How does it feel? To love a girl? Ah! The morning sunlight brings promise of a glorious day, of hours of intimacy and the dipping sun attracts curses- O, my beloved shall now be confined to mind’s eye only. Far...far away, lying in a bedroom, perhaps in her nightgown, her bare arms shinning in the shadowy moonlight, falling eclectically on her tangled hair- shinning and then dull. You see all...and see nothing through the dark clasp of night, the moonlight a trivia worth half a penny. Romeo could have summoned love and courage to caress his beloved from the ground floor, but in this world the watchman’s stick is a far greater threat than those medieval avenging swords.

And so it was. It’s been some years now. I look upon those days with fond remembrance. The first day that I looked into her eyes and did not shy away...and then the next morning how her eyes would find me through the maze. How, when words passed, the shyness left I would go with her and drop her at her door. How, waking nights I would compose letters, blood, sweat, tears and ink mixing in equal proportions. And my despicable love poems that my female colleagues at my literature class would at best laugh at. The first love, the first sex and the first salary are prized memories. The earliest one always the most memorable and the most adorable.

And so I held her one afternoon. Up away her parents sleeping through the hot afternoon. She told me she loved me immensely, more than her tongue could speak. But then I was not that romantic. I wanted a physical manifestation, a proof that would redeem my pride in my love. And she sweated. And I sweated. And I held her arms. She didn't tremble. Later she told me no current of electricity tantalized her nerves. Just expectation and acquiescence. What every loving soul must do at one point of time- show love and gratitude. And like a gentleman I asked if I, as a lover, may be allowed to kiss her on her mouth. She smiled and closed her eyes. That sweating afternoon, hidden from the sun’s nasty glare as our tongues and saliva embraced lovingly, our souls reached those limits of intimacy which Donne’s fly could never help attain. With her tongue she told me how much she loved me. And I believed her.

And then when I broke her flower vase I smiled. I told her I would buy her a much better one, with my love, some day in future. And she would fill it with flowers from the lovely garden. Flowers of different colours, different hues. I told her she was beautiful as the flowers.

‘But how is that possible? There are some good, some bad. Some ugly, some beautiful. Some smell attractive, some repulsive. Some last hours, some days. There are thorns in some, some are so gentle. Some grow on mountains rare, some loom on grasslands. How can I be like all flowers?’

I told her she need not worry. I would give her a whole bunch- she could choose all the better charms and fuse them together to create a flowery counterpart.

......

So I am going today. I have the vase. Crystal. Green and blue. And the flowers. All of them- roses and lilies, marigolds and daisies, chrysanthemums and drooping poppies. Today, the beautiful bride shall have all the best.