The Day After

A couple of years ago I fell in love. We started slow- romantic gazes from across the room, awkward stares in front of mutual friends, shy giggles and whatnot. And in the audacious spirit of being foolishly smitten, I conveniently chose to ignore his romantic history.

They say he never dated, just wasn’t the type to. He just…I don’t know...did whatever you do with the person that you are with, but you are not dating, but you are also together. It’s not a relationship, but they also make you breakfast. They don’t want to be seen together in public, but they also write you letters. They don’t want to be emotionally involved, but you also go out for dinners and movies and brunches and night outs. You get the drift.

Long story short, the initial luster faded soon.?We ended, just like we had started.

Unexpectedly. Unassumingly. Unabashedly.?

The thing about heartbreak is that it comes in phases, especially if you are on the receiving end-

• First, you are in denial and crest-fallen. You wait for any signs of reversal of the act. You hope and you pray to find that thread to hold on to. A wistful whatsapp message. A harmless Instagram like. An accidental missed call. Any thread!?
• Then comes anger. You almost wish harm for the other person for doing this to you. You feel like you are the only one who is suffering and you wish the same (if not more) agony to befall the other person.?
• Not long after, comes acceptance. Acceptance of the loss (which may not necessarily be a loss, mind you). You think about the vacuum that this absence will cause in your life.
• And once the finality of the situation dawns down on you, then comes grief. I don’t need to define grief. Faraz, Faiz, Jaun, Tennyson and Bukowski and hundreds of others have written enough sonnets about it.?

And when you are grieving, you think that it’s never ending. It feels like it’s become your perpetual state of living. That’s what I felt at the time.?

But I don’t want to write this blog as an ode to sorrow. Or loss. Or even loneliness. I want to write about the day that comes after.?

It doesn’t come all at once. Ofcourse!

There’ll be a morning when you wake up and you won’t feel the giant weight of delirium bogging you down. An afternoon when you’ll feel hungry and crave a burger. A walk down to the old street where you first held hands, which won’t sting as much. A hot shower that will feel like a hug.

There’ll come a day when you will be able to hear Kishore Kumar with no strings attached. A day when you will sit with a cup of tea and realize that the worst has passed and life’s not all that bad.

A day when you will forgive yourself- for not saying enough, for not doing enough, for not being enough.?

And if you are fortunate enough, you might be able to reminisce and pick up the good old moments and lock them safely in the archive of your memory.

Maybe even refer to them later with a monotone vintage filter in your brain. You’ll know that this may not be the first, or last, or the only sorrow of your life. But you’ll also know that this wasn’t all that bad. That you aren’t done yet. That there is strength in healing and there are a million more stories that you are yet to live.

This piece is dedicated to just that day. The day after!?

You know how they say-?

“Nothing ever ends poetically. It just ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.”