I don't believe there is anyone who hasn't had that awkward moment where their eyes tear after reading some "true love" stories forwarded by friends. Nobody can deny the goosebumps their ten seconds of fame then.
I have read the stories myself and have let my brain go "awww" (I would not admit it if you ask me this in public). I have read a whole lot of these stories and some of them prompted me to look at people around me if there are some real live incidences of these "true love and sacrifices for love".
I found quite a lot of them, but the one that left me nonplussed was the one I found in my home - the girl whom I call my wife. Today morning, I saw her cutting onions and kneading the flour for flatbread. She looked every bit the housewife that we usually see in Ekta's serials, yet this here is a girl who not too long ago was running through life without a care in the world - shouting out to the winds, riding them, singing and laughing and dancing. She had a cushy job. She worked in an awesome campus. She had great friends who shared her interests. She lived in a huge apartment with friends and her little sister. Compared to what she had before, the current life with me is pretty drab. And here she was wiping off tears from her eyes that the onions brought forth.
This morning, our beautiful courting period flashed by my eyes. We were so happy then, more importantly she was so happy back then. We used to have these secret rendezvous unbeknownst to family. We used to just roam around and be happy in each other's company. We still are happy to share space with each other, but I think the zing of those courtship days is lacking. She would still claim that she is very happy with me, but the rare tinge of sadness in her eyes which she so so carefully hides tells me that she misses something. She misses the old me. The one she fell in love with. The one who got lost in all these intervening months. The romantic guy of the yore. Yet, she carries on with life, smiling each time I look at her, hugging me when I come back, stealing kisses when there is no one about, teasing me, cuddling up to me, smothering me, loving me, spoiling me knowing fully well that I might not always reciprocate in kind. She who has never had to yearn for anyone's approval now tries to do things in a "crowd-pleasing" manner to appease everyone in the family. She who hates lassi now gulps it down without batting an eyelid. She has changed herself a lot. Things she would not have done in an another situation, she does them now without a whimper or a complaint.
That my friends is what I believe to be sacrifice and true love. I have stopped reading the stories now. I know where to look for true love. I see it in her eyes every moment that I spend with her. I hope to show her one day how much I love her and that I would sacrifice anything for her. I think she reads that in my eyes. Well, I hope she does.
I have read the stories myself and have let my brain go "awww" (I would not admit it if you ask me this in public). I have read a whole lot of these stories and some of them prompted me to look at people around me if there are some real live incidences of these "true love and sacrifices for love".
I found quite a lot of them, but the one that left me nonplussed was the one I found in my home - the girl whom I call my wife. Today morning, I saw her cutting onions and kneading the flour for flatbread. She looked every bit the housewife that we usually see in Ekta's serials, yet this here is a girl who not too long ago was running through life without a care in the world - shouting out to the winds, riding them, singing and laughing and dancing. She had a cushy job. She worked in an awesome campus. She had great friends who shared her interests. She lived in a huge apartment with friends and her little sister. Compared to what she had before, the current life with me is pretty drab. And here she was wiping off tears from her eyes that the onions brought forth.
This morning, our beautiful courting period flashed by my eyes. We were so happy then, more importantly she was so happy back then. We used to have these secret rendezvous unbeknownst to family. We used to just roam around and be happy in each other's company. We still are happy to share space with each other, but I think the zing of those courtship days is lacking. She would still claim that she is very happy with me, but the rare tinge of sadness in her eyes which she so so carefully hides tells me that she misses something. She misses the old me. The one she fell in love with. The one who got lost in all these intervening months. The romantic guy of the yore. Yet, she carries on with life, smiling each time I look at her, hugging me when I come back, stealing kisses when there is no one about, teasing me, cuddling up to me, smothering me, loving me, spoiling me knowing fully well that I might not always reciprocate in kind. She who has never had to yearn for anyone's approval now tries to do things in a "crowd-pleasing" manner to appease everyone in the family. She who hates lassi now gulps it down without batting an eyelid. She has changed herself a lot. Things she would not have done in an another situation, she does them now without a whimper or a complaint.
That my friends is what I believe to be sacrifice and true love. I have stopped reading the stories now. I know where to look for true love. I see it in her eyes every moment that I spend with her. I hope to show her one day how much I love her and that I would sacrifice anything for her. I think she reads that in my eyes. Well, I hope she does.
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