I
still remember the first time I met her. It was a hot April Sunday afternoon.
We had bonded momentarily over the works of Satyajit Ray. There was nothing extraordinary about her.
Just another culturally inclined Bengali woman.
It’s
hard for me to remember when exactly I developed feelings for her. But I
believe it began almost a year and a half after we first met. On a despondent,
rainy Sunday afternoon. I was being
driven mad by the tedious monotony of existence. And she came like a storm. No
complexities, no intricacies. And she blew all the sewage away from my mind. Something
extraordinary about her. She made everything seem effortlessly simple.
I
remember the first time I heard her sing. It was a lazy, indifferent Sunday
afternoon. I have heard a million songs in my life, but never before have I
been filled instantly with an overwhelming flood of emotions. After that day, her songs were treats I fervently
anticipated. Like you wait for the next part of your favourite story when the
last part has ended in a cliff-hanger. Something
extraordinary about her. It’s like the King of Ghosts from the aforementioned
Mr. Ray’s films has gifted her the voice of an angel.
I
remember our first day of courtship. It was a fading Monday evening. The world
was rushing me by and then she appeared and just like that, as if by some
powerful magic spell, the whole world froze. I don’t remember the conversation
we had. I just remember feeling that I was finally home. I couldn’t take my
eyes off her, as if afraid that if I did so, she would disappear and I would
wake up. Something extraordinary about her. She could stop time and make a hopeless man dream.
In
this journey of life, we often take each other for granted. We often forget the
moments of magic. It would help, if on some idle, commonplace Sunday afternoon,
we could recall those beautiful moments that make life worth living. It would
help if we could remember the moments we fell in love. Because, as some great
men once sang, all you need is love, love is all you need.
