I saw stories of faith, love and perseverance. And after a lot of thought, I decided to pen down my story for the world to read.

“I first met my fiancé in 2006. I was loud, brash, sarcastic and mad with a strong Tamilian streak. At 25, I moved to Mumbai for work. An average student who scrapped through exams got placed in an MNC in Mumbai.  Around a year in Mumbai, I met him at a baby shower of a common friend. He was a doctor, actually a dentist. We were complete opposites. Sophisticated, soft spoken, friendly and a super star human being. I really don’t know how and when cupid struck cause we were poles apart and miles away. Well, Santosh always told that he knew I was the one he wanted to grow old with.

We started off as good friends and I cannot pinpoint a day when it turned to love. We liked our differences even though at times I hated the fact that he gurgled while laughing and he used to hate my bright clothes — said I had a huge tamilian influence. We used to live every moment, enjoy the sunshine, I loved the way he used to hold my hands while driving, loved the way he used to put the hair behind my ears, loved the fact when he tried to plait my thick hair while I had a  shoulder dislocation, loved the way he stole glances making me feel special very special. Always!

God has indeed been kind to me. As days passed, our fights got us closer, our arguments made us stronger and the distance built hope. We were imperfectly perfect for each other. convincing my conventional orthodox parents was an uphill task — but letting go wasn’t an option, so he took upon the task of convincing my parents and eventually they agreed.

2009 on the eve of Holi, as I was sorting my clothes, smiling, and just thinking about us, Drunk in my thoughts, I didn’t realise I had a couple of missed calls from an unknown number. I called back and it was a random stranger who said that there was an accident and the person was shifted to a hospital and the last dialed number was mine.

I was stunned, I didn’t know how to react.. my heart stopped for a second and from the very next second it started beating faster. I took the auto throughout praying that it was not him. I tired calming my mind “of course he can’t be in Mumbai. He had gone to Kerala to meet his friends”. My hands shivered while I dialed his friend’s number and they screamed in unison “Bhabhi, you made him jorru ka gulam.. he dumped us for you..tell him no more friends”. I murmured something and disconnected, I prayed and told God that he couldn’t be unfair. I reached the hospital and found out it was him. It was a hit and run case, he was already in the operation theatre. I gathered the courage to inform his parents who flew down the same day. His mother cursed and accused me.

His arm was deeply damaged and had to be amputated. Meanwhile, he had slipped into coma, the hours turned into days but we didn’t hear a word… My heart went out to their parents as he was their only child. I just prayed. At 29 my life had taken a steep turn.

On 25 March, around 11 PM, the doctors declared him dead and there was silence all around. Relatives started cursing god, many blamed me and some had sympathy towards me.

I was shattered and angry! shattered that he didn’t survive, angry that he didn’t keep his promise. I wanted to fight, I wanted him to say something but there he was sleeping with a sly smile and bandaged head. I kept staring at his body. I was just numb as I had prayed for a miracle. But miracles happen only in books… isn’t it?? How could God be so unkind, so ruthless to a person who was so kind?

I silently went through the process of last rites, I returned home to an empty space and longed for a hug from him. I longed for him to kiss my forehead, longed to have his hand curl into mine.”

To My Love,

“The red dress has shrunk and the ring just doesn’t fit, the fragrance from the roses and orchids have dried and the chocolate wrappers stare from the box. The song you recorded plays in loop on my phone and i smile when I hear your voice from cassettes to CDs and iPods. Your voice has survived the growth of technology. The mushy letters, the cards and the pictures are a part of my life and I smile at how juvenile both of us were. I still snuggle in your favourite sweater that I stole and i can still smell you through the clothes.

I sometimes think how it would have been if you were around? would you have been fat or thin, blading or bearded, would we have had kids, would we have loved each other to infinity or given up on each other. Well I dont know, but then I know we would have been together, giggling, talking, fighting, eating and just being happy.

I moved countries to lessen the pain but then you were always by my side, as a star which shines in the otherwise dark sky.  So while I was in the city which bought us close, I thought I would pen this letter to you, my love because there was never a person who was so humble, genuine and humane like you. I continue to love you and I know you love me the way you always did. And when my times up and we meet, I would continue to fight for I still haven’t forgiven you for betraying and leaving me alone.”

you would always be my yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever.

Time doesn’t heal..  it just doesn’t !! time probably gets us in terms with the situation.

Love is not sacrificing, love is not about what each one did, love is not what was spent. Love is love, a deep emotion of togetherness, a want,  a need. If we love people like it’s their last day then their would be no room for arguments…

To the many men and women who play and destroy emotions in the name of love, stop abusing the word for the sake of LOVE.. you don’t have to ever prove your love to the person who loved you.

–Anonymous (The identity of the my story contributor is kept anonymous upon request.)

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