I had always been obsessed with my Bala. Even when we were kids, a smile from him would make my day. He was my lucky charm; his presence in my world made it a lot brighter. Every year that passed made my obsession grow until I blurted it to him one day while we were in the final year of college. I had started crying when he hadn’t replied immediately. With my arms imprisoned in his, he had dragged me to the nearby park bench, which had been a silent witness to our friendship over the years.
“You call what is there between us as obsession. In a way, you are correct. I am obsessed with you too, but I prefer to call it love. Unadulterated love. It is evident in the way my heart beats when I am near you, the way my blood gushes chanting your name, the way every single day becomes meaningful when you are around. Dearest Chaya, my very own shadow, I am yours since how long I don’t even know,” he had said, wiping the wretched tears from my face.
That evening comes haunting me these days in the form of an elusive dream. It recurs leaving me bereft of tears for days together, leaving me numb.
The decision to let him go had been entirely mine. He had married the daughter of his widowed mother’s best friend after I had cruelly made him swear to forget me. Though he had promised me it would never happen, I had insisted. I wanted to bring happiness to his mother who had raised him braving poverty and social stigma of being a Brahmin widow. Her biggest ambition had been to see her son settled happily in life. Perhaps our relation would have broken her heart; I belonged to a lower caste. I loved her enough and did not want to risk losing her love in a bid to own her son. She always had treated me with love whenever I visited with other friends. She never knew of my special bond with her son.
Even after his refusal to let me go, I had pleaded with him to fulfil his mother’s last wish; she was in the last stages of cancer. He had given in out of love for his mother but accused me of robbing both of his loved ones simultaneously from his life.
A few days after his marriage, she died. He left for Texas to join a new company along with his new wife within a month and I stopped all communications with him.
But my obsession never died. I stalked his Facebook profile, googled him to find details and even updated myself with every new development in his life with the help of common friends. He was still in Texas and his wife too was employed in the same company where he worked.
I had started blogging to vent and whenever a visitor from his part of the globe showed up on the visitor’s widget, I would obsess that it was he. I started to pen down poems, which talked about a non-existent new lover just in case he was the visitor. I wanted him to have the perfect life that he deserved.
The past five years without him had been hell for me. But perhaps I didn’t deserve Bala. If I did, God wouldn’t have thrown obstacles in the path of our love.