Namaste.

A monsoon of apologies, friends.

But as I let them rain down, I feel a tiny fire suddenly lit. And with this fire, still under the barrage of unrestrained storm and sentiment, I open up my laptop and start typing. Madly typing. Run-on sentences. Exclamation marks. Question marks in triplicate. I start with my conclusion, build upon no foundation, and end with questions. It’s a tirade; a novel; the exhaustive banter of mental extremes you normally and discretely allow only between you and yourself. But it’s on paper. Or rather in email. And with face flushed by this outburst of sentiments finally, if irrationally, expressed, and with a confidence plucked from the entitlement of my emotional rage, I open up the wireless connections and hit, “Send”.

‘I don’t always understand you. But it doesn’t matter. Things will come and pass. I don’t have to understand everything you feel or fear. I only want you to know how much I care for you, that I’ll always be here for you.’

It’s the beginning of a love story. A non-fictional one in which I re-live the depth of emotion, romance, committment, and unconditional love in every moment. It’s personal and perhaps will be the most important story in my life; of course I have to write it. As every love story I’ve ever read in some way contributed to mine, so let this one contribute to others.

As for you. Exactly 1 month, 29 days and many daily declarations later, I will close my eyes, bow low, and thank you for the countless blessings on each monsoon night that you so benevolently shower upon us.

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