She’s opinionated. She has her own views on different things. But she’s not rigid. She lends her ear to listen to what the other person has to say too. She’s the undiplomatic foil to the diplomatic me. She takes a stand as she sees it right. She also helps me take one by presenting her view. But she doesn’t force me to take a side if I don’t see the point. She talks a lot and ensures that the introvert in me isn’t active. But she also listens when spoken to. She lets me see the fun side when I become too organized. She acts as Chandler to the ‘sometimes’ Monica in me. She’s definitely the Rachel to the Ross in me.
She’s beautiful. Not merely in her physical appearance, but in the way she goes out of her way to help people. She reads a lot. She has read a lot. But she still stays by my side if I reread a Rowling for the umpteenth time. Tamil books aren’t her forte. But that won’t stop her from pestering me to read a Sujatha or an Indira Soundarrajan or a Kalki Krishnamurthy. She’s a foodie with an eclectic taste. But that doesn’t stop her from appreciating the food I cook, however good or bad it tastes.
She’s a feminist like me. She helps me see the tempered, liberal side of things when I see the radical side of things at times. She likes movies. No wonder then that we argue so much about a Tarantino or a Christopher Nolan or a Mani Ratnam. She writes well. She likes what I write. But that doesn’t stop her from criticizing my work when she sees the need for it. She’s my first and my best critic.
I don’t know if she genuinely likes football. But she sits by my side and supports Chelsea whenever a match is on. I think she likes Cristiano Ronaldo. But that hasn’t stopped her from appreciating the beauty of Messi’s game. She loves Rafael Nadal. But she also acknowledges and appreciates the magic in Federer’s game. She’s not much of a cricket fan. But she’ll still sit in front of the TV when Dhoni is batting. She loves music. I love the way she finds me videos of a Hamsadhwani being played, just because I told her that I like it. She’s a big fan of AR Rahman. But she’s always by my side when I get immersed into the beauty of an Ilayaraja.
She’s spiritual. But she never imposes her views on spirituality and religion on others. She’s actively social and socially active. I love the way she secures her spot in the sofa like Sheldon. I love the way she imagines herself to be Snape whenever she gets to say ‘Always’. I love the way she teases me with her ‘backpacking in Western Europe’ story when she’s in the mood. ;-) I love the way she tells me that I know nothing, like Jon Snow. I love the way she makes me binge watch FRIENDS when she realizes that I’m a bit down and not my usual self. I love the way she enjoys a walk by the seaside with winds for whisper and waves for music. I love the way she is, for she loves me the way I am. I love her for what she is. She is. She exists. In the corners of my heart. In the chambers of my brain. She exists. In my dreams. In a parallel universe. I hope to meet her in real, someday.
The above passage was written in response to an often-asked-of-late question. :-) I let my creative juices flow a bit. Nothing more. Nothing less. Don’t imagine things. :-)