My life is a joke right now. Quarter-life crisis, leaving the love of my life at the (almost) altar in front of everyone we know and love, travelling to Europe alone following the aftermath – check, check and check. Cliché upon cliché upon cliché.
I’m sitting in this cute little teashop in Antwerp, thinking about you, missing you with every fibre in my body, writing this letter, which I’ll probably never have the courage to send you. I don’t even know what I’m writing about, except that I used to tell you everything, and now that we don’t talk, I don’t know what to do with all this information in my head. All the things I see, the streets I walk, the people I meet – nothing feels real because I don’t get to share any of it with you.
And then there are five years’ worth of memories that I keep remembering and replaying in my head. The happy memories make me sad now. Little by little, as I replay each of the beautiful moments I spent with you in my head now … in this light, the aftermath of the end of our relationship, I feel each of those moments slip away. They’re ruined now. None of them are happy anymore; none of them make me smile. Our happy moments bring tears to my eyes. I’m losing the five amazing years that we spent together, one moment at a time.
I know what you’re thinking. You think that this is all my fault; I did it to myself. I made the decision, I pulled the trigger, and trust me, I take full responsibility. Yes, all of this is my doing, but even so, it doesn’t mean that I can’t feel terrible about it and everything that followed. My words probably mean nothing to you now, because my actions are too far in the opposite direction from these worthless words, and I don’t blame you. I wish I could make you believe me, somehow. If not today, then maybe eventually…
Anyway, after I broke up our engagement, I had to leave, because things are not good at home. I don’t think Maa and Papa will ever forgive me. It doesn’t help that the neighbours, distant relatives and everyone’s dogs have questions and concerns regarding us. Everybody wants to be in on the big secret, get the first scoop of all the drama. Well, too bad. For anyone else to know what happened, I have to know first. And I still don’t.
It’s eating me up inside. As I walk the beautiful streets of Antwerp, and Brussels before that, and Amsterdam and London before that, I keep asking myself what the fuck I was thinking, and why I’m not trying to fix things; why I am not running to you and begging you to take me back … but I’m coming up with nothing.
I think back to everything that happened leading up to our engagement, to see if I can find something that could make sense, provide some sort of explanation. Somewhere, something went wrong, for us to break up so suddenly. If I can pinpoint it, maybe we can fix it.
I think it started when we got tired of lying to our families about our relationship. We weren’t just friends. We were never just friends, and we wanted them to know that. The five years that we’d been together, there’s no way no one had a clue. I always felt that they knew, but played along with our lie, and secretly hoped for us to break up before anything needed to be done about the situation. I’m ashamed to admit that in my seemingly progressive family, caste is still such a big thing, and I know that you feel the same way about your family. It’s not spoken of, and it’s not like they would have objections about us being together exclusively on the grounds of caste, but who are we kidding? We know that they’d have much preferred that we found someone of our own caste.
So, when we told them, as we’d expected, they weren’t happy. They weren’t exactly surprised, but they also weren’t happy. With each day that passed, they slowly got used to the idea of us together. While they weren’t thrilled, they were resigned to the fact that we were in love, and we were going to spend our lives together. But if they were to allow us do that, they insisted that we do it the ‘right’ way. It’s all about being normal, isn’t it? Or at least appearing normal.
I think that was the first bump in our road. You and I, we were so in love, but we were also kids, fresh out of college, still wondering what we wanted to do with our lives, or where to begin in the immediate future. That’s enough pressure already, without the newly revealed relationship status. Now we were supposed to fix a date. Plan the engagement, the wedding, the rest of our lives.
I hope I don’t sound ungrateful when I say this, because I know our families love us deeply, but their involvement in our present and the future, however well-intentioned, was what first started to break us. We never saw each other just to talk, about … nothing and everything. Our secret was out; our relationship was public. Everyone had something to say about us. We were supposed to be a certain way, or at least act a certain way. Our movements were tracked, our time together was accounted for, every step we took was watched and counted. It was too much pressure, and I began to crack under it.
You seemed to be handling it so much better than me. You accepted the challenge and stepped up to it. As soon as we graduated from college, you joined your dad’s company, started to go to work every day. It had never been your plan in life to join your dad’s company. But even though you were doing it because you had to, in order to help out your family during a crisis, you didn’t do it grudgingly. You embraced it with all you had, and went to work with fresh ideas every single day.
On top of all that, when we were sat down and all the engagement-/wedding-/life-planning was shoved down our throats, you took it so calmly, finding humour in every situation, almost as if this wasn’t our future on the line. I don’t know how you did it. Maybe you were just letting them have their ‘fun’ and were unbothered by the pressure it put on us, but honestly, it felt to me sometimes as if you simply did not care.
You found fulfilment in your job, and happiness in your new friends at work. You would come home and laugh off all the life-planning. I wish I could’ve been more like you. Because I struggled every second of every day, inside my own head, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my college degree. It’s been almost a year since we graduated college, and I still don’t know what I want to do with my degree. Studying political science and planning to save the world is one thing. But after college, when it was actually time for me to do something, begin somewhere, I felt completely lost (and still do). I would work, browse through jobs all day, trying to find the ‘best fit’, since that’s what everyone was talking about. It was hard for me to find this fit, because I first had to know who I was and what I wanted, before finding something that would fit my requirements. Confused about what I wanted to focus on, I sent out applications for everything to everyone. I thought having some real options would make it easier for me to pick one, but my brilliant plan backfired terribly. As I started interviewing, the options on the table only made me more and more confused. Not that I had job offers flooding my inbox, but the ones I did have…
It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. Working for a non-profit organization, in a small capacity somewhere, wouldn’t make enough of a difference. It would be years, probably decades, before I’d be able to make an impact on anything or anyone. But I had to start somewhere. Maybe I wouldn’t be happy with it immediately, but I would learn to love it, right?
And then there were the other questions we used to talk about. Does it make more sense to work on the ground level and make a small amount of difference every day? Or would we make more of an impact if, instead of working for a small NGO somewhere, we were to get a hot-shot high-paying job and give back? Money does make the world go round.
Either way, I wasn’t going to be able to do a whole lot right out of college, and patience never has been one of my stronger suits. And then there is the question that always haunted me (it still does): how do I choose the one thing I would do, when doing that would mean I don’t get to do all the other things I won’t do? Every time I think of a decision that would close doors, I panic. I couldn’t see a clear path ahead of me, and the uncertainty and insecurity was taking a big toll on me.
When everything else seemed to be falling apart, I can’t explain how it made sense to ruin the one good thing in my life. We, you and I, always worked. Then why did I have to destroy that?
I sometimes wonder why it was that we worked so well. Could it be because we never actually faced a real problem? I’m not saying that we haven’t gone through anything together, because we know that that’s not true. We’ve both gone through some really tough times together. But this… this was different. Our entire world shifted; nothing was the same. After college, our routines, our every day, the places we went, the people we saw, the situations we were in – all of it was new. Nothing was familiar.
Please tell me how you dealt with it, because I really wasn’t handling it well. I began to understand what people meant when they said that they felt the walls around them closing in on them. That is a very accurate way to describe how I felt in my own home. Sitting in my room, hunched over my laptop, trying to find work that would bring me some sort of satisfaction at the end of the day, I could almost physically feel the tension on the other side of the door.
Papa verbally expressing his displeasure about having to ‘deal with’ your dad for the engagement/wedding arrangements. Maa trying to keep him calm but also quietly angry with me for putting them in this position in the first place, by falling in love with you. Bhaiya trying to not lose his shit, as he explained to them that this is 2016 and we should probably let go of all this caste nonsense and try to get along for the sake of my happiness.
It was as if I’d stepped into a cheesy ’90s movie, with the family and society drama stopping us from being together. Quite honestly, it was ridiculous. When you distance yourself from it, it was hilarious, wasn’t it? But that’s perhaps where the problem lies. That you were able to distance yourself from it, while I got caught up in every word that was said. They wouldn’t leave my mind, hours after they were said, even when they weren’t that serious.
I have two complaints from myself. 1) I want a weaker memory, so I can let things go. I don’t enjoy overthinking everything, or holding grudges, or stressing out over little things, or losing sleep. But I don’t have a choice. Because I remember every fucking thing anyone ever said, and can never just move the fuck on. And 2) I need to be less of a control freak. I don’t do so well in situations that aren’t 100 per cent under my control. I want every single aspect of my life to be perfect, all the time. This is not ideal.
I couldn’t just be okay with some people not liking each other. It was okay that my dad wasn’t a fan of your father. They got along alright, they were cordial with each other, they didn’t need to be best friends. But I got obsessed with needing everyone to get along with everyone else all the time, and it’s as exhausting as it sounds. Things kept going wrong, one after another, and while by the time we got to our engagement, everyone was being amicable, I remembered every word that had been said in the past. I noticed every slight pursing of lips, every twitch of an eye and it drove me insane. (Which could be a partial explanation; I have to be at least partially insane for having broken off our engagement, right?)
On that day, when you arrived at the venue, looking every bit as charming as you had the first time I realized I had fallen in love with you, all I wanted to do was run away from you. Leave everyone and everything behind, especially you, and never look back. Find myself a new life. I agree that a big part of it was the family and society stuff, but that wasn’t all.
I know what it was. I’m afraid to say it because once I do, it becomes real. I don’t want it to be real … and I know the first thing you will say, but please hear me out first. The reason I had to leave was because I knew, and it had become clearer and clearer to me in the months leading up to the engagement, that you didn’t love me anymore.
Your first instinct to this is that I’m absolutely wrong, isn’t it? I don’t blame you. Anyone who knew us, all of our friends, they would all agree with you. You clearly adored me. Your world revolved around me. You were always so warm and kind and made me laugh constantly. Things were perfect, right?
Only, when was the last time it was just the two of us and you were still warm and loving and made me laugh? It felt as if, in front of everyone else, you were on autopilot. You were at a 100: happy, funny. You used up all your charm on this show that we put up for them to see. And by the time it was just us, you were exhausted, and just wanted to … not do any of that. You didn’t have anything left to give me. I don’t blame you for it, we were both under a lot of pressure and were dealing with it differently, but it did take a big toll on our relationship. Because while you just wanted to avoid talking about any of that when we were together (or anything else for that matter), I, on the other hand, waited for us to be alone, so that I could talk to you, tell you things, hold your hand, touch your lips.
One might argue that it could’ve just been a phase, but Abhay, we were twenty-three. This is a phase people end up in after they’ve been married for decades and have kids and responsibilities and life to worry about. How did we end up there? And more importantly, how did it not bother you?
I was so close to you, then how did I still miss you so, so much?
Then that day, all of a sudden, you were standing next to me, holding my hand, sliding the ring on my finger, beaming at a cheering crowd, while I … I can’t even say it. It sounds pathetic when I talk about it. But considering that I’m probably never sending you this letter, I don’t lose a whole lot by saying it.
During our engagement ceremony, on the stage, I kept looking at you, trying to catch your eye, but you were looking at everyone but me. You were caught up in the moment – the slaps on your back, the loud cheers, the cameras, the … happiness. Wasn’t I supposed to be the reason for your happiness? I could’ve disappeared from the scene in that moment, and you wouldn’t even have noticed. That’s how I felt. I felt that small, that insignificant, standing next to you on that stage. Should I have felt like that when I was about to get engaged to the love of my life?
Once the cheers faded and our friends stopped their drunken hooting and clapping, you turned to me, only because it was my turn to put the ring on your finger. I was still looking at you, and when your eyes met mine, mine were brimming with tears. My entire world was falling apart inside me. As soon as our eyes met, mine flooded and tears began to fall unchecked. I was so embarrassed, angrily wiping them off my cheeks.
I can understand why everyone else would think that I was just emotional or aww how cute, she’s crying. But I don’t think I can forgive you for not knowing immediately that something was terribly wrong. I was breaking inside. Every cell in my body was screaming for your attention, your love, your affection, but you couldn’t even see me, could you?
That was the moment I knew. I couldn’t marry a stranger, and that’s what you had become. Honestly, I was surprised that you even put up a fight when I was leaving. I’d half expected the party to go on without me after I left the stage. That’s how worthless I felt. And I don’t care if it’s unfair to you, but I blame you for it. My eyes were only searching for yours, but even when you looked directly at me, I couldn’t find what I was looking for. This person, standing next to me, making promises of commitment … he was a stranger. I didn’t know you at all.
It’s like they say in the movies – I saw it happen as if in third person. I felt myself leave my body and look at everything that was happening. I saw myself pull my hand away. You laughed, assuming I was just joking. You caught my hand again and pulled me closer to you, laughing even louder. I couldn’t take it. We were in entirely different worlds. We were so disconnected from each other; you were completely clueless to what I was feeling.
I saw myself pull my hand away again, this time more forcefully, unable to hide my anger. I can’t think of a time I had been angrier at another person, or myself. It suddenly felt like a business transaction, all of it. I was disgusted. We were going through the motions, doing things we were supposed to do, like robots. Signing a contract to live together for the rest of our lives. I just couldn’t do it.
When I pulled my hand away a second time, I did it more forcefully, with more finality. I looked you directly in the eye, and through the hot tears, whispered, ‘I can’t do this.’
That was your first clue, and even then, you looked confused. We were on such different planets by then that even when I was breaking down in the middle of our engagement ceremony, in front of everyone, you had no idea what was going on.
I felt the force of all of it together as I stumbled away. People calling out to me, all the questions, the steps that followed me. I was so angry and so, so disappointed with us, for letting our love come to this. With each step that I took away from that stage, it felt more and more like I was escaping a life sentence. If I was truly marrying the love of my life, I would imagine it would feel quite different from that. It should’ve been the happiest day of my life – getting engaged to marry you. Then why did walking away lift such a heavy weight off my shoulders? Why did I suddenly feel like I could breathe again?
Leaving behind the million questions, murmurs and confused and angry faces, I grabbed my handbag and car keys. At that moment I felt lighter than I had in months. You followed me. You caught up with me just as I was about to walk out the door, and demanded an explanation.
You know what hurt the most? The look in your eyes – it wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t even confusion. It was anger, plain and simple. What did you think was happening? That I was following a script, just for entertainment? How could you not know that it was killing me to walk away from you?
You were angry with me as if I was an unreasonable child acting against your (or our families’) wishes. That first look you gave me was pure rage.
‘Where are you going?’ you demanded, grabbing my arm.
‘Away from all this.’ It wasn’t an explanation, and I owed you one, so I stopped and turned to face you. I looked up at you, and said, ‘You don’t love me anymore. We shouldn’t be together.’
I didn’t need to say much more. All three of those sentences were true, and described in a nutshell exactly how I was feeling or what I was doing. And that was enough for you to understand, at least a little, why I was leaving.
I saw your face change. I saw the anger leave, and you let out a troubled breath, opening your mouth to say something … but then closing it without letting any words escape. I could tell that your mind was racing, trying to find explanations, excuses, something. But you came up with nothing. You wanted me to stay; your grip on my arm established that. But you couldn’t think of a single reason why I should stay.
You said zero words. I was leaving you, and you said nothing to stop me.
Was that acceptance? Did you agree that you didn’t love me anymore, and that we shouldn’t be together and I should get away from all of that? If you didn’t agree, why didn’t you say something? Anything. I just needed you to tell me that I was wrong. That you did love me. That’s all I needed to know.
I thought that I was too far gone, my foot literally out the door, but one word from you and I would’ve stopped. I would like to think that my decision was final and I wasn’t going to change my mind, but who am I kidding? It’s you; when it comes to you, I do unreasonable things. I would’ve stayed with you forever, if you’d asked me once.
But you couldn’t find a single word to say to me. Not one word.
You stood there and watched me get into the car, still wiping the stubborn tears off my face. I watched you watch me, in the rear-view mirror, and my heart fell heavy into my stomach. Standing there at the door, watching me leave, your arms at your sides, shoulders hunched in sadness, and the pain on your face…
I will never forgive myself for causing that. I will try to forgive you for not saying a single word as I drove away.