Anecdotes from a Crazy Love Life

This is the first time when I am narrating an instance from the very personal corner of my life to my readers; I am sure you would enjoy reading this as much as I have reveled in writing it and, most of all, in living it. This is surely one of those few moments, which keep cracking you up even after days or months when they happened. So, here goes a short, funny reminiscence which makes me laugh, cry and wonder all at the same time, thinking how my fiancé never leaves any stone unturned to add spice to our lives.

This happened a week back while I was happily chatting with my husband-to-be, sitting several miles away from me. I had been envying a lot of cute, just-married, couples on social platforms leaving mushy, gooey, cute messages for each other either in the form of posts or comments. Call my groom-to-be shy or hesitant, he doesn’t find it fit to spit his love out on social media (as if it’s venom) where there are hundreds of eyeballs trying to find some fault in it, if not any than grammatical. I hate his this habit as I am really active on social media and I don’t feel mollycoddled through his words on my posts or pics and I particularly hate it because we are engaged and there’s immense societal pressure (I feel, eh) on me to prove it to the world that my man is good with words and how!

So, I uploaded a pic, which looked somewhere close to this, but I surely looked way better; I always do, even in my out-of-the-bed selfies!

I knew my bae is never going to comment on the pic, as the best expression of his love is his “liking” the pic, and I fail to make him understand that out of 100 likes I got on the pic, his special love-filled ‘like’ will get crushed and tramped down (Sigh!).

But this time, I collared him (virtually, of course) and forcibly asked him to comment on my pic. Poor he, he thought this was probably the toughest time of his life, tougher than taking board exams. He immediately started ‘Google’ing severely romantic shayaris ever written and after half an hour, came out with this (on a pic that has me smiling and pouting, all at the same time):

Koi Aankho-Aankho Se Baat Kar Leta Hai.. Koi Aankho-Aankho Mein Mulakaat Kar Leta Hai…Bada Mushqil Hota Hai Jawaab Dena, Jab Koi Khaamosh Rehkar bhi Sawaal Kar Leta Hai…

Sawaal?! Bearing a question mark on my face, I complained about his bad judgment and how he could not think of something as simple as ‘looking pretty’! Why, at all, he needed to Google compliments?

He started digging further into the world of internet and this, for a moment, made me feel guilty wondering if I am asking too much of him. Never mind, this feeling was as temporary as my thought bubble which was again pricked by my beau who had found something he thought worthy:

This pair of small eyes, Help in saying big things, Love not expressed from lips, Is confessed by a wink. At any place in the world, Her eyes keep searching for me, Sparkle of her eyes is moved to her lips, After she finds me. Each feeling of her heart, Is said by eyes of hers Whenever I leave her, Droplets of water stroll down in form of tears. Can always find, Unconditional love for me in her eyes, Confirming the thought to be true, That the pair never says lies. I have a feeling, She has a straight heart to eye connection, As she expresses everything, by her eyes, That's needs to be mentioned. When I can't find her eyes around me, Don't know what happens to my day, Smile from my visage, Remains at bay. In the night when I lie on a gathered hay, Under the starry layer of the endless worlds, I trace your eyes in the maze of stars, Like a pattern laid out by two beautiful pearls. This pair of small eyes, Help in saying big things, Love not expressed from lips, Is confessed by a wink.

Well, I did not want a lengthy, 200-word essay on my pic, which already had some 10 odd comments by now, so I frowned a bit and asked him to quit whatever he was doing. To this, he so innocently said “but I’d honestly fallen for your eyes. I think they add spark to your beauty”. Well, this worked! I was flattered and thus, he got another chance to look for some nice comment to post on my pic. Here’s what he fetched:

Girl I'm not a shy guy, but you got me feeling like I might die. Those beautiful eyes, got me melted inside.

I thought of killing myself – not because this was too cheesy, but because I wasn’t looking for anything artificial: anything he could write that could make me feel I belong to him. I guess he picked up from my cue of not replying to this message that I disliked that, too. So, here’s my bae’s another attempt at pleasing me:

I miss the beautiful eyes that I can sail through forever. I miss the smile that send me to heaven

By now, I was banging my head on the wall being frustrated to the top-most notch. I, my last try, asked him to compliment me in Italian (I remembered he had championed this language way back in time). At this point, I could guess he was baffled, too, for how he was just not able to make me happy and how he's been ignorant of this new avatar of me, a girl who’s crying for his love, spelt out in sugar-coated words, written right on her post.

I would surely have fractured my limbs laughing so hard after what happened next had he not gotten me out of that by finally saying bye. This is what he said, “Here is my username and password, can you please comment whatever you feel is appropriate yourself?” Imagine me, pretending to be him, leaving romantic comments on my own picture! All my anger and frustration was bubbled in a matter of microseconds and I was actually feeling silly for have asked him to do something he just isn't good at: expressing himself under the sun! 

I shut my laptop down and retired to bed, just when I received a notification on my mobile saying someone has left a comment on my pic. It was him and this is what he wrote: Ti voglio molto bene! (Meaning: I love you so much!). I bet my day couldn’t have ended in a better manner J   

Ways of Our New House (Part II)

Focus – our new maid, this Nepali woman, who I have referred to in my previous blog. Although, I reach home by the time she is about to leave having completed her work, I still sometimes get chance to see her working or chit chat.

My curiosity to know her more finally got wings when one day I had an off, and hence, was at home. I got to know a lot of about her, which is surely worth a read. Having born and brought up in a really small village, about 200 km away from Kathmandu, she got married at the age of 9. She was finally compelled to live in her in laws' house at the age of 11, after managing to spend two years at her native place post marriage.

Now, I fail to imagine how she would have managed to get used to the funny words called traditions and customs at the age of 11, when all that I must have been concerned with would have been my Barbie or her kitchen set. I thought here ends the climax of the story, without bearing even a single cue of the mere beginning. I had all the sympathies in the world for her situation then and the fact that she could not study much or make her own identity. She went on to tell me that she was pregnant with her first child at the age of 13! Now, this almost dropped my jaw to the ground. I found myself choked and unable to speak a word or rather clueless about what to say. She said she did not know anything about kids or their cause at that time; it was the curiosity which ended up gifting her child.

Further, she came to India with her one-year old in search of some work at the age of 15. She conceived her second child at the age of 16 and the third, when she was 18. And the situation right now is that she is a grand mom to six kids, at the age of 38. Reason – she married both her daughters too at the age of 15 and 16! I don’t know, may be ignorance showed its presence in solidified form.

She says it’s been an era since she watched a movie in a theatre. She could clearly recall the last movie that she’d watched in a hall, Sajan! I felt a sudden dearth, for I didn’t feel she needed any sort of sympathies or condolence. She was happy the way she was living today, accepting the life as it came, content with her financial or emotional condition, and satisfied with the way life has treated her.

Clueless, I feel life does not serve each one of us with the same platter. My quest to know my maid ended that day and now, I respect her even more, not for the reason that I feel my platter was tastier or richer than her, but for the reason that she enjoyed her food to the full. She has no point to apologize for and is living every moment life is treating her with. At times, I try to read her mind only to decipher very innocent connotations of situations or people. I surrender before her surreal incorruptibility.