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. :-)
