What's Meant for You Will Not Pass You By

                                          

Have you ever watched someone you love walk away? Or felt the quiet ache of a friendship slowly drifting apart? In our hyper-connected world of seven billion souls, why do we sometimes feel so alone? Perhaps, it is time to explore an age-old wisdom that has comforted hearts through generations: "What's meant for you, will not pass you by". 

Remember that scene from "500 Days of Summer" where Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) finally understands why things didn't work out with Summer (Zooey Deschanel)? "I was sitting in a deli and reading Dorian Gray and a person walks in and sits down next to me. And I realized it wasn't Summer... it was Autumn. And I felt relief." Sometimes, the wrong person has to leave to make room for the right one. 

A close friend shared her story over coffee one day: "I spent six years in a relationship that felt like forcing a puzzle piece to fit. When it ended, I was devastated. Two years later, I met my current husband at a cooking class I would never have taken if I was still in my previous relationship. We connected over burnt pasta and bad jokes. With him, nothing feels forced. Everything just... fits." 

Think of friendships like stars in the night sky. Some are shooting stars - brilliant but brief. Others are constant constellations, guiding you home no matter where you wander. The beauty lies in understanding that not every friendship is meant to last forever, and that's okay. 

As Maya Angelou wisely wrote: "People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." Some friends are meant to be chapter-long characters in your story, while others are meant to be there until the final page. 

In our social media age, we're constantly bombarded with images of perfect relationships and #SquadGoals. It's easy to feel like we're missing out or that life is passing us by. But here's a secret: authentic connections don't follow a timeline or template. Some people find their soulmate at 20, others at 50; some have a tight-knit group of friends, others have meaningful one-on-one friendships; some maintain childhood friendships, and others build their chosen family later in life. 

The Art of Letting Go 

Remember the iconic scene from "Casablanca" where Rick tells Ilsa, "We'll always have Paris"? Sometimes, loving someone means letting them go. This applies not just to romantic relationships but to friendships too. 

A colleague I used to work with, once told me: "My best friend moved across the country fifteen years ago. We promised to stay in touch daily, but life happened. Now we talk maybe twice a year, but when we do, it's like no time has passed. I've learned that true friendship isn't measured in minutes of conversation but in moments of connection." 

The Bridge of Second Chances 

Life has a funny way of bringing people back when the timing is right. Like the lyrics from The Civil Wars' Poison and Wine: "I don't love you, but I always will." Sometimes, relationships need time and space to evolve, heal, or transform. 

Take Atlas and Lily's story from It Ends with Us. Once upon a time sweethearts, who broke up over getting caught in their secret relationship, lived separate lives for many years, and then reconnected at Atlas' restaurant. I guess even the characters would say that they needed those years apart because they had to become the right people for each other. 

--

Think of your relationships like a garden: some plants bloom naturally, others need constant tending. A few might wither despite your best efforts; sometimes, the most beautiful flowers grow wild and unexpected. 

Instead of anxiously searching for "the one" or the perfect friend group, try cultivating self-love and understanding, staying open to unexpected connections, nurturing existing relationships without suffocating them, and trusting that meaningful connections will find you when you are ready. 

Sometimes, we are so busy looking for love in a certain package that we miss it arriving in another form. Like the song "The Call" by Regina Spektor suggests: "Love, you didn't do nothing at all...you just stood there watching me fall, and then some angel lifted me up."

In our modern world, connection can come in unexpected ways. I found my best friend through the shared horrors of adolescent ninth-graders. My friend met his partner and the love of his life through a random Bumble match. The universe has infinite ways of bringing the right people into your life, exactly at the right time. 

As you meander through the complex web of human connections, it becomes important to remember that what's meant for you will find its way. Like ships in the vast ocean that always return to the harbor. The right people will too dock in your harbor at the perfect moment. Your task isn't to chase every passing sail but to keep your lighthouse burning. 

When a relationship ends or a friendship fades, it's not always failure - sometimes it's just completion. Trust that new connections are already making their way to you, carried on the winds of perfect timing. 

After all, in a world of seven billion souls, the ones meant for you will find their way to your heart. Keep it open, keep it kind, and trust in the beautiful mystery of divine timing. 

forɛlskəd - тнє єυρнσяια єχρєяιєη¢є∂ αѕ уσυ вєgιη тσ ƒαℓℓ ιη ℓσνє

Very recently, I came across a Danish word that, for some, might sound very silly. But to me, it was like someone had invented the very language that would be able to give me the very word I would be looking for. Something that gives a name to the feeling that I haven't been successful in explaining in so many clear words. The very feeling, the emotion that swells within me every time I look at you. 

"Forɛlskəd" - the word for when you start to fall in love; the beginning of love. That indescribable feeling, that sense of the warmth of someone's embrace, the rush of euphoric excitement that makes the world look brighter and more beautiful than ever, especially when you look at someone who makes your heart feel full? Yes, that is Forɛlskəd for you. A word so small, yet so powerful, that it captures the blissful state of being in love. 

As humans, we are hardwired to seek connections in everything we do, and in every being that we interact with. Companionship and falling in love are the most profound ways to experience that. For a girl who has had her heart broken before, with an iron-clad determination to never let herself allow the liberty to feel such things, you came into my life like a wrecking ball. Within seconds, you shattered, what I would call my shield, my walls, layers and layers of stone around my core. And the most astonishing part? I let you. 

I let you swagger in with the kindness in your eyes, the softness of your words, the consideration in your actions, and the honesty in your smile, something that you don't give out so easily to everyone. The most lethal combination that could create a complete mess of a girl's heart. 

And, now what, you might wonder? It's like, even the most mundane activities have taken on new meanings and significance. A mere look is now enough to make my heart skip a beat. A shared plate of food fills my stomach more than a buffet ever could. An hour spent in your company seems enough to last me a lifetime, but it also keeps me wanting more. More of your time, more of your attention, more of your smiles, and definitely a lot more of your heart. 

Forɛlskəd has made me experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Frankly, I am so elated one moment, and so down in the dumps the next. Constantly swinging between wanting to text and see you and also keeping you at a distance to protect whatever is left of my heart. It is a roller coaster ride that makes me want to go on forever and jump off of it at the same time. 

It is something that is constantly pushing me to become the best version of myself, and also drives me half insane. 

And yet, 

it is all worth it, 

if it's You. 

~You return like autumn and I fall all the time~

~You return like autumn and I fall all the time~

Some days -                                                                                                                                                              I remember you giving me a ride around on your bike - Me riding pillion, with the wind in my hair and laughter escaping my lips, Holding onto you a little bit tighter every time you'd attempt to curve a particularly tricky bend,                                                                                                                          Braking hard just to hear me half-laugh, half-squeal and feel my hold on your shirt tight - some of those days when everything around us would feel right.

Now when I look at you through the phone screen, I wish things were as easy as they had been. Me - right across, laughing, smiling, giggling like the young girl in love that you make me feel. You - gazing at me from the other side of the table of your favourite café, with the same twinkle in your eye like you were admiring your favourite view. 

I think of you when I'm sipping your favourite coffee, or when I'm listening to a song you sang along to when we were out prancing about when the night was still young. 

I remember the way you smelled that day, every time I come across a fair on my way back home - fresh from your shower, all male, warm and sweet. I can recall that moment in a jiffy as if it were just yesterday. 

Everything and everywhere we've been, has always felt like something that takes place every day. It doesn't feel like a moment or a day that has happened in the past.

I suppose I could say that you're my only gift for all five of my senses. Your presence has embedded itself in all the parts of my being - for as long as I live.

Garden of Eden

"...As June turns into warm July, I think of little else but you..." ~Wendy Cope

Remember that winter?

Our cottage teeming with a redolent aroma

of old books and coffee. 

Remember our schedule?

Of how we were up all night, discussing 

Magic fairytales,

science and religion,

and the days 

in the farm, building our lives. 

Remember our dream?

Of us flying with angels to meet our maker, 

and him welcoming us

by saying, 

"Welcome back home, you crazy idiots!"

Remember that time?

When we wrote stories 

hoping it would become real. 

Some day. One day. 

Remember that night?

When you promised me an eternity

of fights, love, and craziness. 

And how I teased you by exclaiming, 

"How will I live with you for another second?"

Remember your last words?

"I got the early bird ticket, you idiot. 

And now I will be waiting for you in the garden of Eden. 

Come home soon."

And you left after winking at me. 

Of course, you remember everything. 

For who can love anyone like you love me?

I know you are waiting. 

Just keep waiting. 

And know, that I am on my way to you.  

The Rain Had Stopped, But The Pain Was Still There ~

 

"Well, the rain had stopped, but the pain was still there..." ~ Charles Bukowski

Those who know me know that I dwell in a world guided by music, rain, love, coffee, and books. All these things bring with them something that stays with you forever. It might not permanently reside in your conscious, but it will run through your mind in a fleeting second when you are reminded of something, or someone, who has made you feel things as close as to what music, rain, love, coffee, and books could do for you. 

Music makes me feel alive as if every part of my body could dance to a tune that no one else could ever hear or understand. Droplets of rain bring me a sense of peace so profound, that it could forever be raining and I would always be drenched, wishing to wash away everything that hurts my heart. My need to be loved comes from a place within myself that needs strength and faith from someone who loves me deeply, while to love someone as deeply as I am loved if not more, seeks the feeling of courage and hope in this otherwise dead world. Call me a caffeine addict, but there is nothing more relaxing than a strong, warm cup of coffee that warms your palms and makes you feel safe and content at the moment. As for books and the magic they carry, call it an escapist’s fantasy or whatever you want, there is nothing in the world greater than the feeling where you can’t seem to put down a book, no matter what, not willing to give up. 

At a place almost like home, a place of power and control, I miraculously stumbled upon someone who immediately felt like warmth, sunshine, and home. Someone, so far more knowledgeable than me, so much more powerful and in control of their emotions, that it baffled me to no extent. Someone young and free and sweet, holding back an entire universe within himself. A man so kind, so inspirational, and well-read, it just felt like it was too good to be true (well, maybe it was). 

He was a magician. He had the power of making hours seem like mere minutes and seconds in his presence. His words, were as if he was personally knitting a honey-laced trap for you to just fall into. I could have listened to him talk all day about what plagues his mind when he’s driving his car back home from work, or while he’s in the shower washing away his stress, or when he is cooking himself an elaborate meal at the pace of a man who believes he has all the time in the entire world. 

His observation was beyond my understanding. So much so, he made me realize that he was truly a people’s person, in all senses of the term. He complimented me in all the ways every woman craves - complimenting and encouraging what I knew about myself and noticing things I thought no one ever cared enough to observe. Caring for me was like second nature for him. His need to make me feel safe and comfortable overpowered all sense of right and wrong, making me realize how his actions always seemed to put others before himself, even though his words were a complete contrast. 

I remember distinctly, him telling me about how shitty a hand he was dealt by his life, in all his growing years, and how he has sustained himself to be the man he is now. I remember, how I cried, when he told me of all the things that have hurt his heart, mind, and soul, and how he repeatedly told me to not shed tears for something that has gone past him. I remember, him telling me that he doesn’t want anyone’s pity. I wish I had told him then. I wish I could have told him then. How my tears weren’t those of pity. How I felt anything but pity for him. The tears that I shed, were those of strength and courage, for the kid that lost his childhood, the teen that struggled in his teenage years, but more so, for the man that has survived everything and yet, remained the man he was supposed to be. Warm, caring, and kind. Someone with that great of a mind. The tears that escaped, were my way of expressing how much I respected him, how my heart went out to him so that it could share his burden somehow, some more. 

A man so cute, with so many aspirations and dreams and travel plans, I could just take it all in and store it within me for an eternity, without ever running out of space for someone larger than life itself. I wish I could make his pain mine. Take whatever he has survived alone, and share with him his life. To make him see, all that he is to be. To make him understand, that not everyone wants to leave. A month is too short a time, too short to make everything count, but more than enough to understand the concept of “right person, wrong time”. He is the right person, but probably we met at the wrong time. A time where he cannot give me the parts of himself I need, and a time where I won’t be around long enough to be patient from near. But I could have been patient from afar, had he given me a sign. 

He was like the music, his sweet smile and chocolate-brown eyes making me feel alive in every moment that I spent in his embrace. He was like the rain that washes over you, making you accept things that would have broken and crumbled you in the past. The him that I know has a lot of love to give, if he chooses to, and the me that I know, would give him everything all over again. Because we both know that we needed it. My hands in his, fingers entwined, made me feel the same warmth I would receive from a hot mug of coffee on a chilly, winter morning. And his words? They knit the perfect honey-laced trap for me, patiently waiting for me to fall into them. He is someone who made me think of all the things I love, all at once, at the same time. Because he is larger than life itself, for himself and those around him. 

But this entire memory will have to be left in the past tense, as is this story. Why, you wonder? Because my rain has come to an end, the memory will linger on, like the pain that never goes away. The rain has stopped, but the pain remains. Forever. 

Seasons

Scintillating Summer: 

Nurturing warmth strolling with breeze,

blooming the meadows with lilies and sunflowers

tantalizing heat fading the coldness away,

urging the marigolds to smile brighter,

Radiant mountains high, shine

Ebulliently welcoming the scintillating summer.

Alluring Autumn: 

Naive golden and red ready to depart

About to lose themselves to the ground,

The end that leaves behind a new beginning.

Ubiquitous smell of the fall 

Reverberating in the trees and valleys

Ecstatic winds taking with them the resulting souvenirs.

Wondrous Winter:

Nebulous mornings flavored with fog bringing, 

Angelic comfort, cooling the anxious hearts.

The cherry blossoms dance with 

utmost glee in the chilly winds.

Rollicking snow flakes kiss the ground

effulgent white sun-kissed grounds greet the footprints.

Spry Spring:

Numb unadorned grounds stir

and stir to life in the patter of downpour.

Tulips, daffodils and bluebells laugh,

Unabashed in the meadows and valleys,

Reviving lost hope in the oceans,

Eager to fall with the magical raindrops. 

The Poet in Me

I'm not a poet of love songs or heartbreaks,

my pen does not sing of cigarette smoke,

and red wine stains.

The poet in me was born under the summer blooms

of a Gulmohar tree.

She is fluent only in the language of 

green earth and brown seeds.

She always trips and falls over 

popular 'lingo';

The language of the masses has never been her friend.

The poet in me will tell you about 

the beautiful intricacy of the Rubaiyats.

She will invite you over with poems about 

Meghmalhar, Khamaj and Kalyani.

She spends her time writing odes to

Madhubani and Warli,

to Indian summers, Bengal tigers,

temples, minarets and stained glass cathedrals.

The poet in me will write about cash crops and greed.

She will sing songs that bleed Indigo blood;

Songs of the coloniser's fields.

The poet in me prefers faded gramophone melodies

to colorful pulsating tunes.

She'd rather write haikus about the moments

that disappear like butterflies,

than write epics about bustling cities that

cry of performances.

I'm not a poet of love songs and heartbreak.

I'm not a poet of the masses.

The poet in me is more old, browning book

than a glossy bestseller.

She is more subtlety than flamboyance.

September

And just like that, September slipped away, like one happy song we sometimes wish would never end. It came and went almost unnoticed. It's soft footsteps never made the floor creak even on languid afternoons when the days were drowsy and couldn't stifle a yawn.

How I wish I told him weeks back to stay for good, but I was too engrossed listening to the variety of nostalgic Christmas songs being played on repeat since the day he first knocked on my door with surprise gifts that made the kid in me ecstatic for days. I forgot he isn't staying for long or maybe I know but I was just in denial that I thought its going to make the days longer than they should.

Some days I wish the hours would stretch till eternity, so I could sit beside him as long as I want while we enjoy hot cocoa with bits of marshmallows by the window on drizzly mornings. And like the best of friends, we would giggle to no end as we will tell each other random stories and plans for Christmas while we watch the rain trickle lazily on windowpanes, then we will write our names with tiny hearts on the foggy glass. 

This morning I was a bit under the weather knowing that September packed his suitcase last night and today is his last day with me. I wanted to make us a hearty breakfast, with his favourite bacon and eggs but we ended up having the longest, most quiet breakfast over oatmeal and brewed coffee. We ate in silence, my breathing shallow. I could feel the lump in my throat, stuck for a moment. I couldn't hush and stop the stubborn tear that fell on my cheek like a naughty kid.

I wanted to hug him Oh! so tight and tell him to stay longer but I know It's time for him to go. Somehow the thought that he's coming back again made the parting a little less bittersweet, it made my separation anxiety take a backseat as I heaved a sigh.

I guess it is not going to stick around that long for October to see.

Poignancy

 

Funny how I pretend
I'm not breaking when

piece by piece of my

happiness leaves

a trail of chilled sadness 

in places, I don't want 

anyone to know about. 

Funny how I pretend 

I'm not longing for someone 

When I sleep on the side  

of the bed where I won't 

see the shadows of the past

And I leave the lights open 

to exorcise the ghosts of those

who left without saying 

a lukewarm goodbye.

Funny how I pretend 

I'm not weeping at random nights

I'm alone in the company 

of bottled memories 

and a suitcase of regrets.

Funny how I pretend

that I'm not grieving over dead feelings

and wilted flowers 

I've pressed ever so gently

in between the lonely pages 

of my vintage diary

that once upon a time held

bed of roses to vows 

of endless affection 

whispered by sweet lips

glazed with ample deceit.

Funny how I pretend 

I'm not faking my smiles

and I'm not hurting anymore.

You're Beautiful

You seek scents of mellow whiskeys
And shades of blueberry muffins
In the eyes of lovers you still haven't met.

You admire the sunflowers
Turning their heads down at dusk
And embracing it again at sunrise
Hazel brown is the color of his eyes though.

You love walking barefoot on moist meadows
You're an explorer of valleys and souls
once and all at the same time.

You quench thirst by pouring out
onto lands of deserted sorrows
Turning them into wilderness
exactly of which your soul is composed of.

You're the sunshine in the arctics
Seldom embracing the igloos
But whenever you do
Your warmth melts the coldest.

You're an Aurora to me, to one
Serene and alluring
And hurricanes to the other
Stormy and frightening.

You're beautiful,
You're whole,
You're enough.
In every sentence,
in every metaphor.