Strange Kind of Love Affair
India
In 30 years time, as an old man on the streets of some English city, I will look back and recount my tale of unrequited love. I loved her but she could never love me back. I wanted her but could never truly get her. She was the only one. I was one of many. On a cold winter’s day I will recall her exotic, tropical nature. She enticed and lured and I kept coming back for more. Thirty years into the future she will still exist within my heart and mind, helped by jaded memories and faded photographs.
Like most relationships, when she wasn’t there, I wondered if she ever had been. And when she was, I couldn’t fully grasp her. She remained elusive. The thing that I loved was not physical, spiritual or anything else. It was all of these things and more. I don’t know what it was but I loved it.
Emotional, romantic love is always irrational. It burns within, stoked by a passion that cannot be defined, refined or processed. It is raw. And on the streets of a British city I will describe her to someone, someone who may or may not understand; someone who may or may not be interested. The cynics may sneer and the disinterested remain passionless, but from across the seas I will still her whispers of her: that place forever in my soul – India.
