Basically
Fiction
To
Be His Lover
By
Bissme S
It
is said that we can never be lovers. But I was determined to change this. I was
obsessed to be his lover. I really believed I was destined to love him and no
one else. I have tried to love other men, but all the relationships failed to
work out. The more I dissect my failed relationships, the more clearer the
picture becomes - at any circumstances and at any prices, I had to be his lover.
There
was no two way about it. As long as I am not his lover, I won't find any peace.
There will always be a touch of sadness hanging over my life like dark clouds. I
was tired of dark clouds. I yearn for a rainbow. Only he can give me the rainbow
that I wanted so desperately.
There
were many nights, I cry to my sleep, knowing the fact that we can't never share
a bed together. I was tired of crying. I wanted to be happy so badly. Only he
can give me the happiness I search for.
What
is surprising, I barely recalled our first meeting. Frankly speaking I could not
be blamed for that. When we first meet, I was a toddler in a cradle. The more
older I get, I developed an insane fascination for him.
At
first I thought it was just a crush. With time, I thought it will melt away and
I will find someone near my age. But I never got over him. The more years passed
by, the fascination for him just grows.
He
had loved me. That I cannot deny. But he never loved me like a lover ... like a
Romeo would love a Juliet. I wanted him to love me as passionately and intensely
as he had loved his deceased wife. I want him to take me in his arm and uttered
sweet loving words to my ears.
I
never met his wife. I have only look at her pictures. In certain angles, I do
resemble like her. But still he doesn't loved me the way he had loved her.
Sometimes I can't help feeling jealous of her. Her fingers had gone through all
his intimate places. She has felt his warmth, taste his lust and carried his
child.
I
wanted so badly to be in her shoes. But then if his wife was alive, most likely,
there would be some detachment between him and me. Perhaps I won’t feel for
him the way I do now. I believe I would have been more concerned about her
feelings.
With
my old face and given name, there is no way he would regard me as his lover. So
I changed everything about me: my face and my name. I had adopted a total
different identity.
I
still remember what the plastic surgeon told me when I wanted him to alter every
single feature in my face. "I never had a beautiful woman walk into my
office and asked me to change her entire face," says the top surgeon in the
country.
I
didn't reply. Naturally plastic surgeon did what he was told. After all, the
more changes were done, the more money he earns. The surgeon did a perfect job.
I barely recognised myself when I looked into the mirror. I felt like a stranger
was staring back.
Prior
to my surgery, I staged my own death. For the world I died when my car skidded
and fell into the river. My body was never found.
After
a year after my “presumed” funeral, I return to my hometown with a new name
and new face. From Phallavi I have become Pooja. No one recognised me - not even
him.
They
all believed me when I said I was a copy writer attached to a well known
advertising agency, tired of the city life and looking for a quiet life, far
from the madding crowd. I expressed a keen interest to take up piano lessons
which I abandoned years ago as a child.
Naturally
I was introduced to him. He was a well known pianist. I pretended to know
nothing about an instrument which I learned since I was five years old. What is
irony, he was my piano tutor then.
The
piano lessons were just a charade for me to be re-introduced to him and slowly
win his heart. I knew him well so I know the right subjects to be brought up as
conversation. We got along famously. We laughed a lot. I know exactly the right
things to say to make him laugh.
Soon
enough, love was blossoming between us. A dream come true for me. For once I had
his love the way I dreamt of. Initially he was not comfortable with the
difference of our age. I was 25 while he was 50. It took some time for me to
convince him that love breaks through barrier of race, religion and age.
In
less than two years of our acquaintance, he proposed and I accepted with joy.
Finally I was becoming more than his lover. I was becoming his wife ... his
other half.
This
year will mark four years we have been together as husband and wife. Truly, it
has been the happiest years of my life. Finally happiness has entered my life
and sadness has disappeared into the thin air. He is still in dark of my true
identity. He has no clue that we have meet long before our first piano lessons.
He really believed that fate had brought us together. But in reality I had
manipulated my way into his heart. It was a manipulation at the highest degree.
However
I hope he never finds out the truth. He will have a hard time digesting the
facts. He will have tremendous regrets, remorse and griefs over what transpired
between us.
Like
many, he would regard what we had done was not right. As for me, I am not
bothered what is right and what is wrong. I have no regrets at all. I was tired
of living a life of misery. I was tired not getting what my heart desire. I was
tired of living by the law that written centuries ago.
So
I did what my heart craved for without bothering of the consequences. When the
time come, I will be ready to face God's wrath, His punishment and His hell.
Looking back now, I felt it was not my fault, entirely. I never asked to be born as his daughter. More than his daughter, I wanted to be his lover.
Kavya August 2003