Love had to Wait: My entry for the Get Published contest

“So was it love at first sight?” I chirped, my head filled with images of Earls, swooning ladies and carriage races. The outcome of my first Mills & Boon Regency Romance made me want to see romance in everyone, and who better than the woman who had discreetly slipped me my first book. She looked up and smiled. The question remained suspended mid-air, particles of dust floating around the evening sun, her rocker gently moving back and forth, her second cup of evening tea sending warm wisps of ginger perfuming the air. She smiled again. Shrugging her shoulders she went back to her muscled hero racing through the winding streets of a rainy English hamlet, searching for his children’s nanny who had left in a rush from the party. “Come on, apputa. Did you fall in love with g’pa at first sight?” I persisted. She sighed, and put her book down, a long forgotten bill holding the plot in suspense. “I never did!” She sipped her tea, her hand delicately veined, soft and appearing more fragile than the china cup. “I don’t think I ever loved your grandfather in the traditional sense.” “How many ways can you love a man you married?” I quizzed. It amused and perplexed the sixteen year old in me, to think that eyes meeting across the room, and smiles dancing in the corners of lips were not the only way it happened. “Kannamma, someday you will learn that there are many shades to love. Someday you will” She gently tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear and reached for her book. “Okay, but atleast tell me how you met him, what did you look for in a marriage, and why you went all the way to Rangoon to marry him?”

She removed her glasses and massaged her eyes, as if willing for long forgotten images to surface again. “I never wanted to…” she started. Her eyes closed. It’s strange how our memories often connect old people with inanimate things. It is as though the more we put them in dull, imaginative surroundings, the less human they appear, less likely to tug at our heart strings and less likely to take a toll on our i-Life. But today, my grandmother didn’t disappear amongst the cushions and the throws on her rocker. She was becoming a person whose own strength and resolve had shaped my own and whose “love story” held more promise than the ones my dreams were made of. She sipped her tea and continued “My brother-in-law sent a postcard from Rangoon. All it said was that he had found a suitable boy for me and to send me there immediately. I went alone from Coimbatore to Calcutta by train with one suitcase and flew from there to Rangoon. I married him 15 days later. I found out the day after our wedding that he did not know how to read and write English. Love had to wait.”

This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest , which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.


About Binaryfootprint

Don't just hover, put the shoes on and start walking. View all posts by Binaryfootprint

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