Jab We Met
Jan, in a coffee shop in Mumbai. It was a blind date set up by his sister P and brother A. The conversation was easy and I had a nice time. We kept in touch and over chat, mail, skype and love creeped up on us gradually, like cake batter that didn’t realise it was set on ‘bake’.
He calls me ‘Kay’, unbelievably affectionately and lovingly so. And loves a lot of things I do. Like snail mail, and writing mesages in cards. Like large bunches of Lilies and Tulips and Orchids. Like good design and Paul Smith toothbrushes. Like romance and old fashioned love.
Our routine’s wound around each other now. We finish work, meet on Skype, cook dinner together (courtesy wi-fi). We chat till I doze off. I wake him up in the morning, chat a bit as I water my plants and do my puja. He brings home cheerful flowers for me to see even though he has pollen allergy. He still posts me a card every week with a sweet note. If I’m in a bad mood, he hears me out, if ever I’m depressed he cheers me up, if ever I raise a tantrum he never takes me seriously, but sticks around till it’s gone. I can tell him anything and know that I will not be judged. He loves me like I’ve never been loved before. Completely, madly, romantically. And I love him the same way. And more.