A Crushed Crush

Perhaps I first realized myself when I uttered my very first cry - the cry of self-realization and of the joy of entering the beautiful world. I knew it was my own cry. The cry that taught me to seek attention, fight for existence, inhale air and use it to produce sound. With this, I gathered a hazy idea that ‘I’ have come into existence.

When I write about myself, the first question that arises is who am I? Am I just one of the living creation of the God who could be counted among the common multitude?

I possess a name which does not express me or my nature. I have a culture that would have been different if I would have born in some other family. And, I have a mindset that would have been other if I was a black, a girl, an acchoot (untouchable), or born in a third-world country torn apart by the cruel times of some war.

Then who am I? Certainly, my name is not me either!

To answer these, I would flatly say that I am just myself. The very existence of myself is what I am - nothing less and nothing more.

The thirst to answer these questions have already embarked me on a journey of exploring the truth of the world and the beyond. That discourse is already taking shape in the form of a long Hindi poetry - Satyashala (The house of truth). However, let us forget it for the time being.

Coming back to myself, I have a heart which has a yearning for mother’s love and father’s affection, a pair of eyes to see sister’s good fortune, limbs to achieve all goals for my wife and the kids, and a soul which has a desire to reach the zenith. I’m the consciousness that is alight to discover all the wonderful things that God has placed around us.

It once happened that I lost myself in the captivating eyes of a maiden!

The very idea was resentful. How could I allow someone else to take control of me and my faculties? But who has ever amended which has been predestined. So, it just occurred.

She was Richa.

If asked to describe her aesthetic appeals in a single sentence, I would refer her to as a brimful cup of charm and beauty. She was magnificent, she was decorous, and she was so cute. Other girls might die out of shame of their deficits if they were only to see her. Had there been any regime of maiden virtues probably her elegance would be the one chirping on the throne. Even cupid would face an inexplicable enigma of whether to endow her a title of a fairy, a genie or if she was simply an ordinary girl.

Leave aside cupid, for me she became the lord of my breaths - my joy of today and my hope for tomorrow.

I first set eyes on that beautiful girl many years ago and since then she was as shy in expressing herself as today. She lived shyly, she looked shyly, she met shyly, and she loved shyly.

Initially, I took her to be just an immature girl who sought in me a strong support for her academics. Be it Shakespeare’s tragedy or the Einstein’s relativity, she was always with a new problem. But gradually, I realized her to be at the peak of my wishes. This was not my fault. Rather, this was the game played upon us by my seventeen and her sweet sixteen ages.

Her every like became my like and her every dislike became my dislike. I began with liking her. Sooner, I started missing her. And, finally I started adoring her!

Our homes were nearly situated, and our families were well acquainted to each other. But did our families ever guess the passion circulating in our hearts, I never knew at that time.

Many a times I decided to give voice to my feelings but was not able to put it in action. You clearly know our Indian culture and about how far an inter-religious relation is discouraged. Further, that was the year I was trying to get through the Engineering entrance examinations.

I cannot deny the fact that I loved her but at the same time I could also not dare to shed of my duties towards my family and my studies - we were middle class.

However, who has ever amended which has been predestined. So, it just occurred!

It was 4 PM and we accidentally met at Love Lane, Hazratganj. Any historical city in the world stands out with its own heritage, cuisine, living styles, language, food and places. The city of Lucknow did not have many places for couples to spend time. Love Lane, was a place where young boys and girls flock for the fashion wears, accessories, dresses and gifts. Amidst shopping and having the upscale Ganjing experience, it offered a meeting point with love ones then.

She was overjoyed, and my entire ‘myself’ became blithesome. We slipped into the Archies Gallery nearby. Again accidentally, we saw a portrait depicting a war time scene. Soldiers were armed, people were panic, and children and women were victim to the mighty British barbarity.