‘Word by Word’ is a column by Garima Behal on learning to ride the highs and lows of everyday life
Here, she talks of young love, old love, and all the loves that hide in the corners of our expectations, the realities of our lives, and the unseen edges of our minds.
“Don’t go!”
I texted him when he told me his sister was in town and wanted to meet.
“Your Saturdays are mine,” I whined like a child.
Only, in this case, the tantrum was thrown by an adult.
“They’re the only day we get to be together.”
And if I don’t get to have even that, why did I pack my bags and move to a city that I swore I’d never move to?
I didn’t say the last part out loud, but I thought it. A moment later, the anger that spawned this thought was replaced by guilt.
I was being unreasonably selfish.
You’d think I did better the next time something similar came up. But old habits die hard.
Over the course of one month, we kept having the same fight over and over again—his logical argument that he had a ton of other responsibilities outside of our relationship against my hankering for undivided attention and the mythical epitome of romantic bliss.
You see, I’ve been brought up on a steady diet of Bollywood movies where happily-ever-after is less a favorable outcome and more a basic prerequisite for relationships. As a result, my worldview is shaped by a deeply convincing yet deeply problematic belief: Love is enough. Love falls into place by itself. And love shouldn’t take work.
Love is…misunderstood?
But is it so, or is love simply misunderstood? Glamorized? Revered and idealized more than we care to admit?
I know from one heartbreaking experience after another how inadequate love is.
Healthy romantic relationships need much more to survive, thrive, and ultimately stand the test of time.
When I mess up the lentil soup in the kitchen or stand around cluelessly wondering how to chop the fenugreek leaves, I’m sure he’s not thinking: God, I love this abysmal cook so much. But he understands that of the two of us, he is more experienced in the kitchen, and he takes charge, making it all come together somehow. Sometimes, he just smiles at me condescendingly.
When he occasionally wants to be left alone on a particularly demanding day for the both of us, I don’t necessarily feel outpourings of warm, fuzzy feelings for him. I often act meanly, sulking about it for the rest of the week and throwing in a sarcastic remark or two whenever the opportunity presents itself. At other times, I decide to be a grown-up, and we make up for lost time.
It’s often not love but compromise, compassion, and a little bit of selflessness that keep us from ripping each other’s heads off and calling it a day for our relationship.
Love is…not easy…
But compromise doesn’t come easily to either of us. We’re both headstrong people, raised with a similar set of unrelenting values. And with an inimitable affinity for doing things our way.
From time to time, his agnosticism bothers me when I’m kneeling inside a gurdwara. He’s often annoyed by my rose-tinted glasses. My impatience causes conflicts between us. As does his tendency to keep some of his darkest thoughts hidden deep inside the crevices of his bewitching, magnificent mind. I’m both amazed and annoyed by how rationally he thinks; his constant advice to me is not to be swayed by my emotional self.
We’re people who are different from each other. Which makes us people who can be difficult for each other.
At the same time, though, this makes us near-perfect complements.
The writer, Alain de Botton, in one of my favorite New York Times essays, writes: The person who is best suited to us is not the person who shares our every taste (he or she doesn’t exist), but the person who can negotiate differences in taste intelligently — the person who is good at disagreement.
When my feelings get too overwhelming, he can calm the chaos. When his darkness overpowers him, my eternal optimism lends a ray of sunshine. When the budget needs tallying, or DIY furniture stops making sense to me, I’ll go to him. When he gets bored of his routine, I’ll be ready with creative ideas to do fun stuff together.
It takes work, often too much of it, to sustain what we have.
Love is…equal parts brutal and beautiful
Mark Manson, author of the bestseller, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, says, “While love may make you feel better about your relationship problems, it doesn’t actually solve any of your relationship problems.”
I wish I had known this before I signed up for a relationship!
Jokes apart, having lived love for a while now, I see that, like most things in life, love has two sides. One is verdant meadows blooming, a gentle breeze blowing, and the moon and stars glittering against a midnight blue sky. The other is hellfire raging, planets scorching, apocalypse descending on an unsuspecting population.
Love, I realize, doesn’t have to be a destination. It’s a journey that traverses all topography of the human experience—charted and uncharted.
Having lived love, I understand that sometimes we are the only ones who can help it live.
Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of MyndStories.
