This blog is back in action with its original content, feelings and emotions from the bottom of my heart, bare truth for the world to read. I spent all of 2010 worrying over the fact that everybody who knew me in real life, all the friends, the family members, colleagues, read my blog too often and so I couldn’t share everything that I wanted to share without inhibitions.

But of late I have started to notice that the readership of this blog is again impersonal, the audience is made up of faceless strangers like it was when I first started blogging 6 years back. Once again, like old times, when I come to this blog at the end of each day to share my thoughts and feelings, I feel there’s no one else around, at least no one that I personally know, it’s just me and my blog here. I feel alone again, safe and alive.

So here it goes. Reporting live from my heart…

Earlier this year, I fell in something like love. I still don’t know what love is, so I wouldn’t say “I fell in love”. But it felt a lot like love. I think there is a movie by that name, right?

Anyway, so this time believe you me, it was the whole deal. Birds were singing, bells were ringing in my head, heart beats were faster than before and knees felt weak.  And this time for a change the feelings were mutual too, or so I thought.

Oh, how wrong was I. The feelings were mutual just as much the crow was a swan. And so here it is the final chapter of my book of romance. I shall not love again.

The backstory to the sad and lonely future ahead is funny and entertaining and would make a wonderful book someday. You are not a publisher by any chance are you?

What? A heart broken woman gotta eat!

My writings be my greatest take away from all my relationships or should I say non-relationships or failed-attempt-at-a-relationship to be very precise. They say, “too many sad words make a sad sad song.” “They” as in the Irish rock band The Frames. I love them by the way. And him Shelly says, “Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thoughts.”

Indeed. And I have a lot of sad thoughts. I must have fallen in somewhat like love some 10-15 times so far and all of them damn men broke my heart so what else do you expect. I have collected enough sad words to write at least 3-4 wonderful books of tragic love stories. My one small challenge however is that I can’t get rid of a terrible sense of humor that fucks up my tragedy. That reminds me, there is a story of how I fucked up a fuck once.

I am sorry, I digress often.

Back to that relationship I was talking about. Would you believe, for the first three months of this failed-attempt-at-a-relationship, I religiously kept copious notes of all the developments of this plot. Noted every small thing he did or say, every small and big emotion I felt, I even copy pasted all our Gtalk and FB chat conversations for the keeps.

I titled the daily updates on my diary as – The day we met; I am in love; Days of Love-1, Days of Love 2, 3…and so on. Then one day when I realized, actually he told me, that he doesn’t love me back, so I decided to un-love myself. Like you know you can unfriend someone on Facebook, or unlike a status update. So my updates were then titled as ‘Days of unlove-1, 2, 3 and so on. Then there were ‘Days of Love / Unlove / I don’t know anymore love; The break up; The post break up. Finally, the last update which I wrote last month was titled ‘The final chapter of the book of romance is still to be continued’

Quite frankly, the whole thing sort of went out of control. You see it was stupid to fall in love in the first place. Well, love is always stupid, nothing new about that. But the damn trouble this time was that initially it seemed so right. I mean the first time I saw him I was immediately into him. In no time, I started catching vibes and signals and all sorts of other non oratory functions by his body and everything started making sense, a romantic sense.

But it was all so wrong. My love was tacky, unrealistic, ill fitted. Perhaps desperate, immoral and unethical too.

First, he was not into me. None of them ever are, its just me who keeps getting these wrong signals all the time. If you have seen the movie, ‘He’s Just Not That Into You‘, here’s a lesson you must have learned. He is NOT into you unless he says he is into you. It doesn’t matter how many times he says, “you smell nice baby” or “You look pretty.” 

You see men do things that are beyond us. They tease you, please you, smile at you and give you compliments. We don’t know what they mean, and we will not assume what they mean. Don’t assume that you know what he meant when he came close to you and looked deep into your eyes and said something nice. That kind of gesture might not mean a thing to him.

So it doesn’t matter how many times he does poetry on your eyes and your smile. It doesn’t matter if he hugs you and kisses you in the middle of a crowd. Doesn’t matter if all your girlfriends around you think he is into you. Your only true test is when he says the damned words confirming he is into you.

Until then, he is not into you.

I have seen that movie but I haven’t learnt my lessons. I made my fair share of mistakes. I thought he was into me. Or at least something Definitely May Be. Turned out there was nothing and that I had made an ass of myself.

Now, that one is easy, making an ass of yourself.

First, you go ahead fall in love with someone who is NOT into you. Then you tell that person that you have fallen in love and swallow your pride and sink your heart when he says, “Oh but I was never into you, I don’t know if I did anything to make you feel that way, but trust me baby, nothing can ever happen between us.” And then finally, to complete the process of making yourself into an ass you write a blog post about it for the whole world to read.

My love was tacky and ill fitted because I fell in love with a guy a decade younger than me. I mean that is just obnoxious. Don’t you agree?

I remember in my younger days I sat with my little circle of friends in our little dark wells and gossiped, giggled and judged women who were in relationships with younger men. We never judged the older men though for being in love with much younger women.

So there I was in love and with the irony of it all coming back to my posterior.

My love was unrealistic because really, what was I thinking? He is going to be with this fat and old woman? He is a damn hot guy, in the prime of his youth, artistic, sensitive, do you have any idea how many pretty little things he can have. I mean get real Sanjukta.

Finally, my love was desperate, immoral and unethical because I was sexually attracted to him. I desired his body, I enjoyed his beauty. They tell me that sort of thing is totally sinful.

My love was dispensable. My love was trash. I am a trash.

Now hold it right there, don’t shed that very obvious drop of tear that has gathered at the corner of your right eye, Don’t Cry for Argentina…

That’s a beautiful song by Madonna, sorry I digress again. What I meant was don’t cry for me as yet, it’s not that bad. Wait for further updates. 

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