20th July, every year!

20th July, 1998:
A couple met on a dirty beach in Bombay. He was tall, she was small (well, not so small). He was fair, she was dusky. They came from different places, their parents didn’t know each other, they didn’t even celebrate the same festivals.

The books, the coffee, and the music convinced them otherwise. Steinbeck and Led Zeppelin united them. They felt the same rush of emotion on the last page of ‘Grapes of Wrath.’ Shakti made their hearts sing in unison, and a few monsoon treks in the Sahyadris had them exhilarated. He made her laugh like no one ever did, she made him cry (he didn’t do that too often). They were convinced: they were meant to be together, come IIMs, USA or whatever.

On that scorching hot day, they made up their mind, ‘Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.’ After they exchanged the ‘It’s you!’ line, so refreshingly and vehemently different from ‘I love you!,’ they walked, not hand-in-hand (too shy to do that yet!) to their favorite Indian-Chinese joint and celebrated the day with greasy Schezwan fried rice and vinegared baby onions. The grass was not particularly greener; no angels sang out of anywhere; traffic was as usual.

She wondered: Isn’t this supposed to be magical? Where is the moment?

I am still wondering…. the magic is not in the grass or the serenading angels. It is in the realization that some things grow lovelier with time, that change is ever-present and that if you find someone with whom you can *dance*, no matter how much space and time intervene, you will *dance*.

My most romantic piece till date… Dedicated to my totally undeserved blessing, Pinch.