every time I swirled; I could feel my heart soar. Any beat that strained to reach my ears, tempted me to move my body to its tune. I just knew I was born to dance and that is the only thing I wanted to do, all my life.  I had my reasons to believe so and a very simple one at that. It made me happy. That was a reason enough. However, my father thought otherwise. Girls from good families, do not dance. That line was enough to break all those rosy dreams of dancing on a stage. The day my brother was sent to the same dance class which was not good for me, was the day I experienced heartbreak for the first time.  That is the day I mourned the loss of my first love- Dance. 
Keep reading »

Diary of a Lost Wanderer - Lost & Found

By
Image
Dear Diary, I fell in love with Mumbai when I first visited it in 1995. Bombay, as it was then known, fascinated me since then.  If you ask me what made me fall in love with this city, I perhaps cannot explain. It wasn't that I was seeing the sea for the first time. It wasn't even the biggest city I had been to till then. Still, there was something so magical about this place. The trip was a short one lasting less than a week but this city now had my heart. Years later, I arrived here all alone on my first solo trip in 2005 and fell in love all over again. I got my first job and was required to come to Mumbai frequently. The local trains, the chaos on the roads, the crowds, the humdrum, the salty smell in the air, the stale air- everything about this city was intoxicating for me. 
Keep reading »

Metro Diaries: The Art of Making Love

By
Image
Image Source: Unpexels (Cottonbro) “Do you know why is it called making love?” He whispered, pulling the comforter closer.  I don’t remember for how long we had been in that room, on that bed. Lying aimlessly, just feeling each other in silence. I managed to just whimper to denote my curiosity.   “Because that is the moment we create love. We are the closest we could ever be to love, in its purest form. It is sheer magic as we are naked, in every form. Mentally, physically and emotionally before that one person, we love. We know they can hurt us, as much as they want to, in the way they want to. But love gives us that power to trust them, that they won’t.”   “And here I was thinking it is a need. Something you want at that moment and you get it!” 
Keep reading »