‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’
This dates back to the time when I was young, footloose and fancy-free. To the time when we both were in Mumbai, working together.
Times were far simpler. Internet hadn’t shrunk the world yet into a web page. The cell phones hadn’t made their ubiquitous presence nor was there 24/7 breaking news. So romance moved at a far slower pace.
I knew, I held a special place in his heart, but he hadn’t opened out to his feelings yet. I tried to play it cool while I drove myself crazy with worry. Coffee break was just that – smelling coffee and having a reality check.
12 March 1993! On that terrible day, when simultaneous bombs went off at various places, we all left early for the safety our homes. Nothing and nowhere was deemed secure. It was an all around chaos. At the church gate station, I spotted him and we exchanged grim smiles.
One of local trains was about to pull out but I stood completely paralyzed, as I watched people scrambling in.
Suddenly one strong hand pulled me, held me and took me inside the train. It was He.
Gyan-gurus have often said that ‘The first time you held hands of someone you love’, it is magical and is etched in your mind forever. The earth shakes while the sky paints itself into a myriad of riotous colors with a full blown orchestra playing and of course the mandatory rose petal showers.
Nothing of that sort happened to me. It was more like an assurance ,”I’m with you, the whole way. We are in it together. I will not let down, ever!”
But still my knees went weak. That sort of clinched the deal. I held on to his hands for dear life.
And today we celebrate our 25th anniversary.