It was the eyes.. always the eyes that told me what she felt..
I never believed in love at first sight. I have seen it in movies, read books about it and even seen it happen to friends.. Seeing someone and liking them instantaneously is lust, often confused with love. I know the eyes to be the windows to the soul, and my soulmate had the most beautiful pair of eyes there were..
. I saw them first when i was around six. I was sitting on this huge mango tree in the big bungalow that my dad got, one of the perks of him working in the senior level in the ministry. She was at the ground, a little girl of around four, her finger in her mouth and her nose running, little pony tied hair swinging in the wind. I saw admiration in her eyes that day, big round eyes that looked up at me like a hero. I just smiled at her and threw down the mango that i was not supposed to pluck..
.
I was 13 now, different city, different tree. This one lead straight to the window of a Beautiful girl in my class, I think her name Sarala. Sarala was a couple of years older than me, the school hottie, who was stubborn enough to act snobbish when i proposed. Me being me, was planning on giving her a surprise by expressing my love letter on a paper plane and flying it through her window. Cheesy, I know, but it was my soulmates’ idea. She was sitting behind me on that tree branch, egging me on. I peeped through the window, only to see Sarala being beaten to pulp by her drunkard of her dad... I looked behind to see hatred in her eyes, a feeling that she rarely felt for another human being. She handed me the ripe mango this time, and I clearly remember the sound of the glass cracking as my mango crashed through it into the drunkards forehead...
21, Another city . Not a tree, I was standing in front of my dad, a lion of a man, who was the Assistant to the Governor of the state by now. My mom was sitting next to him, looking regal, as usual. He was telling me, slowly ,that I was to marry his friends daughter as was planned for me. This was the girl with whom I had played tag, who practically knew all my secrets, who was sitting behind me on that mango tree the day I discovered what a good aim I had.. She was there too, cowering behind her own parents. I saw confusion in her eyes that day, as she must have seen in mine...
I was 32 when our second child was born, rather ironic because I was taking lives at that very moment. War with Pakistan was not planned, but the Pakistani Army attacked unexpectely and as a Major in the Indian army , I was not supposed to show fear. My good aim saved my life that day, as I took out four of my enemies before a shrapnel laden grenade exploded near me and I passed out. I got the telegram about the baby when I woke up a week later at a hospital in Punjab, but the happiness was short lived after I scanned the list of my friends who died in the war in the notice board outside. I made it home a week later, and for the first time, I saw relief in her eyes...
I was enjoying a glass of whisky with my friends at the Officers mess at my 42nd birthday when I got that dreaded call, that call every dad didn’t want to get. It was a school bus apparently, coming too fast in a suburban road. My second one was riding its first bike out on the street, the driver was a bit drunk, it was too late to correct the course, whatever.. I didn’t want to remember the details, as it was pointless. I flew home that day to see my eleven year old wrapped cleanly in a white cloth, lying on our living room floor, surrounded by relatives. Wailing, condolences, comments on drunk drving, dad grabbing my shoulder, showing the most emotion I have ever seen him show. I saw a level of sadness in her eyes that day that I have never seen before, as though a part of her had died with our child, as had mine... I quit the army the next month, deciding to spend more time with her.
55 now, I was walking hand in hand with her at the park ,making small talk. The childs death had been hard on both of us, but we had moved on. There were 3 more children to take care of , the eldest of whom was getting married next month. She was going on and on about the relatives we forgot to call and the preparations we forgot to make, but I was distracted by a strand of hair that was blowing into her eyes, making her tuck it back annoyedly. I stopped, turned to her and fixed her hair, tucking it neatly behind her ears. She looked up at me, smiled and I saw love for me in those beautiful brown eyes of hers.,
The cancer had been hard on me, but it was harder on her still. Cancer at the age of 70 was a hard thing to cure, and the doctors had given me a 30 percent chance to survive. I took the news like a man, staring resolutely ahead at the long road we must all take at one point or another. I saw her getting older before my eyes as the cancer ravaged my body, her hair turning sparse and her eyes losing that twinkle. Sadness was an emotion i hated to see in her eyes.
As i lie today on what I know is my deathbed, I thank God for all the beautiful things He has given me, the most beautiful of which was sitting right next to me, resolutely refusing to cry. I look into the eyes of my kids and I see sadness, love, and a hint of relief. I look again into the eyes that I have fallen in love with from the very first moment I saw them, just being stupid enough not to realize it. I never did believe in love at first sight, but if there was such a thing as love at Last Sight, then I am a Believer today...
