Tag Archives: Relationships

To be in love with a ‘committed’ woman

At 31, I have nearly given up on love and companionship.

While love is determined on dreamy foundations in your early 20s, as you get to your late 20s, it is about pragmatism and practicality. I have the discipline of a drunk sloth, and do not aim to ever have a job or get married.

At 31, friends do not try to link you up with their friends. Tinder is too shallow for my tastes, and going to meet somebody is too deep for me. My game is not really that of looks – you need to speak to me for a few days before even considering meeting me. Most people have that ONE bad relationship in their lives, all of my 9 relationships were disasters. And I don’t even mean flings, I mean proper relationships.

(Wow, I sound depressing!)

I spent the last one year sleeping around, but how long can a man keep doing that? Flings are great when the night is long and sinful. But once the sun has risen and you have to discuss realities like ‘How do I get back home?’ or ‘When will he be back?’, I feel terribly cheap.

And so my life was hurtling along, when I met this woman.

And thus, the saga began all over again.

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Call me soppy, but most of my relationships begin when I dream about the person (I know, I know!).  

In my dreams, I am super confident about myself, a healthy mix of Dev Anand and Shammi Kapoor who can serenade and sweep off nimble feet. All the women I have dated have been stunning, and I look like the actor Harish having a bad hair day. Which means I require high levels of confidence before taking my stance.

And just when I had given up on myself, I came across this woman.

There is a distinct pattern to all the woman I had the chance to spend time with. For some reason, they all love dogs, Harry Potter and marijuana.

Talking to a woman you like for the first time is like doing acid. You pop the tab and wait for it to take effect. You smile and you grin and forget that you’re a monster deep within. The world around you opens up in beautiful, vivid colours. Your broken, jagged soul fits into the horizon like a jigsaw puzzle.

Only problem though, she has a boyfriend!

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When I meet a woman I like who’s committed, there are two paths to take. One, a completely physical, wanton ‘Wham, bam, Bol Bam’. The second, I avoid them completely.

That was the plan. The plan was to forget her and move on, try to be a better person.

But I cannot stop thinking about her. I keep checking out the timezone she is in, wondering what she might be doing at this moment. I keep checking to see if she is online, keep fighting off those dark, evil thoughts that knock on the outside of my brain.

To be in love with a woman who is committed to someone else feels like injustice. Like pain somewhere deep within that cannot be diagnosed. Like running for miles like a maniac, and discovering you’re on a treadmill.

I long for a time when we were all early men and women. When society hadn’t drawn up these lines and divisions. When the only ‘commitment’ humans had was to hunt for the deer that evening.

Of course, I could put an end to all this misery. I could ask her if she wanted to be with me, and she might probably agree. Might. But I have zero confidence in my own abilities. In my morals and ethics. What if I go back to being the lazy sloth that I am? What if I cheat on her too?

Do I have the right to uproot her from her magical life and bring her into mine, full of monsters and demons?

And so I sit here in my shallow pit and wallow in self-pity.

For being in love with a committed woman, is worse than being in love at all.

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How it all crumbles

It is called ‘chasing’ for a reason.

There is a predatory feel to it. You first identify, and then track. You familiarise yourself with their patterns and movements. You wait for the ideal time, and then pounce! Hence the sense of achievement.

The euphoria of success, a congratulatory victory in the air. The pursuit is always the finale, the climax.

They don’t tell you that it’s just the beginning.

What follows is Book – keeping.

Debit what goes out. Credit what comes in.

That day, you said that. Cha-ching!

But I didn’t reply at all. Cha-ching!

See how tolerant I am. Cha-ching cha-ching cha-ching!

We kept account. Like hardworking gnomes at Gringotts. Carefully keeping score, tallying balance sheets, checking for discrepancies and misappropriations.

What follows is strategy and maneuvers. And what maneuvers they were! Jose Mourinho would stop and shake our hands. A careful twist here, an innocuous pulling out of context there. Just the right amount of pressure applied at exactly the right time, leading to volcanic results.

What games they were! Mind games and soul games. Punching harder and lower and harder and lower till it became cathartic pleasure. Checking how low we could go, and then reaching that bitter spot. Only to punch harder and lower the next time.

Some people bring out the best in each other. And some the absolute worst. The most vicious, the most vile. We were the latter.

How strange it is. Just a few months ago two people are absolute strangers. Checking each other out in their beds, on their smartphones. Swiping through information put out there. And then suddenly, it is a splash of water and boiling lava at the same time.

At some point of time in life, we can say a few things about ourselves with utter confidence. We know our bodies – the tweaks, pain and pleasure points. We know our mind,our strengths and weaknesses. If there is one thing I know with absolute certainty, it is that relationships are not my cup of vodka.

In fact, it was a fling I was chasing. But there is no warning when a fling spills over stealthily into a relationship, like a hand reaching out in the dark. There is no notification – ‘You have used up 90% of your fling balance. You will henceforth be charged’.

And as always, we had to walk down the dark lane again. Like dropping acid and watching the stars spin you lay on the grass. Only to wake up the next morning and realise the trip is fading. That the tiles that seemed to swerve seductively last night are regular tiles – off-white, with crumbs of dirt around the edges.

I had tried to remove some of the skeletons in the closet. I ended up taking their place. You’ll probably find me standing reluctantly when you open the closet again.

For how it is love if we don’t claw into the other’s heart and yank out the soul? How is it love if we haven’t changed the other person permanently? Left wounds that will singe for a while and then retire as scars.

For now though, my beloved, we must part. For we aren’t meant to be. We will be memories in each other’s heads. We’ll be monsters waiting in the dark, slashing angrily every time the closet is opened. Only to be shut off again.
And that, my love, is how it crumbles. 

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(Featured image courtesy: http://www.ascendyourlimits.com)