Love is universally the most underrated, overplayed, dramatized and bewildering adjective.

Yet the most basic, natural, instinctive and sublime verb. How we question it, justify it and rationalise it, is what distinguishes our marriageability. There is something about being in love.

It helps you stay starry-eyed.

For all the arguments, fights, angst and defiant opinions – if love is circumvented deep with a conjoint foundation – it can supersede all wickedness.

I feel that way. At 40, I realize, a lot of our thinking goes archaic. Age old, tried and tested legacies reappear. From a daredevil attitude to a more surfaced approach towards family, systems, values, relations and fraternal frameworks. People my age do come around. Most times. I have come to believe in it.

At 40, I realize, a lot of our thinking goes archaic. Age old, tried and tested legacies reappear. From a daredevil attitude to a more surfaced approach towards family, systems, values, relations and fraternal frameworks.

And a lot of it has to do with what the basic premise of the protagonists is.

  • Have you been brought up being taught to respect each other and cultural diversities? Are your value driven ideals and self-reflections intact?
  • Have you realised beyond the initial euphoria that there is a notion called commitment in a relationship?
  •  Do you still witness goosebumps when the said person walks into a room?
  •  Have you negated negative thoughts with a firm forget-it and let’s move on attitude from time to time?
  •  Have you danced in the glory of the other person without blinking an eyelid in jealousy or contempt?
  •  Have you forayed into a situation wherein your goals do not seem more powerful than the other persons? Not less either.
  •  When moving together and working towards a common goal becomes your lifeline.

For me, love is like my warm sweater on a hostile cold winter morning.

For my warm sweater is seamed at home, with the juggles of brisk fingers. It has the gourmet perfection of love and expertise. It has a labyrinth of colours, brazen with excited zigzags. Even the gaps are warranted. The frame is wrapped with the cohesive finesse of the strongest knots, and the wool; devoid of any asymmetry.

My sweater does not shred under the audacious climaxes of the weather. Nor does it fumble under the continuous struggles of a whirling machine. It is pampered with seething adulation. It has a special place for the nightly sleep and it has a presence under the morning sun. My sweater has the continuity of permanence.

My sweater does not shred under the audacious climaxes of the weather. Nor does it fumble under the continuous struggles of a whirling machine.

I have a warm sweater!

My sweater is precious like the glimpse of the first sensual dew. It is warm and nurtured much like the roots of that childhood banyan tree. It is snuggly yet cautious with measured gullies. It even catches me as I slip preposterously under hidden gallows.

My sweater armours me, yet, it lets me get abandoned in my stride. Knowingly! invisibly! Tugging at me when I am a wee bit clumsy. Salvaging me with assurance, conviction, a hug and a smile.

And that for me, is love. A partnership of friendship, warmth, security and laughter.

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