The Rise And Fall Of A Love

At the age of thirty two, I got a ‘love letter’. I was then a mother of a two year old. Did the pendulum swing between the high cardiac tides and the inbuilt vows in a traditional Indian woman’s mindset? Here goes the narration of a mind as honest as it could be.

I met him at an educational program which I attended for a month. He reminded me of the Great Vivekananda, my all time fantasy, maybe because of his brilliant eyes. Soon I was told that he is from the same land as Vivekananda, a place I’ve always longed to see after reading Tagore, Prem Chand and Kamala Das. He was from the city of palaces, Kolkotta. The way he says ‘Kolkotta’ is really magical. It is true that I was drawn to him and merely used to notice him and  I am sure I didn’t hold any softer emotions for him. He was not the least in mind at any point of time during those days.

We used to exchange quiet glances, acknowledgment and a smile whenever we came across all cordial and as courtesy. We were placed in a classroom situation, where I occupied a seat, away from his. As part of a simulation exercise we had to mix up more and form groups, where I noticed that he took pains to keep me in his group and was chuckling with joy amidst the group discussions. There was a good rapport between us and I realized that I enjoy his company. I asked him his zodiac and to my pleasant surprise found it to be the same as mine. Both of us were sort of typical Librans. The session got over and we split to take up our own seats.

Days passed by. The program venue was shifted to a different room. The morning I entered the new room, I had an instinct, I took the seat at the first row. The chair next to mine had a plastic bag on it, indicating the appearance of the owner soon to claim the seat. I glanced casually at the white plastic bag with some letters on it which I couldn’t read and felt for a moment that it could be his. I wasn’t wrong. We sat next to each other for the next seven hours of the day till the day’s sessions were over. We started having fun, like kids, passing notes while the lectures were going on, and giggling at small things which made us happy. I was back again to my teens, I felt.

The next day, I claimed my usual seat, my adjacent seat was vacant. I apprehended that anyone, just anyone of the group could take it over and then my mobile beeped. Quite unlike me, I immediately checked the sms and found a text : “Please keep the seat for me. Thankyou”. A smile spread over my face and I kept my bag most shamelessly on the seat, just ignoring the thirty others who may bother to observe me. He came soon with a beaming smile as always humming Krishna nee begane…. With a ‘good morning’ we started our day.. this being our routine for the remaining of our term.

I thought of him on my way to the class in the mornings and on my way back home, but no longer than I reached home to my son and his father. A few days before the close of the course, during the last session of the day, he slipped a paper folded to six into my book and told me to read it at leisure. My heart skipped a beat. In the bus on my way home, I opened the paper and read through, it was a love letter. I was laughing at the irony of the entire situation and at the same time a bit proud of having fetched one at this age that too from the best in a group of around thirty men. I remembered the first time I was given a love letter. I was eighteen then. The letter had unpardonable spelling errors and for the same reason I had thought of discarding it. Still it being the first one, I had corrected the spellings with white ink and kept it for some time. But I was a tender girl then. Now, a mother of a two year old and occupying responsible position at the job situation, I was puzzled by the entire sequence of events. I read the letter again and sweetness spread over me. I allowed myself to be pampered by the words of praise and love. I felt a bit shy thinking of facing him the next day. I thought of him throughout the evening and night. I wanted to talk to him. I didn’t think twice. When I heard his Bengali “hellow”, I shivered a bit. I told him that though I liked reading his letter this was neither the right age nor position for me to be led to such nuances. He told me that even if I were in my late pregnancy at that time, he would still have fallen in love with me. He told me without any leniency that he loves me. I waited for morning.

My husband dropped me to the Centre and to my surprise, he who comes after me every day, was waiting for me outside the class. The day was sweeter than all the previous days, though nothing more was spoken of the letter. We had just less than a week to finish our program and for him to go back to his Kolkatta. That full week he was in my mind throughout . I found myself avoiding sexual approaches by my husband on one pretext or the other.. I removed my magalsutra just so that I can have a free mind for the rest of the week. I did not think at all about the morality of what I am doing nor did I feel guilty about anything I did. I still have no regrets and feel I have done no wrong.

He gave me many more letters, and I gave him none. I am a woman and fairly intelligent too. I didn’t want my fragility to be recorded in my hand. And moreover I knew very well that this is a transient feel. He would get over this the moment reached back home to his wife and his life. And I would get over this too, because nothing and no one has ever kept me glued for long.

The last day, we found some time for ourselves, alone and he asked me if he can kiss me. A repulse reflex lit in me and I said ‘No, Rana I don’t wish to be kissed by you.’ He told me it is his greatest wish and even if I don’t allow him now, some day he would. I merely smiled. I asked him to hold my hand. I didn’t feel any magic in his touch. On the contrary I felt we are such genuine pals. He gave me a look which I will never forget. My womanhood never received such a boost as his look of wanting for me, as if I was irresistible to him and I loved the feel. We parted with a good bye.

He sent me few sms , romantic ones. My repulse again was strong when he asked me if in his dreams he can chew my lips. I replied again “No Rana I don’t wish you even dream of me that way.” He was disturbed with my response. I did not reciprocate the romance he expected of me. Over emails, we had a few arguments regarding this. He asked me why I couldn’t dream freely and allow him to. He told me there was nothing wrong in dreaming, in any case we may not meet again. So it wouldn’t harm if we are more expressive in our correspondence, because that would only make both of us happy. I mailed him too and told him about how much I cherish our days together, and how much I wish that the flame be kept alive in us forever. And I also told him that I don’t wish to sleep with him because I don’t feel like doing it. What I don’t wish for, I find difficult to dream. Gradually the frequency of our mails came down. We are still in touch, in the sense we call once in a while. We know we were genuine at that point of time and that we enjoyed our togetherness and enjoy even now the remembrance of it all.

I don’t think of him now unless I see him online or I hear a Bengali saying Kolkatta or when I hear ‘Krishna nee begane…’ or when I find our old post it notes when I clean up my workspace. The letters are destroyed and gone.

Reflecting on myself about why I felt repelled at the thought of physical closeness with him, I found that it was not because I didn’t love him, it was not because I didn’t find him attractive, it was not because of any vow of chastity or loyalty towards my wedlock. It was just that I didn’t feel. And I also noticed that I get a similar repulse in any like situation. And I know why it is so. It is because I am incapable of even imagining sex or sexual advances with any man, maybe I have a genetic ‘disorder’, which old folks would call  as ‘born of good parents’, not that I approve of it or claim it. . And I never felt myself with this 'disorder' prior to marriage. I am born with stronger genes, which will not just let me go any way and lust is not in my blood. My mind is free and so is my will, and this free will desires my body to be touched and caressed only by my husband. I feel unclean any other way. I don’t preach chastity or marital loyalty.