Weekends

There have been a few amazing weekends so far this year that I’ve missed writing about here. At this point I am sure I’ve forgotten the little details that I would have liked to note down, but better late than never. So here’s what I remember of the adventures so far –

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A weekend in February was spent roaming around DC Metro and MD. We visited a museum or two; other than that, though, most of our sightseeing escapades involved spending time outdoors. The weather was biting cold those three days, but that didn’t deter us from visiting one waterfront after another. When there’s good company and great conversations to be had, nothing else matters, right? Amazing weekend, yes it was.

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For the Easter weekend, plans were initially made and canceled due to my fever, etc. But as Friday morning approached, we decided to go ahead and head out for the weekend. I was getting better, that was good news; also, staying home all week only strengthened my urge to get going. So, we woke up, got ready, packed, and hit the road.

We drove to Wilmington, NC on Friday and spent the afternoon there. Given that it was still early in the season, the places were relatively less crowded. We got a chance to roam around the town and its neighboring beaches without the usual hustle-bustle.

After roaming around for a while, we stepped in to one of the local cafes (how is any trip complete without a stop at at least one local coffee shop?) to have some hot chocolate in order to fight the chill outside. The owner there enlightened us with some interesting points about the neighborhood, recommended some local restaurants for dinner, and also let us in on an insider secret about how to escape the never-ending queue at the famous local shop that sold country’s best donuts. Yes, we tried her trick; yes, it worked – within minutes of putting her words into action, I walked in and out with half a dozen donuts in my hand to the envy of people who’d been standing in the line for much longer. Ha!

As time approached for dinner, the partner pointed out to the cozy Parisian looking, waterfront facing balconies in a restaurant that looked very inviting. We stepped in, asked to be seated in one of the balconies, forgetting the cold wind. We sat there, with our winter jackets still on and enjoyed the view for a while. When it came time to place orders, though, we ran out of luck. I am a vegetarian and a picky eater. The restaurant only had one vegetarian appetizer, which we ordered, and two vegetarian main courses. Of the two main courses, one had eggplant in it, which I do not eat, and the other had so much cheese in it that I decided not to have that either. Hence, once we finished appetizer we walked out in search of another restaurant for the rest of the dinner. By the time we decided on another place and went there, our appetite had died down and we ended up, again, ordering an appetizer, sharing that and calling it a meal. Good times.

We spent that night in Wilmington and drove to Savannah, GA on Saturday. What can I say about this place? Where do I start? The partner has been here before and I’ve seen the pictures he’d taken during that trip. To top that, the partner had only fond things to say about the town. So here I was, all excited to experience the beauty and form warm memories of my own. And to say that I was not let down would be an understatement. That tranquil feeling this tiny European town look-alike evoked in me was enough to make me fall in love with the place once and for all. Ireland – that’s what came to mind after the first few hours we spent in Savannah. So much that we even wove dreams of maybe someday moving to an Irish city and exploring that side of the world. Anyway, I couldn’t get enough of it during the two days I was there. And I can’t wait to go back there someday.

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When we moved here last year, I remember seeing our current home for the first time and falling in love with all the space it had to offer. Coming from a city like Boston where we lived in tiny apartments, the porches and the backyards here seemed heavenly. As we were in the process of finalizing the place, there was one thing that the partner pointed out that we put aside as something to plan when the right time came. “Look at the backyard; it’s a perfect place to play Holi, don’t you think? We should definitely do it” he had said.

Fast forward so many months and the time eventually came. We chose a day, keeping in mind the weather, to celebrate Holi and welcome Spring. Colors and water balloons were bought. Invitations were sent out. Plans were made and finalized. And the day arrived in all its glory.

As people starting coming in right around the planned time, I was inside filling the water balloons. I could hear the guests cheer, and the kids laughing and running around. The partner called out and asked me to come join the fun. “Only a few more balloons and I’ll be there”, I announced, trying hard to get the job done quicker. And by the time I stepped out, I could hardly put a name to the colorful faces around me. Within seconds, I was one of them – an unrecognizable blob of color running behind the next person of interest with balloon in one hand and powder of some bright color in another.

Age was no barrier for all the excitement that was in the air. Grownups enjoyed it as much as the kids did. Everyone had fun… even our neighbor’s father who must be 80+ years of age – he didn’t play with us, but he sat there watching everyone go crazy and that, he said, was enjoyable in its own way. It sure was a success and the kids are already asking us when we can do it again.

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This past weekend, one of our friends had us over for a sumptuous lunch; we watched a movie after, walked around Duke Gardens in the evening, played pool for a while before returning home to have another go at the grand meal that night. I still can’t get over how so delicious everything was. Yum!

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There have been other fun weekends too – the afternoon when we went on a 10+ mile bike ride, all those evenings spent at cafes listening to live music, the time we went mini golfing and bowling, the night (which turned into day by the time we were finished) we spent playing Monopoly.

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Ahh, the fun… may it continue forever.

Last Birthday and some more…

This post is going to be here and there, sort of incoherent. That’s what ends up happening when I don’t record anything for almost a year and suddenly realize that there are all incidents that need to be noted down before my memory fails me, for that happens more often than not. For instance, last week the partner and I were discussing something and the question of what I did for my last birthday came up. I drew a blank. I knew there was something about the day that made it special, but the mind refused to go back in time to try and recall even snippets. And it was the partner who finally aided my brain recollect it all.  So now, I want to go on record and say that my last birthday was wonderful.

The partner and I were driving from Boston to DC that night to attend a conference where my sister was to give a speech the day after. Right around midnight (I noticed the time only later), the partner pulled over at a service area. The dozy version of me asked him a million questions about why we were stopping, reminded him that we were already running late and I was getting grouchier by the second, and finally, gave up and closed my eyes letting him do whatever it was that he wanted to do by taking a break there. Within a few minutes, I heard the door to my side of the car open and there he was with a cake in his hand, wishing me a happy birthday. (Was there a candle? I am guessing there was, but I don’t remember. See, that’s why I should’ve noted it all down within few days.)Oh, that’s what the stop is about, that inner tube light turned on.

With the merriest of heart, I cut the cake. A cake that the partner had baked by himself. There were signs the day before, you know. He had called to ask me for a tiny detail about the recipe. He had mentioned that his roommates were baking something and they wanted to know. And I’d believed that. The thought didn’t even cross my mind that he was planning something so perfect for my birthday. A sweet surprise, it sure was. And there was more of it in store!

Once we resumed our drive, I got a call from a friend who sent big birthday wishes my way. How so very touched I was that she remembered, worked out the time difference and rang me right around midnight! And the fact that this was the first time I was talking to her made it all the more noteworthy (I had conveniently forgotten about it until now, how so unmindful of me.) I was ecstatic for the rest of the journey, needless to say. We reached DC really late and obviously, I fell asleep the first chance I got. Having gone to bed few hours before dawn only gave me an excuse (like I need one) to sleep a little more than usual next morning. The partner, though, I realized woke up way before I was even ready to open my eyes. He was getting ready to step out; I asked him where he was going. He mentioned that he’d forgotten something in the car and had to go get it so he can get ready for the day. Ok, I said and went back to my blissful slumber.

When I woke up a little later, there was a big gift next to me on the bed. Unable to contain my excitement, I sat up and unwrapped it carefully. Inside I found something I’ve wanted for months. A pair of boots! I remember going on and on to the partner and my then roommate S about how I definitely want a pair of boots for the upcoming winter. But I never bought myself one because any pair I liked I turned down because of the price tag. This pair was gorgeous. He shared the tale of when he went shopping, how/why he chose this particular one, and how he was sure I would fall in love with them. A huge grin appeared on my face and a few tears trickled down my cheeks.

There was a sign of this too, you know, only I’d yet again chosen to ignore it. The partner had called me to inquire about my shoe size the evening before. He mentioned that his sister wanted him to buy her shoes (he was to visit India in a few weeks) and he wasn’t sure what size to go for. So he wanted to know my shoe size given that his sister and I share similar stature. And yes, I believed that.

After trying on the boots and falling head over heels in love with them, I got ready to face the day ahead. We went to a café nearby to have some breakfast. And there, the partner pulled out a greeting card from his bag. The Office is one of my favorite shows and in that card, the partner had written out wishes from each of the main characters of the show in their unique style. What a laughter riot it was reading through those thoughtful messages for the birthday girl!

 The day was spent visiting museums, planetarium and just walking around the city. The phone was on silent for most of the day, which meant I missed a few calls from friends. Listening to their voicemails later made the day all the more amazing. The sister joined us in the evening and the three of us went out for a fancy dinner, which was my birthday treat from the sister. She had also sent a bunch of books as gift a week earlier. What more could I ask for! After dinner, I think we went sightseeing, a few monuments here and there. All the walking took a toll, especially since it was windy and cold, so we called it a day and headed back to the hotel.

So there, it’s all on record now and I can come back to it lest I forget it again.

Oh wait, did I say I was going to write about more than one thing? (I am too lazy to go back and edit the beginning of the post or the title. So I’ll just let it be.) I should’ve known better… no matter how hard I try I can’t ever seem put down only a few lines and let things be. It’s almost always going to be a full blown post dedicated to specific happenings. Weirdly, it’s just the opposite when I talk – 0ne can ask me the most open-ended question there is and I can still manage to answer with very limited words. Hmmm. Anyway, I guess this only means there are more posts coming up. Wait and watch…

Of discussing sex lives, and of nicknames

Ah, that got your attention, didn’t it?

The partner and I were listening to the radio, as usual, on our way back home last evening. There was some mention of how people are more likely to open up about their sex lives than they are about their salaries. And the partner was prompt to note it and said -

Nobody ever discusses their sex life with me.

I couldn’t be quiet, so I jumped in quickly and added -

Yeah I know. No one ever discusses it with me either.

I was expecting a what-are-we-missing discussion to follow, only to be shocked. The partner, without missing a beat, came back with -

Well, no one would discuss their sex life with you. You are creepy.

I was shocked, did I mention? I took a couple of seconds and reacted with a high pitched -

WHAT?!?!?? Why would you say something like that? Why do you think I am creepy?

A few tell-me-tell-me-tell-me-NOWs and a few pointing-at-strangers-to-note-their-level-of-creepiness later, this is what he had to say -

I wanted to use the word ‘creepy’ in a sentence  today. Nothing came up all day long where I could put it to use appropriately. So, when you presented me with this chance, how could I resist?

Hmmm… how does one react to that?

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The partner has a habit of coming up with new nicknames for me every few days. He’ll call me by that for a while and move on to another as soon as he makes something up. The recent addition to the never ending list is Punchco. Do not ask me what it means. I don’t know and I am pretty sure he doesn’t either. It’s just something random, as it is more times than not. When he called me by that word name last week, I asked him why he keeps giving me so many names, why he can’t stick to one or maybe only a few? His response, you ask? Here, this is what he said -

I am preparing myself for the future. What if years down the line I am diagnosed with some memory related disease and I forget your name? I am just making sure that I give you a many names starting now that when it comes down to the time when I lose my memory, I can just shout out any random word and you’ll assume I’m calling / talking to you, or maybe that I am giving you a new name, as usual. It’s all for your good.

Well played, love, well played.

A bittersweet memory…

It’s now over a decade since my grandfather (paternal) passed away. Everyone has their own memories to share when it comes to remembering Thatha. I hear from Paatti stories about what a sharp, intelligent mind he had. I hear from Appa about how staunch a supporter he was of education. I hear from other family members tales of how hardworking he was – what all he went through to come up in life, to build a family and to provide for all their needs. I hear from my sisters / cousins about what a great grandfather he was.

And I… I have one memory, and it’s bittersweet.

Unlike my relationship with my grandmother, my bond with my grandfather was never strong. For reasons unknown to anyone in the family, my grandfather and I got off on the wrong foot. No one remembers why or how, but my grandfather and I hardly ever spoke to each other. We didn’t grow apart; this wasn’t something that happened gradually with time… it’s been that way for as long as I remember. We lived under the same roof for over a decade, yet, the only conversations I remember having with him from back then involves either me inviting him after dinner table was set, or him letting me know that someone was looking for me, or me acting as a messenger, relaying a piece of info to him from someone, at the most.

Growing up alongside him for years together only strengthened my resolve to keep my distance. And it made me reason with myself and dig out theories as to why I didn’t take the initiative to get to know him better. While my sisters and cousins would merrily gather around him to hear him tell a story on a Sunday afternoon, I would go about doing chores. While the children in the family would run to hug him when he returned home after a trip, I would stand there and stare. While everyone in the family showed both respect and fear for the patriarch, I was merely indifferent. So, like I said, our relationship was complicated… or was it simple and straightforward? Depends on how one looks at it, I suppose.

The lack of interest in mending the broken bond (or, should I say, in creating a bond where nothing existed before) was mutual. It wasn’t just me who was unconcerned; he took the same stance. His affection for my sisters had no bounds. And they reciprocated. Perhaps he had the same warm grandfatherly feelings for me as well, but it never showed… when it came to me, he only got involved when requested and let me be otherwise. With time, both of us adapted to live comfortably in the our own cocoons without needing the other’s company, learning how to well hide any emotions – be it anger or fondness –  we may have felt for each other.

Years down the line, my father secured a job in a different city and we moved out. This only weakened what was left of the relationship. We grew farther apart. Some holidays were spent visiting the grandparents, and the excitement, for me, was only about meeting grandma, not grandpa. And it didn’t feel like I was missing much.

In the summer of 2000, we moved back to Madras and lived, temporarily, with the grandparents while my parents looked for a suitable residence near school. At this time, my grandfather’s health was deteriorating by the day. All his children and their families were around. Even with rising health issues, he managed to spend as much time as possible with his family. It was then that my affection for him surfaced a bit. I don’t really know if it was seeing a strong man like him bedridden or if something inside of me really changed, but grief overtook me the same way it did all others. And, hence, when the elders decided that it was better to let the children be elsewhere and not see their grandfather in that condition, I refused to go; and, left with no other option, my sisters and my cousin were sent away to spend a couple of days with my uncle and aunt, while I stayed back.

I can still remember that afternoon like it happened yesterday. I was in the terrace with my cousin when my uncle came rushing. He told us that the doctor was called as Thatha wasn’t responding all too well, and the doctor arrived only to give the news that Thatha’s organs were failing, one after the other. He doesn’t have much time, my uncle said, he wants to see you. I exchanged a gaze with my cousin and got ready to walk behind her to see what Thatha wanted her for. My uncle let out a cry – why are you staring at her? He wants to see you!, he said. And before I could totally grasp the fact that he was talking to me, I was rushed inside the house.

I sat by the bedside and waited for Thatha to open his eyes. My uncle leaned towards Thatha and whispered to him that I’d come. Thatha opened his eyes and put in all the efforts that he could to keep them open. He took my hand in his and with much difficulty spoke… I want to go for a walk; I want to go outside; will you please take me? he asked. I looked around and then at Thatha. I told him he wasn’t in a position to go out for now and that I would take him as soon as he got better. But this is as good as it’s going to get. It’s all downhill from here. And I have so much left to do. I have to get to the bank now. Let’s go, please, he pleaded again. I held his hand closer, gripped it tighter. The sight was nothing short of heartbreaking. How can the man as strong and as powerful as he be pleading to me? I controlled my tears as much as I could, but they refused to stay in. My eyes went blurry. I tried hard not to lose eye contact. I told him it was just a matter of time before he got better and I would take him right after the doctor gave me an ok. The next few minutes were spent with everyone around him trying to explain to him that everything can wait and that, right now, he needed to rest. But I want you to take me out. You’re the only one who I know will listen to me, he uttered and closed his eyes for one last time.

I cried. Those were the only few minutes of our lives that we spent in such closeness. To date, neither I nor anyone knows why Thatha asked to spend his last few minutes with me. When everyone – his children, his grandchildren (my elder cousins), his daughter-in-laws, his son-in-law, his doctor and most important of all, his wife – were all around him, why me? I don’t know and I never will. I’m just grateful that I got to spend that time with him. It’s those few precious moments that has given me a fond memory to last a lifetime and more.

Had he lived through his ailment and been around today, I don’t know where our relationship would stand. There are still things that I can’t look past or let go. And it is for that reason that I am unable to picture a perfect loving relationship with him. I might have taken steps to work out our differences. I might have opened up to him about what actions of his made me develop a cold front towards him. I might have given us a chance to reconcile. But none of that matters… All I have left is a memory, etched so deep in my mind, of the day I sat beside him, held his hands and, I hope, helped ease his pain a bit. And that thin ray of light brightens our relationship and aids in overlooking, if not forgetting and forgiving, the dark shadows that surround it.

I can’t wait to see you!

Last night, I called my grandmother as I usually do once every few weeks. She is hard of hearing. Our conversations usually start with me trying to let her know which one of her five granddaughters she is talking to this time around; and, more often than not, after trying hard to get who is on the other end, she just goes on to assume, out of the blue, which one of us is calling and goes with that flow.  This has never been a problem for me so far – as long as she is hale and healthy, I didn’t have a reason to bother her much by continuing to push the fact that it’s me and not one of my sisters or my cousins.

This time around, though, it was important for me that she knew I was on the other end of the line. For I had a news to share with her that I didn’t want her to confuse it as coming from my sisters or my cousins. So I kept at it – my efforts to let her know who she was talking to. And after a few tries, she heard my name right and I was elated.

The discussion began as usual – me inquiring her about her health and she explaining her current situation, beginning from what went wrong that made her go see the doctor to how it’s all rectified now with ointments and other medications. Touchwood. With that topic covered to my satisfaction, we moved on to talk about family – general inquiries from both ends on how other members were doing, and it is in the middle of this chat that I let her know that I’m to visit India end of this year.

There was a pause. I thought that there was a problem in the line; Paatti, I called out, to check if she was  still there. So you are not able to make it this year too, huh? Your father told me few weeks ago that you were planning a trip, what changed? Why aren’t you coming? came a dejected voice through the phone. I smiled and repeated what I’d initially told her, and prepared myself to say it again, when I heard a soft joyful squeal. When are you coming? Are the dates confirmed? How long will you be here for? … a series of questions came flying.

And, at that moment, I would’ve given anything to see the face that carried her gleeful smile. But I happily compromised to be content with the delight that I could so clearly hear in her voice. It made up for all these years of disappointment of making and breaking plans. And I’m sure when I knock on her door not so long from today, the tight hug that’ll follow will make up for years of shattered promises.

My grandmother was an important part of life growing up. We lived in a joint family setup for a good part of my childhood and hence, spent much more time around our grandparents than our working parents. Growing up with her around, I couldn’t have missed that one thing about that made her stand out and made me look up to her. And of all values I would credit my grandparents for instilling in me, if I had to pick one that is most important to me to date, then it would be what I respected my grandmother for the most – how she was the embodiment of a strong, independent woman. She’s always been a proponent of women’s independence, especially in the financial terms, and she made sure she emphasized and encouraged it in all of her granddaughters.

She moved to the big city from a small town after she wed my grandfather in her teens. In the city, with my grandfather working long hours to provide for the family, she made sure she utilized her time in a constructive way. She learned Hindi and Sanskrit, with my grandfather’s help, and then started tuition classes to teach the languages to neighborhood children. And with the money she made from that, she not only supported her growing family, but also made sure she put away some for her future aspirations.

Till date, at the age of 73, she lives in the home that she built along with her husband. She refuses to move in with any of her children, just because she thinks that will tie her down in some way. She has put aside enough all these years – her earnings and savings from grandfather’s earnings – that gives her a steady monthly income today. And with that, she lives happily in her own haven, by her own terms, without having to depend on anyone.

At a time when everyone around me, including my parents, don’t let go of a chance to remind me that I’m getting old and that my biological clock is ticking, my grandmother is the only one who tells me not to rush into anything just because I’m soon approaching 30, and to take my own time to decide, for getting married at some particular age isn’t everything. Even though, growing up and understanding better what went on in the household made my relationship with my grandmother a little rocky, my respect for her in some aspects remained the same. There are many things that I don’t see eye to eye with my grandmother, yet there is no better role model than her when it comes to her principles regarding women’s independence. And for instilling those very values in me, I can’t thank her enough.

So, here I am now, waiting for November to knock on my door, so I get to hug and kiss that person who has been a big part of making me who I am today. I can’t wait to see that shine on her eyes when we meet. I can’t wait to nag her to buy me kulfi that she’s denied so many times throughout my childhood. I can’t wait to eat the most delicious potato fry I’ve ever had. I can’t wait to let her in on the happenings of life. I can’t wait to take her along to the new home, to see her meet and greet the family, and to have her by my side, as I pen a new chapter of my life.

I can’t wait to see you, Paatti!

The past two months…

…have seen a lot of changes.

First, there was the move from Boston. While the fact that I would be leaving that city didn’t make me cheerful, the part about our journey to our new home made me a jolly bird. Given my paranoia of flying, given our love for traveling by trains and given that neither of us had been long distance by train in this country, it was decided that that was the way to go. With that taken care of, my excitement saw no bounds… every time I pictured my upcoming journey I couldn’t help but jump with joy. And that is how I bid goodbye to Boston – with my arms waving goodbye as the train departed, with my ears trying hard to listen to the music of the city for one last time, with my eyes glued to the window as I looked out at the fading skyline – all the while smiling, trying to calm the racing heart that was looking forward to the new adventure.

Arriving at the destination and beginning this new phase of life meant another big change – I (and the partner) would no longer be living with roommates, as I did in Boston. We would no longer be in the long distance relationship. We were going to live together. That was the point of the big move, by the way; that we would no longer need to wait for a weekend or two every month to meet. While the last year did bring us closer in terms of geography, we have been doing the long distance thing for the most part of our relationship – he had to relocate within a month or two after we’d met, way back when, and he’s been living here and there ever since. So, even though I’ve never had many major complaints about my living situation in Boston (I’ve had some great roommates!), my eagerness to move-in with the partner masked any sadness I felt about the fact it meant “end of an era.” How does the new living situation feel; do you like it?, my sister asked me sometime last week. My response? – that it feels normal, natural; no over the top expectations, no disappointments. All things considered – the laughs, the little things we do to annoy each other, the joy in making a home of our own, one piece at a time – it’s all been great so far and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Speaking of home – when we first moved in, we noticed that the driveway light stayed on all the time. In the beginning, we assumed there might be a sensor somewhere that controls it, but that wasn’t the case. So then, we tried every switch by that area with no fruitful result. It drove us crazy to have that bright light on day and night. After a week or so of trying and then resorting to contact the previous resident to assist, we caught a break. I don’t remember now how or what we did, but one fine day, while the partner was out doing something I kept turning on/off every switch in the house I could find, we figured that the switch that controls the driveway light was back in the kitchen. Kitchen! Who would’ve thought! What a relief it was, though, to have found it.

Home, oh yes, home. I like the calm ring it has to it, the word home. And it’s the one place I am absolutely in love with. I am not sure if I am becoming lazier by the day, but I can’t wait to get back every evening. Back in Boston, it was mostly the other way around…I would roam around a bit before it was time to head back, but here I keep peering at the clock every now and then to see if it’s time to leave yet. Granted, I haven’t really explored the area, so it’s one of the very few places I know around here, at present; still, I’ll just smile and enjoy it while it lasts. For now, I like this new-found sentiment and this is what I associate with the word home – a warm and welcoming place that has given me an opportunity to begin a new chapter of my romance with life. And, for that and more, I’ll always be in love with it, my home!

The Invisible Pages

You walk into the quaint little bookshop with a smile so big that anyone looking at you might follow you in just to see what you are so euphoric about. Who knows, that might just be what they need to discover the wonderland that gives you so much joy! You open the door; the chimes ring, as the owner welcomes you in, and a cool breeze that carries the fragrance that reminds you of nothing but books whizzes by.  You step in, feeling the warmth of words all around.

For a second there, you are stumped looking at the edifice in front of you… you don’t know where to start. There is a pull from every shelf, every stack, every book. You open the list of ‘to-read’ you always carry with you and make a call on where to start. But soon after you begin browsing, the list finds its original place back in your purse and you get immersed in a world has been part of your heart and soul for as long as you’ve known.

You make sure you spend enough time with every book that catches your fancy.

A beautiful cover art attracts you and you silently bet with yourself that the story would be just as stunning. You blindly pick another book and read the synopsis on the back cover; it engrosses you and now there’s no letting go. A familiar name on the binding crosses your sight and you know you must have it because you’re sure it holds inside words woven so brilliantly that you can’t go wrong by picking it. And then you spot a book that you know is out of your comfort zone; you reach for it still, for you remember the time you’d dared yourself to read something different, something new.

A book with a familiar title sways, calling for you to notice it; you take one look and you know the reason behind the closeness you feel towards it. Perhaps it’s one of those books that comes highly recommended by someone whose preferences match yours. Or maybe it reminds you of a friend; the said friend might be oceans apart, but the memories come rushing with one turn of a page. Perhaps it is something someone dear has been wanting for a long time and you can’t wait to share your discovery. Or maybe it’s the one – it is the book that you’ve been looking for all along, but just didn’t realize it, until now.

Like this, you browse around, isle after isle, and finally walk towards the billing counter carrying a stack of treasure. You pay for it all, as the owner starts a conversation about the books that he’s read from your stack. You smile, thank him, and just as you are about to walk out, you spot something…

In the dusty uppermost shelf, sits a volume of Khalil Gibran’s works. You ask the owner if you can see it. He brings a ladder, gets the book off the shelf, and hands it over to you. You’ve seen this before… you’ve read some poems in it every now and then… you know you own a copy of it. Nonetheless, as you run your fingers through the pages and skim through the table of contents, you know you want this one too. There’s no logic as to why. Why would you want something that you know you already have? Your mind argues with your heart. But, at this price, you know it’s a steal. You could gift it to someone, you tell yourself, and buy this too.

As you walk out, you look back and see all that you’re leaving behind. Just as each book in your hand has a story behind why it was chosen, the ones that were left behind hold a tale of why they didn’t make it today. The choices of tomorrow might be different; they might eventually find a way into your home, but for now, they lie calmly on the shelves that hold them close and give them the love they deserve.

You go home, eager to put your collection in place. As you go through them again, you smile as you recall the reasons why and how these found a way into your heart. You are engulfed by the bond that you’ve already developed, which, now, spreads its roots deeper.

Each one of these books has a story that is printed on its pages, but what about those invisible pages that are bound around? These invisible pages are only yours to read. These invisible pages are written with words that are in your memory. These invisible pages hold a love story that is your own. And every time you come across one of these books in the future, these invisible pages let you read the words that they hold hidden from the rest of the world.