To Honor and Cherish

I saw the most beautiful love today.

It came as somewhat an answer to prayer, and the why of that is difficult to explain; even to myself.  But I know that it wasn’t an accident that it happened.

I tumbled off the bus at Byrathi Cross and dodged a few bikes on my way across the street.  My main goal was to walk as quickly as possible so that I could refill my water bottle when I got to my final destination; it was a scorcher today and I was already running low.  As I walked towards the archway, I heard my name.

This isn’t necessarily surprising, since I used to live in this neighborhood, but I rarely see anyone I know this time of day in Kothanur and it’s rare for people to call my name.  I looked around, and there at the shop where I once bought bananas were Chitra and Mahadevia.

Chitra and Mahadevia work for the director of my old NGO; she’s their housekeeper and he does groundswork as well as pt security at the NGO.  I’m not sure how old they are, but their oldest daughter is just finishing the equivalent of 12^th grade; I suppose this means Chitra could be as young as 36.  Mahadevia is older, though, and graying throughout the temples.  Chitra and I are best friends.  I’m not sure why, because I rarely see her (except, recently, when I’ve been tumbling off of buses), but each time I see her she grips me in the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced; it’s as if she’s clinging for her life and she won’t let go.  And I never want to let her go, because she makes me feel extremely safe and extremely loved.  Today I just about ran into those arms I was so thankful to see them.

Come to think of it, the last time they saw me was tumbling off a bus about a month ago, lost and confused only to have them help me get my bearings.  Today, I admit I shed a few tears on the bus and needed to be taken care of just a little bit…Chitra and Mahadevia did just that.  Hmmm…maybe they’re my angels.

On to the love story.

Mahindra bought me a milkshake (although I insisted that I didn’t need anything) and the three of us stood and chatted.  Luckily for you, I don’t remember the conversation verbatim or this post would go on forever.  Luckily for me, the fact that I don’t remember our conversation verbatim means that a lot of it took place in Kannada.  Nanage kannada sulpa baruttidenne (Kannada is coming to me, little by little).  We just chatted – about family, about work, about India, about food.  He invited me to cook chicken so that he could eat it, and I laughed and told him that I don’t know how; in India I cook only vegetarian.  He told me that Chitra would teach me, to which she readily agreed. 

Then he professed: She is my mother, my sister, my grandmother, my wife, and my friend.  In India, I need only one person.  And it is Chitra.

The way he looked at her was incredibly endearing.  And the way she reacted – the blush, downcast eyes, beaming smile, showed that she knows he loved her deeply.  I paid more attention to them for the rest of our time together – the second milkshake that Chitra downed because I honestly couldn’t eat anymore, the walk down the road, the auto drive.  They finish each other’s sentences – him hers when she lacks the English, her his to offer correct information or joking reprimands.  When she speaks, he listens as if she’s the queen herself.  When he speaks, she smiles, and her eyes reveal that she believes there is truth and security in every word he speaks.  And when he makes a joke, she looks at him with eyes that say, “You really aren’t funny but I love you so much I can’t help but smile, because you think you’re funny and you’re trying really hard”. 

Their romance wasn’t overt or sappy; it was solid and full of respect and admiration.  They honor and cherish each other.  When I got out of that auto, all I could think was “Wow, those two are really in love.”  And, strangely, being with two so deeply in love made me feel deeply loved, too.