Monday, January 6, 2014

Bangla Blues

It's a new year and I won't give you the whole "new me" spiel, but indefinitely lying in bed has got me thinking... quite selfishly, about myself. It is not unusual for me to dwell on the same thoughts over and over. Nor is it unusual to think about these thoughts so deeply to the point where bitten finger nails are mounted on the bed sheet. Great, no more long fingernails. Some self-deliberation, some realization, some sighs. What person or type of person would you choose as a life companion? (btw, click link for other insightful and provoking questions).

This one stuck. And I know why. But it's only now that I'm going to face it because I've never thought about it. It is true and inescapable that I want to love...someone--sure, love takes many forms and I've addressed marriage in the previous post but only as a concept and never revealing who or the qualities of a who. Because I don't know. Regardless, this post isn't about him. It's about me.

I've never understood myself when dealing with men who are interested. What does it actually mean to be interested in someone? I assume (apparently a lot) that your interest means conversations over one-sugar-only chai (only on certain days because I don't particularly like hot beverages and I don't drink chai cold; water on the rocks is always good), actual dates that don't include ripping my shirt off (well, at least not right away, c'mon), and patience (because seriously, I'm not going anywhere and if I do, you'll hear about it) leading to a relationship (with a title. this includes girlfriend and wife) whose foundation is more than just kisses and steamy make-outs.

I'm so melodramatic, I belong in Bollywood or some equivalent. I trust easily. I believe. I accept his flaws. And I have faith that he is the one. Who will love me. And I tell myself, yeah, I can love him. He's not that bad. He could be the one.

Shahana, this is all wrong.

~~
ek din'er bhalobasha ......a love that lasts one day
dekhechi onek ...............I've seen many
tarporeo ami osthir ........still, I'm impatient
chirokal prem'er khoje ..in search of a love that is forever
~~

When I think of love and heartbreak, I imagine it all in Bangla. The language is delicate but not frail, romantic, and meaningful, qualities I want in my relationship with you. Certainly, my Bangla is broken with English words replacing the Bangla I can't recall or are unfamiliar with. But never have I been impatient or frustrated. And such is how I envision my relationship with you, patient and without disappointment. Of course, like my Bangla, it is not perfect, yet there are smiles in the imperfection and much to discover. How to write and read the script that is so foreign and challenging to this Brooklyn-born. Foreign, but belongs to me always. There is serenity in this journey towards Bangla, towards you.