For the past two years, Fatima has been
through a lot – she had nights of sleeplessness, couldn’t properly or think
clearly, and felt restless. It is interesting that while the therapist may,
after further questions, diagnose her with an anxiety disorder, our dear old Bollywood
love songs may call these the “symptoms” of a blossoming
romance.
Aisa lagta hai jo na hua hone ko hai
Aisa lagta hai hosh mera khone ko hai
Warna dil kyun dhadakta, saansein kyun rukti
Neendein meri kyun ud jaati?
Fatima knows it is not a new romance, she
has been in pain for a while. I ask her about her story – how she started
feeling this way, what helped, and what did not. Despite all my best efforts to
let the conversation flow, I have a set format for these conversations (some
would call this history taking). I wonder what we would talk about if I just
let the conversation be. She traces back to her life, an unconventional woman
coming from an orthodox family where she would only receive hand-me-downs of
her brother. She speaks of studying when it was not considered important for
her to go to college, and how she nurtures the dream of working once again. She
speaks of a father who never valued her or her sisters and she speaks of the
dreams she had growing up.
She told me how she thought marriage
would be her escape - a caring family and a loving husband. Fatima could have
told me a lot about her story, but she lowers her voice and peeks at her
husband who is sitting at some distance and says to me - “ye bilkul bhi
romantic nahi hai”.
“But romance kitna zaruri hai!”, I can't
help myself from exclaiming. After all, she says, don't we all want to feel
cared for. I know I do. And then I look at her husband – they have travelled 12
kms today to meet the psychiatrist – surely, he loves her, I think. Can love
exist without romance, I begin to wonder…
Idhar udhar soch sochkar I start thinking
about the problem with a singular narrative of romance that is engrained in our
lives. Every movie, no matter about what- action or drama or horror- comes with
a story of budding love. Radio par har song is about romance, and even the
bachpan ka make-believe games and conversations with aunties revolved around how
we would find our partners and how lucky they would be. I, myself, grew up with
ideas of partners inspired from the movies of my growing up years – kabhi Rahul
from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, kabhi sometimes Raj from DDLJ, and later Aditya from
Jab We Met. I kept looking for them in
every guy I met. With or without movies, romance still becomes the ultimate dream
– aren’t we told that finding the right partner is what will complete us?
It is troubling to me, personally, because
of how gendered it is, how it carries notions of a class where gift-giving or
trip-taking become the ideal ways of presenting love, it is casteist for
consciously or unconsciously we fall for the people from the same background,
and it is problematic when you don't want a monogamous long-term romance to be
the main representation of your life. Matlab romance toh end point hai hee, but
that too of a certain type. Haaye tauba!
For now, I see the pain creeping up on
Fatima and many like her who are beginning to realize that some of their dreams
may never be realized – the ones they grew up with. Fatima weeps for her
unfulfilled dream of romance. Somewhere, don’t we all?
With all good intentions, I ask her to
build a new dream - one that is not around a knight in shining armour. She doesn’t
need one, she knows that. But how do you pull out the “mere khwabon mein ho
aaye” and the “ye dil na hota bechara… jo khoobsurat koi apna humsafar hota”
that runs in the veins? And should we?
