I can’t believe it, but its official. I am officially a clean slate. No this isn’t some post break up, I’m over him bull shit. This is me standing near my window sill, sipping tea at 3 in the afternoon, looking at the garage mechanics across the road tinkering a car and realizing I have absolutely NO ONE to think about. And for once….just this once…. realising it isn’t such a bad thing afterall.
Later in the evening I went for Saawariya, Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s homoerotic tribute to autism. And as terrible as the film was it did make me miss being in love. In Ranbir’s desperate twirling embrace of Sonam in that immediately sexual way I missed a lover pulling me towards him and grabbing the back of my neck, in Salman Khans passionate embrace (I was cursing him ‘murderer murderer chikari poacher’ under my breath just to be fair) I missed opening my eyes in the morning light to see a lover looking at me sleeping….
Most of all I really miss love in retrospect. The ‘otherness of lovers’ someone had once called it. That moment when he’s left the bedroom to go for a bath and you reach out to his discarded clothes and smell him on them. That moment when you’re bored on a long flight and you flip through your inbox and re-read the loin tingling erotic messages he sent you last night. That moment in time when you have to go out of town and your phones unreachable for a bit and you’re shit busy but in every movement you make, in every word you utter you are so painfully aware of how much you miss him. Even that moment just after you’ve had a series of terrible fights and broken up and you’re with your best girlfriend and she calls him a chooth fucking asshole loser and you feel a sharp twinge of hurt because you still care so much that you can’t stand hearing what she’s saying and you quietly swallow the gulp in your throat cursing her in your head instead!
For the moment I revel in my state of nothingness. I review my past loves now and then. How one made me laugh. How one always made me cry. How one brought out the best sex in me. How frigid I was with one. How one made me comfortable and how another made me palm sweatingly nervous. It’s a stoic recollection. Bereft of hurt, love or lust. It’s funny the order in which I remembered that – Hurt, Love and Lust. It’s funny because I’ve always remembered hurt first, love next and lust the last. And funny because when I‘m with a man I’ve always run after lust first, parading it as love next and blind to the hurt such a conquest can cause me. :)