Here's the thing about falling in love.
It isn't a contiguous event. It doesn't just hit you one morning. What it does is, it  takes you by surprise. It's more of a revelation. A  gradual process you become more involved in, everyday. And once it does build up and become that all consuming feeling of giddy happiness, you know it's hit you. Yes, when you smile for no apparent reason, when you feel so light headed that you almost glide through monotonous routines, when you can't tear your gaze away from your cellphone screen cause God forbid you miss a text, when you can't make sense of anything anymore and still enjoy every minute of being clueless, yes my friend, that means you're falling.  All you know is that, that person is enlaced with your every thought. Their happiness becomes your happiness. Black and white becomes colour, your little bathroom singing sessions become louder, mushy becomes your new middle name and suddenly the world is a better place. Falling in love can be wonderful. It can be overwhelming and vertiginous, but you would be a fool if you said it wasn't worth every minute.

Today, while I scooped at the frozen surface of the mango ice cream (Granny's famous recipe) my father made, I thought about the memories it brought with it. It took me back to that old and comfortable house. Sometimes I shut my eyes trying to remember the details better. I visualize the entrance, the red upholstery, the flooring with its ancient pattern, the green plants, the curtains, the smell of good food and most importantly, my lovely grandparents. When I hugged them, I felt bones and loose flesh. I was always afraid I'd hurt them, but then they'd look down at me and smile and say something so nice, I would  feel reassured and content almost instantly. That house was always alive. There was always laughter and conversation. I remember spending hours lying in the room with that huge fan, while my cousins and I would just watch it turn, until we fell asleep. I remember playing in the garden with leaves and flowers and twigs, and making various concoctions for our 'cooking show' while Granny would shout 'Come inside! Don't drink that'. I remember how I would sleep between Granny and Dada and listen to them snore softly. I remember listening to stories and looking at old pictures in their black and white glory. I recall sitting around the wooden table, with hot, steaming food and the box of sugar. I remember how we raced to the fridge to get the mango ice cream out first.
It's funny how it all seems so distant  and yet, these few memories are so vivid and so real. I feel a pang of sadness every now and then, when I think about how I only knew my grandparents for a few years. White hair, transparent and wrinkled skin, walking sticks and soft voices. But then, I stop and think of what wonderful people they were, how they raised four children and took care of so many more, how they showered their eight grandchildren with so much love and affection and made that white house, a home. They were the strongest people I ever knew. While every visit to the hospital would scare us silly, they came back unperturbed. They fought until the very end and I watched them do it.
Even today, no family gathering is complete without talking about them. And even though the same story has been told umpteen times, it never gets old. We still laugh and love and miss them, together. And I think that's all they would have really wanted. Not to be forgotten. To be a cherished memory.

Sometimes, I wonder whether most things in life are a coincidence. Other times, I believe that most things, if not all, are fated. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind made me think. Two people, shared history, a relationship that ends in a fight and one person walking out the door. That's life, you think. And then the next thing you know the same two people are having their minds erased of all their memories together. And yet, when they meet years later, they hit it off. Again. Maybe it's simple: you can't fight it. Maybe you can't alter every course. Maybe somethings aren't supposed to be in your control. Maybe going out of your way to fix it is not the way to fix it. I think when it comes down to it, coincidence, fate, or anything for that matter, it should just be.

I've noticed that most of my blog posts are always triggered by something disconcerting (atleast in most cases). Or when I have too much to say and need an immediate outlet. Today, however, none of the above apply. Cause today, it's different. Nothing is bothering me. And I don't have very much to say. I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm content. That I've finally settled. That I have nothing to crib about. That all that waiting and cursing the universe finally makes sense.

Because right now? It's exactly what I want it to be. No white horses, elaborate declarations or huge castles. Just right now and everything it brings with it :)

So, this is what it feels like? :)

It frustrates me when I look back at the last year. Because when I think of all the time I wasted, all the energy I wasted and all the wasted eagerness, that's all I feel: frustration.
On the plus side, everything is clear now. Crystal clear. I see flaws, so many. Not that I'm claiming to be perfect or anything. It's just that when you're blinded by whateverthehellitis, you overlook every sign, every indication, every sensible thought, every gut feeling, every instinct. And when it finally does hit you, it hits you with such an intensity, it might as well have been some dislodged boulder that caught you unaware. I suppose it's just one of those mistakes you should be careful never to repeat. And God forbid you do, atleast you know what you're in for. I suppose however frustrating, I should be thankful for that boulder in disguise. Because however big and dreadful it was, it reminded me of something my mother always said: better late than never, was it?