Letter to the Woman I’ve Never Met

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Dearest ma’am

Love, as I have come to know, is most victimised by the whims of poets. I have woken up on numerous days to coffee table reveries brimming with how love looks, how it sounds in the lyrics of my favourite songs, how it smells in red flowers, how it tastes in the tongue of another person, and how it is described in the most romanticised nuances of language. I have had a lot of expectations about love. However, I have lately realised that this emotion loaded with myriad connotations is a mere process of rationalisation. You choose a vessel because you like how it looks, sounds, smells, tastes and also because of how others feel about it. Then you decide to look for magic in it. You keep doing so till the point when even if the bullets you had ticked on the check-list before signing up for love are detached from the vessel, you still can shower your passion upon it. It is a matter of consciously making yourself accustomed to a habit. Thank you for my best habit.

My habit of keeping one person in the subconscious did not start as an our-love-was-made-for-movie-screens kind. It began with the most mundane affair of all- coordinating with a photographer for a blogpost. This habit has taught me to breathe out of the quotidian; we have listened to our forever songs under a sky which made the stars look like disco lights, we have walked in seemingly ceaseless Calcutta rains under one umbrella, we have shared little infinities under the sun, and have with our cumulative youth, transformed closed spaces into celestial spectacles. (I doubt if things really were as magical as I claim them to be. Probably I have concocted all the magic simply because he was around.) It has also taught me to look at routines through the eyes of a new-born. This habit has been my only air on days reeking of steel elevator-like claustrophobia.

This habit is the newest one because I have spent only two months and a half with it, yet it is the oldest too because of all the calendars gone into the trashcan while rehearsing for it.

Love is mundane, banal, difficult, clichéd, repetitive, pretentious and what not! Mine has been all of these when I woke up in the middle of otherwise peaceful nights to complete unfinished poems while he was asleep, and I swear those poems now look like fresh paint on a palette tainted with colours which had dried up. In a world which has stigmatised the display of affection, lasting promises and honest “I do”s at the cost of relentlessly keeping up with the clock, my habit and I stand against the tide. I have not seen the future and I am aware that habits can change, that they are not immune to rust. I do not know if this is a permanent habit, but I am selfish enough to cling on to it with all my life. My habit tells me that you are the best that has ever happened to him; I am sure you are. Your happiness lights him up. I am grateful that you exist. I wish a happy twentieth to your motherhood.


The woman in love with your son.



  1. To the unknown tenderly maturing woman
    Let me first appreciate the read which enunciates the intense expression penned down with much care revealing the fact of a woman falling in love!
    It’s of course a feeling that has many facets draped in emotions non descriptive in the normal nuances of language, which can only be experienced in one’s own way.

    Escaping such an irresistible feeling is challenging, thus indulging in the inevitable revelation which has been well depicted here.

    Valuing the eloquence of the write up, the mother’s sentiments should be equally felt and touched upon who has been bestowed with much astonishment (may be). For her, the word chosen as “habbit” unfolding the acquaintance of merely 2 and half months may not be termed so, with the ageing experience she possesses. Such habbit is a sheer association which is comforting and feel good. Habbits can be developed only over years / decades which is seemingly inappropriately uttered here. Motherhood can relate much stronger to such habbits.

    Cheering to the womanhood, acceptance is a concoction and an equation of various aspects of relationship which can be established over time!

    I wish you good luck!

    From a mother

    Liked by 1 person

  2. To start with the pic was appropriate..No actually beautiful…It narrated an entire story of it’s own..
    Then followed the a scenery of love portrayed in such a simple yet effective way that it keeps the reader thinking about it…
    Though am an outcast of love, still felt love can be amazing… Longing for such love is born in my heart as well…

    Liked by 1 person

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