I was married to Rohan Bhatnagar for almost seven years. We have a kid who’s three year old. And I am a happy to do house wife, with god’s grace, as I have a loving husband and the apple of my eyes, my small kid.

Born and brought up in Mumbai, I had to travel all this way from the west coast of Arabian to this beach stretch on the Bay of Bengal as my husband is based in Chennai.

Except for the scorching heat of Mr. Helios in the summer, I very much like this place. Classes and masses apart, Chennai reflects a unique blend of cultures and traditions just like Mumbai.

We stay in an apartment near the Besant Nagar beach. And we have made it a habit to take a stroll along the beach every morning. As usual we were sauntering with the wet sand touching our senses, Chinnu (that’s how I address my kid as) came running to me shouting under that childish delight when you find something odd or strange.

“Momma, look what I have found,” he was spoke with the kiddy accent, stressing the ‘m’ from Momma and ‘k’ from look. I embosomed him with my arms and took the odd thing in my hands. It was a bottle, a corked bottle with a letter inside it.
I hail from a very orthodox family. My mom and dad were liberal, in the sense that they allowed me to study till this point, considering the orthodoxy of my ancestors.

“Boys flirt a lot. I am not saying all boys are bad, but most of them are. Even if you are confronted by Mr. Right, he may be of a different caste and you will bring disgrace to your family, your very own dad and mom who loved you so much and brought you up,” my mom was always skeptical about me having male friends. And true to their expectations I never even looked at a guy, in fact never spoken to anyone else from outside.

Call me narrow-minded or immature or whatever. For me, my parents are everything. They are my world. Juts for the sake of something called love, I can’t wreak havoc in my beautiful family. Of course many of my friends as well as you may beg to differ with me. But you can’t make me shift preferences or my way of thinking.

I was doing my PhD in psychology at Bhavan’s in Mumbai. There was this certain guy who used to follow me, everyday to my home whenever it was late at night. Initially I thought somebody was trying to stalk me, but later on I came to know that he was kinda protecting me.

Of all jobs in this world, I thought he was jobless to follow me around and save me. But still I never hated him. I admired him, for he liked me and yet he never spoke to me. There were days when I walked along the deserted roads of Juhu beach road in the wake of midnight under the cover of the moon. But I never felt I was lonely or insecure, thanks to that guy.

All these days I have been so selfish. Probably he’s thinking that one day I might yield to his sincerity or whatsoever. One fine day, it was late at night as usual I was walking down the road when he followed me. I stopped and looked behind and gave him an angry stare that would have reduced him to ashes. But somehow he survived and perhaps he understood the meaning of that stare.

He stopped following me.

Every night I walked down these roads of Mumbai from Juhu to my home, my eyes involuntarily groped for him quite inexplicably.
Nobody can understand the depth of a woman’s convoluted mind. As long as some one follows you or loves you, we neglect him and once he’s away we know how much he meant for us.

And one day, all of a sudden, from nowhere he appeared before me and said this in a low voice, “Hi Amisha, I have known you since the time you are in college. That’s more than four and half years from now. I loved you at first sight. But had I told you at that time, you wouldn’t have believed me. And so I took my time to realize whether it’s true love or not…” and he paused for a while.

“I love you…” he finished.

God!!! I never expected this from him, I thought with that girlish meanness. I never thought he’s like every one else, every other guy on the streets. What all impression I had about him seemed to have vanished into thin air. The idolatrousness for him doesn’t exist anymore.

What big mistake did he make?   He just proposed me. He hasn’t committed any heinous crime after all. But why I think this way? Perhaps the milieu enwombing me under which I was brought up. Or ….

I never said ‘Yes’ and at the same time, I never said a ‘NO’. Perhaps that meant a probable affirmation to him that he proposed three more times.

And the last time I met him, I said, “Look, I don’t know anything about you. You are a perfect stranger. Even if you were friends, I wouldn’t have loved you perhaps. Even if I loved you, my parents would anyways reject this love and of course me too. I know you have wasted so much precious time of yours.  Don’t any more. Please ….” I stood in front of him with my hands clasped close as if I were praying, in fact urging him.

It was an earnest request. I should have told him the same long back. Nevertheless, it’s not too late for anything.

He just gave me a smile. A smile which probably meant ‘Do you know what love means or do you know what it feels like to love or to be loved?’

“Ok. Forget all these things, can you atleast prove that you love me? More than anyone else in this world, even more than my parents?”

He was quiet for some time. He looked around and then picked up a bottle. He wrote a letter, and then pushed the letter into the bottle and flung it far into the sea.

“The message will reach you, and then you will understand how much….” he stopped.

That was the last time I ever saw him again.

Then I was married to Rohan.

And today Chinnu found a bottle with a message in it, which read, “I love you…. Chikku” (Chikku, that’s how he used to call me)

My feet trembled and the whole world shattered right infront of me. Thousands of miles, the bottle travelled and reaching its destination might not be a fluke or a mere coincidence. It’s just love, pure love. Probably the greatest of them all. Tears inadvertently cascaded down my cheeks. He loved me so much? I asked myself….

I am proud to have been loved by a great man who proved his love. And at the same time, I missed him. I missed him so much and all for a bottle of love.

“I love you too” I replied to that letter and signed Chikku and sealed it in the same bottle and flung it far into the sea.

Life has to go on. And I am already married. But perhaps I will never forget my paramour throughout my life.

My name is Amisha, and this is my story, a story worth the pages in my diary called life….!

“`*“`arun …