Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

(This was my first middle which was published in The Indian Express way back in 1991/92. Was rummaging through some old memories when I chanced upon the cutting.)

Even though some would prefer to use such dismissive terms as adolescent infatuation and calf love I still call itlove. And it is not at all difficult to be in love when you are at the tender age of 16.

She first rode into my heart on a bicycle on which she came to the market. She, I presumed, was a southpaw the way she mounted her bicyle, and endearingly sweet. I saw her again the very next day at a movie theatre screening Agatha Christe’s Murder on the OrientExpress. I was now well and truly in love.

Her house, as I found out later, was a few blocks from our colony and on the way to my sister’s school. Dropping my sister at school soon turned out to be joyous work. While my object of desire would wait for her school bus to pick her up I, with my sister trudging behind, would pass by throwing up glances only people in love are capable of. Smiles were acknowledged and ex-changed. Though nothing was ever said the little encounter would stay in-my mind the whole day giving my face an eternal grin. Some days we would be late and her bus would have left making me gloomy.

Friends chipped in with her name and other details of her family. As love progessed so did the walks, the glances and the vibes. Friends from both sides, for their own thrill, added the giggles and sniggers to complete the love scene. But all through this we did not summon the courage to say even ‘hello’ and no one introduced us to each other. All that we managed was to steal meaningful glances at each other.

It could not go on like this. Finally I decided to make the first move and announce my love through a card. With Diwali approaching it seemed the right time. But fear crept up at the thought of her parents getting hold of the card. After several strategy session with friends, a way out of such an eventuality was found. “Give her enough leeway to tell her parents that the card is from her friend at school,” my adviser suggested.

It was decided to type out the address on the letter, handwriting being a dead giveaway. Finally the unsigned card was posted from some other locality with nothing written on it except the typed address on theenvelope.

No dramatic events followed thus but to my dismay we shifted house a few weeks later and the visits to her locality became infrequent and slowly came to an end. My love remained in my heart, silent and unsung.

The lesson which I learnt too late was ‘when in love, speak out’ and never to send an unsigned card. Now several cards and loves later that first card remains fresh in my memory. And so does the hope thatsomewhere, sometime if I come across her I will ask her “Did you know I sent the Diwali card?”

(P.S. Much water has flown below many bridges I have passed through all these years, but I have yet to meet her. Did I try? Not realy. And with these days of advanced technology it shouldn’t be too difficult either. But I refrain. For one thing I have learnt, call it wisdom if you choose to, sometimes not finding a closure retains the romance of life).