Love

In the small, undisturbed hamlet of a town called Vallipuram, where life took on a rhythm as predictable as the monsoon rains, there lived a young chap named Ravi. Now, Ravi was an earnest soul, but had developed quite the reputation for his overly ambitious dreams and a tendency to make mountains out of molehills. At the young age of twenty-five he had managed to achieve the singular feat of being neither notable nor forgettable—a state he had long been perfecting with pride.

One dusty Saturday evening, as Ravi ambled through the local park (a place almost taken over by overly loving mothers doting over their children while they decided to kick and shove at each other to no end), his life decided to take an unexpected turn. It wasn’t the arrival of a lost astrologer’s caravan or the appearance of some distant relative with rather deep pockets, but rather a young woman who appeared on the park’s gravel path, as if conjured by the stars themselves.

She was but a vision of loveliness, walking with the effortless grace of a swan. Her name was Meera, though Ravi did not know it at the time. To Ravi, she was a perfect stranger and an enigmatic beauty wrapped into one irresistible package. As he observed her from a distance—his heart beating like a drum and his thoughts as disjointed as a toddler’s first attempt at poetry—Ravi felt an overwhelming sense of destiny. This was, he decided, love at first sight.

With determination as his only ally, Ravi devised a plan to introduce himself to Meera. The plan was, however, a glaring testament to his misguided sense of romance and his utter lack of strategic foresight. At 5 o’clock sharp on Sunday evening, he would execute his grand entrance on the very path where Meera was known to walk. This plan involved a sophisticated and elaborate routine—he would casually approach her, strike up a conversation about the weather, and then reveal his true feelings in a manner so tender-hearted it would surely induce a swoon.

At 5 o’clock sharp on Sunday evening, Ravi positioned himself by the park’s dry-as-a-bone fountain, rehearsing his lines and imagining various scenarios in which Meera would fall into his arms with tears of joy. The moment of truth arrived, and Ravi launched into action with all the grace of a clumsy knight attempting valiantly to scale a castle wall. He approached Meera with what he hoped was a nonchalant air but which, in reality, resembled the determined advance of a particularly enthusiastic mongrel.

“Good evening!” Ravi exclaimed, his voice breaking with excitement. “Beautiful morn— evening, isn’t it?”

Meera, who had been enjoying her walk with a level of disinterest that suggested she might have been thinking about her grocery list, looked at him with mild curiosity. “Yes, it is,” she replied politely, but with an expression that suggested she had just encountered a stray dog rather than a potential suitor.

Before Ravi could start his grand declaration, a loud squawking interrupted him. A flock of ducks, apparently offended by his intrusion, had decided to stage a protest. They waddled between Ravi and Meera, honking and flapping their wings in a manner that suggested they had a vested interest in Ravi’s failure.

Ravi pressed on, undeterred. “I couldn’t help but notice how lovely you look. I come here every day, and I have seen you often. I think we are destined to—” His voice had begun to quiver like an off-key violin in a high school orchestra, and had reached such a high pitch that it had momentarily become inaudible.

“Destined to…?” she prompted, eyebrows raised in the middle, clearly trying to wrest some meaning out of Ravi’s tangled declaration.

“To—uh—become friends…” Ravi stammered, quickly backtracking, his train of thought having switched destinations at the last second. “You know, casual, normal… friends.”

The silence that followed was enough to make Ravi question his entire existence, from the slightly angled pen in his shirt pocket to his choice of footwear that evening. Meera, meanwhile, more amused than interested, gave him a faint smile before she finally said, “Well, that’s… nice. But I should get going. My vegetables won’t buy themselves.”

Ravi, suddenly reminded of his mother’s obsession with fresh tomatoes, nodded vigorously, “Oh… y— yes, of course of course, you wouldn’t want wilted coriander…” He cringed inwardly at his choice of words, perhaps having realized that comparing a girl to rotting greens was possibly the least romantic thing ever uttered in the history of romance.

As Meera turned to continue her walk, Ravi stood there, his grand romantic plan unraveling like a badly knitted sweater. Not one to be deterred by such minor setbacks, he carried on with his romantic endeavors.

The next day, he tried to look intellectual by sitting on a park bench with a thick book that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be Advanced Physics for Beginners. Unfortunately for Ravi, he was about as familiar with physics as he was with the concept of romance. The ruse fell apart when Meera strolled by, glancing at the book, only to witness him holding it upside down.

A few days later, Ravi found himself at the local library, where he was engrossed in a book about love—an ironic choice, given his track record. As he turned the page, he heard a familiar voice. It was Meera, browsing through the same section. Their eyes met, and Meera, with a smile that hinted at the mischief of their previous encounters, said, “Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Determined.”

Ravi, with an expression of both triumph and exasperation, replied, “Well, it seems I’m finally on the right track.”

Perhaps fate had been right all along.