The moot point is that love, especially eternal love, is a highly overrated emotion. The kind of love every artist portrays and every lay person dreams about is essentially transient; not meant to last forever. Let’s face it – the only bell I hear ringing when I kiss my wife is the doorbell; there is certainly no thunderous flash of lightning unless the falling of the utensils in the kitchen can be mistaken for one. The process of being comfortable with a person, of understanding and complementing a person is mistaken for love.

True love as portrayed in the arts does exist, albeit in a transient mode. I definitely remember certain intense phases of my life where the world revolved around a single girl (or a not-single woman). A sideways glance and half a smile was enough to send me in raptures of ecstasy. That flip flop in the stomach; the heady feeling; the insane desire to climb mountains and pluck stars for your sweetheart are all a part of this emotions. But such feelings don’t last; are not meant to last. The joy and therein the tragedy lies in the brief window of time where we are exposed to love. Our best arts are a reflection of what we most desire. Implicit is the fact that we most desire those things which we can’t or don’t have. Once you get your love, it cannot be desired anymore and hence transforms into a comfortable or an acrimonious relationship.

Haven’t all of us experienced true love during our lives? YES. And maybe more than once in a lifetime. The fortunate amongst us have experienced and lost it thereby retaining the charm of love. The not so fortunate amongst us have experienced it and hoping to keep it for eternity, watch it slowly wither away in the humdrum of daily life. The tantalizing possibility of what could be is what keeps the fortunate amongst us in love with love and promotes paeans to the emotion of love. But can you seriously envisage Romeo-Julit, Shirin-farhad, Heer Ranjha surviving eternally the profaneness of everyday mundane life?

Love is a beautiful emotion, to be enjoyed while it exists and to be savoured with a tinge of joyful nostalgia and single malt when it is not. You can’t hold a beautiful rose in your hand and expect it to stay forever. It withers away and dies. Same is the case with true love

As human kind progressed, the club gave way to the mighty sword and the mightier pen. Complex courtship rituals evolved with men rushing in to make bigger fools of themselves in order to woo the fair damsel. Wars were fought, great monuments built, kingdom signed away in this male madness. Off course not everyone was successful and unrequited love found expressions in great literature and works of art.

I seriously rue for the loss of the earliest version of courtship. This chivalry thing is a bit too obtuse and time consuming for my liking. The feint followed by flanking attack is for others – I prefer a direct frontal assault, an invitation to dinner and breakfast kind. There is infinite variety to the basic theme of courting, each one more interesting than other. My last courtship needs to be recounted for its sheer audacity and chutzpah. .

We all were defence officers undergoing a course. Defence officers are a disciplined, hot blooded lot given to passions easily. And yes – some defence officers are women! A couple of weeks into the course and I asked her out to a movie – she accepted. At that stage and age, there are no feints . Her consent to the movie was an implicit consent and both of us knew it. The moot question was – how to break the ice? The thrill was two fold – as defence officers, we could get court martialled and as a married individual, we could get prosecuted under the Indian Penal Code. Funny how the sinful and the taboo is the most enjoyable…..Forbidden fruits are most delicious.

After the movie – dinner. As we sipped our Shiraz and nibbled on the hors d oeuvre, I made the move. Clutching my head, I exclaimed “Oh God – its happening again”.  She inquired what and walked right into the kill zone. Innocently explained that I had a medical condition which needs immediate oral ingestion of complex proteins. “The last time I was afflicted I had to spend 3 days in bed at a friend’s place” I added.   “ I am sure there must be some medicine you can take?” she inquired. I informed her that this protein was not available off the shelf since it was more organic in nature. “So how do get this protein?” she sounded bewildered. “It’s of human origin” I exclaimed triumphantly.

I could not have the luxury of being bedridden for 3 days. Next day I had to get up early to sneak out of her room and be in time for the morning case study.

Right from childhood, I have been a connoisseur of cats – both the two legged and four legged variety. Forty years down the line including twenty years of marriage, my fascination still persists albeit only for the four legged variety.

We have one in the house – a spoilt tomcat whose only interest in life is sleeping, eating and chasing insects. And yes – he allows you to scratch his ears when he wants them scratched or when he feels you have been good enough to deserve the privilege.

Last night, we discovered that a rat has chosen our house as his abode. Obviously the rat found it to his liking since he was merrily prancing around. Spunky – our cat- sniffed the rat’s trail curiously, raised an eye st us reprimanding us for keeping a sloppy house and promptly went back to sleep. Obviously, chasing rats is not one of his passions in life. He is a cuddly furry cat who relishes his Whiskas and sleep.

And I  love him insanely and unconditionally. He jumps on me when I am fast asleep, he breaks crystal, he spoils the leather sofa, he sits in front of the screen when i am typing the most important email – I don’t grudge him anything. He has my permission to do anything if it pleases him and makes him happy.

After his reprimand regarding the rat in my house, I started thinking as to why I love him so much. For all practical purposes, he serves no specific purpose in my life. I definitely don’t love my wife unconditionally or insanely, even the love for my kids is bound by certain expectation and desire for keeping my genes immortal. Honestly speaking, I am incapable of loving any human being unconditionally. But this brat cat can do whatever he wants and I will still love him. Why?

The surprising answer is that I have no expectation from my relationship with the cat. I love him for what he is and nothing more. There are no ego issues, no element of control involved in our relationship. His reprimanding eyes do not strike at the core of my existence nor does my shooing him away makes him feel unwanted. Do I do him a favour by feeding and sheltering him? I never think of it that way and in any case, he provides me immense joy by his very existence, by his being around me. It is not a dominate-subjugate relationship, its and independent, free and co existing relationship.

My lament is – why can’t I have a relationship like that with another human being?

She wore a pink salwar kameez and an attitude, long legs balanced on high heels, no make up, shoulder length jet black hair, honey colour complexion, intoxicating brown eyes, about 30 years. “Hello Sir, how are you?’ she asked as she slid next to me. I had to fight the enticing perfume and presence to concentrate on the lecture.

A few lectures past, I realized two things – she was a tad deficient in her upper storey but made up for it with loads of attitude and chutzpah. I was more than happy to help her with the occasional answers in return for a company and a dimpled smile. Men will always be boys and 500km away from home, staying in a hostel; men will be boys with loads of testosterone!

The moot question hammering my intellect was – can a person have more than one soul mate? Are human instincts and happiness subservient to man made rules, to be sacrificed on the altar of “acceptable behaviour”? Do we come across friends, confidants, loved ones and enemies from our previous births in our present lives? How else can one explain instant like or hate when we run across certain persons? Soulmates are fellow travelers from previous lives or maybe part of our soul which has transmigrated to different physical forms, now trying to get together again……

As students we, armed forces officers, were acutely conscious of the fact that we were the chosen ones to study in the hallowed precincts of the institution. The red stoned building with its sprawling lawns had an old world charm; there was feeling of freedom and expectation in the air. The faculty and alumni of the institution boasted of names from the who-is-who of the academic and management world. Two weeks into the course, we had our first get together with the faculty in the local army mess.

A typical army party on the lawns besides swimming pool, local DJ playing popular numbers. She wore a light blue crepe sari and was letting her hair loose on the dance floor – a figurine full of mischief, masti and oomph. The full moon cast its luminescence on her; the songs talked of her beauty, the music made her come alive.

On the way back to the hostel, I composed my first ode to her and like a love smitten juvenile, emailed the poem to her on the intranet. I didn’t give a damn about rules anymore. I was in love

Heaven (or Hell?) has a nice antiseptic smell to it. I slowly start becoming aware of the environment – the smell and the sounds. My eyes open to revelation that after life is full of fancy gadgets and tubes protruding from my body. I can make out the beeping of technology which has obviously pervaded the after life too. As my eyes become more focused, I can discern my wife sitting at the bedside. Has she followed me here? I force myself to look around, to think rationally. I discover that I am in ICU, very much alive. The scream I had heard was succour in form of my wife walking into the bathroom.  Unfulfilled in love, unsuccessful in death – I feel waves of nausea and disgust. The drugs are welcome as they push me back into the void.

The next time I surface, I am better prepared to face the reality. And so is my family! I see my son and daughter and wife around – looking expectantly at me, smiling, trying to reach out. My mind is blank. The outflow of blood into the bathtub seems to have obliterated all the memories and desires. I feel relief at having a family, at having someone by my bedside as I re surface into mortal life.

Over the next two weeks, I rest, recuperate and rediscover the joys of being a mortal. The family keeps me company, keeps me going on. I rationalize – Powai is near and real, Gravesend by Tilbury and far. Who is more important – the one who made you feel alive or the one who kept you alive? Confusion. What are my priorities? What are my responsibilities? Unrequited love is romantic but is story book romance real life? Can life really be lived in the pages of a romantic novel? My brains struggle with the questions and slowly start taking control of my heart – for good or bad.

The day of my discharge – wife is running around to get the papers cleared. I have conditioned myself to look forward to going home and spending time with the kids. Memories have been entrapped in some dark, dingy corner of my mind. I am undead. There is this tap tap of someone walking in the hospital corridor. The tall woman is wearing high heeled knee length brown Jimmy Choos, a dark green Dior skirt, soft beige blouse and a matching jacket. The hair is soft, silken, shoulder length wavy; the skin honey coloured and dewy fresh. The face is made up to accentuate the high cheekbones, the eye shadow and mascara highlight the smoky brown eyes. The smell of Elizabeth Arden awakens my senses as I realize that she has learnt my lessons on being a sophisticate quite well. She smiles and says in a husky voice “Hello Nadeem – I have really missed you”

It is surprising how life can obsessively revolve around waiting for a single response on the Facebook. My Blackberry had the account, the office computer had the site opened and minimized as also the PC at home. Every moment spent in waiting. Hope and anticipation waxing and waning everyday! Bouts of intense despair where the air seemed poisonously heavy and the lungs incapable of drawing it in. Disinterested and divorced from the mundane happenings of everyday life. Hope is all I lived with, hope which was increasingly giving way to dark, dull despondency.

The temporal self is weak; Eternity a vast chasm for the temporal to bridge. To wait for Eternity, I needed to divorce the temporal and take an ethereal avatar. Maybe time as we know ceases to exist on the ethereal plane. Maybe, the astral self could cross the oceans and watch her sojourn in the temporal till it was over and we were united. The idea slowly began to take root.

I had always been a sybarite – loved the good things of earthly life. But those were means to an end and without her presence in my life, meaningless. I followed elaborate rites for my passage from the temporal to the ethereal. No loose ends to be left behind, no other attachments except for my singular goal – Her.

I sit in the bathtub – soaking luxuriously in warm water with a bottle of Elizabeth Arden’s Mediterranean poured into it. I sit surrounded and immersed in her smell as I remember her. A mellifluous voice renders a popular composition of Ghalib, romantic nuances float in the background. The crystal glass on edge of the tub is filled with my favourite single malt on the rocks – the temporal savouring the last pleasures of the physical world. My laptop runs a slide show of all the images I have stored of her and my brain makes those nostalgic moments come alive. And I watch the white foamy perfumed water change colour – from innocent virgin white to a promising irrevocable red. My sights are dimming as I concentrate on the slide show – locking the last vestiges of her physical image, imprinting them on my soul. I have started feeling cozy and lightheaded when there is a tong from the laptop.

I peer through the gathering haze into my laptop to read my last message.  It’s from her and reads ‘ Hi Nadeem, Howz life treating you?’

She was an ex army officer from the northern part of the country – rustic but with a tremendous zest for life. Five years in the army had not separated her from her penchant for loud lipstick, garish colour combinations of synthetic clothes, loud make up and the hard twang of rural accented English. But she had guts and an attitude which showed promising potential.

I was the sophisticate by Indian standards who could differentiate between Chenin Blanc and Shiraz, Gucci and Armani, between Poison and Opium. I loved my Mozart and Bach while she liked hindi pop, I read Orhan Pamuk while she enjoyed Chetan Bhagat, I played golf while she jogged to keep herself fit. We were as different as cheese to chalk; add an age difference and you have a well nigh impossible situation. But the opposites sought each other desperately. I taught her to be a sophisticate while she taught me how to be alive. I explained etiquettes and learnt the joys of breaking rules from her. We were soulmates – she and I.

Love sneaks in your life only once. That is the time when each joyful pore of your body feels alive, each breath intoxicating. It is a phase when societal laws, familial ties and peer pressure cease to have a meaning. Each moment is exhilarating, pleasurable and filled with immense happiness. And when you make love, stars twinkle, bells jingle, lights explode, there’s the crescendo of Bach in the background. You loose your identity, your souls merge, each day is better than the previous day. You live just to be with her, to see her, to smell her, to allow her to fill up your senses. Obviously, such happiness and love is not meant to last. Human beings in such love would be liberated from the bonds of hate, social norms, religion – disrupting the harsh real world we know.

She went off to distant lands to join her husband exactly a year ago and we lost contact. The intervening year was spent in pining for her, in hoping she was happy, in agonizing over a thousand what-if scenarios, in being caged in the rationality of worldly rules. One year of non-existence until she popped up again on the Facebook.

It has been two months since I have sent the Facebook message to her. She has not replied. I wait patiently. After all, eternity is a long long time……

In every life and form, our meeting was to be due. 

Meet, befriend, love and be together in every life,

But this time you chose to be someone else’s wife.

Through different times we have nurtured this pact, 

And met in different lives, that’s an irrefutable fact.

For you my beloved, I have fought glorious wars,

And our name and fame had spread wide and far.

You were a princess and me an infatuated slave,

Contrary to the royal decree, for you I did crave.
Our covenant held true and when you  came to me,

Killed for love in that life, we were destined to be.

And once, a poor farmer I was who tilled the land,

Everyday you brought me lunch, fed me by hand.

Together we eked out a living from the fertile soil,

Happy and content, the whole day we did toil.

Throughout this life I have sought you far and wide,

Now that we met, by our covenant you must abide.

You are citing reasons, limitations and obligations,

And breaking our covenant without real justification.

This life is different, my endearments you don’t brook,

Violate all vows of togetherness you and I once took.

Covenant, promises, love, eternity don’t mean a thing,

You only look for security and comfort this life can bring.

Grant me a wish, let us meet once again I pray,

Let us keep the covenant even if only for a day.