by Divya Ananth
Ever since I remember, He has always been a natural charmer. As a child, I didn’t fancy Him much. He was way too tall for me, and I could hardly catch a glimpse of his powerful persona, as many would describe Him to me.
As years slipped by, the turbulent teens set in. In between crushes and misses, I nurtured a rare love. A love that I always knew existed, found expression. I frequented His home regularly. The songs that echoed throughout His abode were mesmerizing.
I stood transfixed every time I set my eyes on Him. With a conch in one hand, discus in the other, His mighty sword pointing down, lips smiling a naughty smile, adorned with a pristine ‘Veshti’ and lotus garlands, he verily was my knight in shining armor, my companion, my first boyfriend.
I told Him about my days, the sad moments, the happy ones, my worries, my anxieties; I entrusted my days to His care. I chided him if things didn’t go my way, I called Him names; I fought tooth and nail if promises weren’t kept. I cherished a bond, one only He and I understood. I sang for Him, I cried for Him, I fell in love over and over again, every time I set my eyes on him.
When marriage came along, I introduced my fiancé to Him, spent many minutes asking Him what this life had in store; if He would stand by us always, if He would continue to love me like He always did…
He did, I didn’t.
Life took many turns. In the scuffle of shouldering many responsibilities, I had forgotten that He had promised to share. I never really bothered visiting him, or telling Him my little stories as I used to.
Living in a faraway country, I would think of Him once in a while, try to play his image in my mind over and over again, but the joy would last a brief second. Nevertheless, the very next day, He would find His way into my inbox, in the form of a forwarded e-mail.
Call me sentimental, call it coincidence. But how does one explain such things? Strange indeed are the ways of the beloved.
I went places. I agonized over my children, their sicknesses, a fracture, many health concerns, and financial strains. I revelled in motherhood; I wielded the wok and learnt languages. Slowly, without me realising, I crowded my mind with innumerable to dos and agendas. His image blurred. His charm faded.
I marvelled at bewitchingly beautiful scenery in the Alps, but the image of the master painter of it all (My boyfriend is extremely talented, you know!) never once occurred to me. Life was tough, with little treats thrown in to retain sanity. It was only during difficulties that I remembered Him. That too briefly, to question, curse and complain. I realize now, that I simply took Him too much for granted.
He probably decided that enough was enough. So back to India we came. On hindsight, I wonder, how on earth did we have the courage to move back? How did my kids get admission into one of the premier schools in the city? How did I survive many setbacks even after we relocated? How have I gotten back on my feet? How did I get back all that I thought was lost? How am I the person I am today? It is baffling, to say the least. It’s truly something that simply could not have been possible without the intervention of His hand.
Last week, I went to see Him. Fatigued by roles, I wanted to spend quality time with the one man who never spoke, only listened; who never expected, only gave.
His is an unrequited love. And it was about time He claimed his due. Love has a way of bringing soul mates together.
As I set my eyes on him one more time, I realized that He looked as dashing as ever. That smile seemed to say “What took you so long?” I recalled every single moment of hardship and joy, of pain and happiness. I knew instantly that He had always been by my side all along. Otherwise, that know-it-all smile wouldn’t have stirred something deep within. Through the tears, I knew how much He loved. And how much I had forgotten. We talked. We renewed our vows. We moved on.
Divya Ananth is an advertising copywriter – a creative consultant. She simply loves to travel, and Carnatic music is her anchor in an otherwise crazy life. She’s also a busy mom of two adorable boys, and juggles cricket and tennis classes, organizes play dates and reads Geronimo Stilton with them. Writing, to her, is an intimately joyful experience.
Love it!
Thank you Sajan