This happened a few days ago when I was chatting with this Bong girl. She was enquiring about my marks, and I was wondering if it was my mother with a fake Bong ID. My mother has tested me through fake IDs and fake calls a million times, and her latest feat was prank-calling my father twice on the same day, once impersonating Airtel Customer Care girl, and the other time, Anuradha. You already know about Anuradha I guess. My father fell for the Customer Care trap. My mother first celebrated for pulling off this stunt, and then she sulked big time. The love story of my parents is strange.
Anyway, the conversation gradually smoothed towards better topics like feelings and expectations and love after I told her my scores. We had shared these views before, but still. I mean it was still better than talking about Women’s literacy rates and stuffs.
“I believe in forever love stories. If I fall for somebody, I want him to be my first and last. “She said.
“You haven’t been in a relationship before. “I reminded her, “You don’t know the reality. There’s no such thing as forever love stories. “
And so, we debated. Debates are futile arguments, actually. You can change somebody’s opinion but not somebody’s belief. And for this girl, the immortality of love stories was a belief.
“I still believe. “She said, and I stopped arguing. We talked for a while and then she was sleepy and I was down with a headache.
I thought about it as I made my bed and crashed, my eyelids heavy like stars. This is a girl who’s never been in a relationship, but it seems she has fallen for somebody, somewhere, sometime. Maybe unrequited love. Or maybe ignorance. Or literary overdose.
She reminded me of myself. A few years ago, I had the same belief. Just this girl who kicks my brain to dysfunction.
But then, life happened. And my own definition of love, which I had adhered to since I started to love, changed. Love might be immortal, but love stories come with an expiry date. I still feel the stupid affection I had with my first crush, though with decreased intensity, and I also love this super crazy girl who walked through my life like a storm, and yet, I can say I don’t love either of them like I used to. Then the random, strange, momentary feeling of a possibility I have everyday with different girls. The girl in the metro, the accountant’s daughter, the only girlfriend who now appears like a rough sketch in my memory. It’s impossible to figure out what is love and what is not. Movies tell you that true love doesn’t let you sleep. Sometimes I think about one, sometimes I think about others. And each of them gives me sleepless nights. And yet, I don’t want to meet any of them. In all these years, I’ve realized this truth of life.
Love stories cannot be forever.
And they shouldn’t be even.