An evening dialogue...with me.

Spoiler Alert: If you are one of those people who intentionally skip the trailer, so that their movie going experience isn't  ruined, and If you're planning to read 'I too had a love Story' by Ravinder Singh, I'd advice you to not read further. 

The sun was about to set. I sat there for a little while, quietly. A few minutes later, calls for the evening prayer started coming from the nearby mosques. I stood up from my bed, washed my hands and face and walked out of the house. I strode in silence, purposefully towards the mosque, passing through the hustle bustle of the market en route. After the prayers I walked back in the same fashion, blocking everything else around me.

Once home, I went to my room, switched off the lights and sat on the bed covering my legs with the quilt. I was feeling a bit odd but wasn't too sad about the whole thing. So, I tried a little harder by closing my eyes and replaying the whole story I just read, in my head again. It took me 15 seconds to do that, and it was fruitless. I could not feel much about Ravin's story. The heartbreak, the tears, the discomfort, nothing was there. I was told that the book can make the most strong-at-heart, cry. That you can't hold back your tears on Khushi's tragic fate and Ravin's helplessness.

While my eyes were closed, I remembered that though I did experience some emotions at different parts of the book. The excitement, the happiness and the sorrow, I wasn't overwhelmed by any of it. Specially the sorrow. I probably had a deep impression of just one instance of the book, when Ravin was sitting in a bus and in his dream, he saw Khushi sitting beside him and talking to him. It was an emotional part and my eyes did got welled up but the tear didn't come out.

I opened my eyes and asked myself, 'Why this unrelenting attitude?' Somewhere, I knew the answer to it. I stood up, walked to the dining table, poured a glass of water and swigged it down. The clock showed 7pm, I came back to my position. 

There could have been two reasons why I was indifferent to the pain that Ravin was feeling. First, the writer, his style of writing, his choice of words or his narration... but I was no critic to judge him, so I panned my thoughts toward the other reason.

Maybe I became too callous to feel those emotions. 'But how could that be..', I thought. Just a few days ago, and for past few months, I was a crying machine (in comparison to other boys). My eyes would fill up with water at the slightest excuse. I would start dripping automatically and awkwardly, while reading, or talking to somebody or doing some other random stuff. I would cry obliviously watching movies, even the Korean ones, which I didn't understand a word of. So after all that, what happened now.

Maybe I was well too aware of the climax, and subconsciously prepared myself by detaching myself from the soul of the story. Maybe I didn't want to get sad, which was somewhat ironical, given that I bought the novel for the exact opposite reason. Maybe, halfway through, I wore my cloak of indifference, my new armour that I made very smartly from the shredded and broken pieces of hope and something called faith. Maybe I just didn't want to believe in sad stories any more. I had enough of it. Maybe I lost my belief in the whole love thing.

All these thoughts made me drowsy, sitting there in the dark. I became sleepy. A last thought came into my mind before I fell into sleep.

I read a comment few weeks ago, by a girl about the book. She said that she cried for a week after reading this book. I  thought, maybe someday my heart would melt too at this heartbreaking love story which could otherwise have been a perfect love story. And I would cry.

P.S: I couldn't think of a better title, hence the above. If you were the author, what title would you have given to this post?