A Walk to Remember

I did something I had been meaning to do for quite a while now—I went hiking. Yes—the self-proclaimed lazy pig, allergic to the gym, who considers walking to the parking lot a form of exercise—went on a five mile hike through the Bear Mountains. To call the experience amazing or refreshing, or even exhausting, would be stating the obvious. More than anything, it was humbling, because it required me to utilize a basic motor skill that we’ve all acquired (and taken for granted) from an early age: walking.

My niece recently started walking and when I saw her standing on her two tiny feet, inching towards me, I thought, there she goes taking her first few steps. Soon enough, she’s going to walk into other people’s lives, their homes, their hearts, their world—the way she entered mine a little over a year ago. My Mom, on the other hand, has been walking around for a little over 50 years now, but has been experiencing some difficulties lately due to arthritis in her knees. Her recent trip to the doctor’s temporarily put her in some disability, as the acute pain made it unbearable for her to walk even the shortest distance.

The timing of the two disparate instances couldn’t have been more ironic. There’s my niece, barely getting acquainted with her newfound ability… her newfound “independence”… the new sensation of ground beneath her feet. And then there’s my Mom—trying to adjust to being put on bed-rest, and being dependent on others for support. At one end, is my niece who graduated from crawling on fours, and at the other, my Mom who began to use a walker. Indeed, the provincial irony of life.

“C’mon… left foot, right foot,” we teach toddlers as they learn to master the art of walking at that fragile age. As we grow up, we’re taught to take things in stride—as they come. Eventually, as we continue treading on the path carved out by destiny, we end up at interesting junctures. Like now, here I am—in between two generations, united by one common thread: my brother—the one who walked around the holy fire seven times and vowed to be there for his wife, every step of the way…

Call it a hike or a ceremony, but above all else, walking is the journey we take to get from point A to B – from a date to a wedding, from a diploma to a masters, from infancy to retirement. And whether you take that journey in sneakers, flip flops, stilettos, or barefoot, make it a walk that will leave footprints for generations to come.

Searching in Space

I have a confession to make – well, to those of you that don’t already know this. I subscribed as a member to shaadi.com about four months ago. Why? Well I figured, why not? Apparently meeting someone the old fashioned way is so passé – might as well see what these “807,112 and counting matches” have been raving about. So I part-grudgingly, part-jokingly, and part-optimistically clicked on “register.”

Within the first 48 hours of joining, my profile had been viewed over 200 times and I had received over 50 “interests” from suitors around the world. That was until I discovered this little function they call “filter.” I can select exactly who I’m interested in based on everything from their height to their location to their profession to even blood type (yes, because God forbid you marry someone with an incompatible blood type). It almost seemed too good to be true – I mean, here’s a site that’s willing to cater to my each and every whim. So, I went on a checkbox ticking spree and selected all the things I was looking for in my dulhe raja. Surely, this ought to bring me a step closer to finding The (elusive) One a lot quicker, I thought. Well, it’s been four months, 1 week, and 3 days (but who’s counting?) since I joined this site full of “10 million possibilities” – yet not a single one that has stopped me in my tracks.

Perhaps the people over at shaadi.com sensed my – and those other 10 million still single-and-looking members’ – skepticism over the true successful nature of this site. Perhaps that’s why they released Matrimony version 2.0 this week. I kid you not. I received a notification email informing me of the site’s enhanced interface applications and improved algorithms. Furthermore, this version is “aimed to empower me and make my search for a life partner, fast, intuitive and easy.” Right – why didn’t I think of that? All we need is a more robust search engine to becoming one step closer to finding our life partner. Eureka!

The site has increasingly become more of an annoyance than anything else. I get messages from guys asking me to demystify myself – mainly because I refused to write an autobiography under the “about me” section of the profile, whereas others have taken the liberty to boast about their many oh-so-great-and-unique qualities. If you really want me to respond, here’s a hint: don’t make “hey” the subject of your message, because that just screams READ ME, doesn’t it? Also, don’t message me if your user ID resembles anything similar to “dream_come_true” or “the_one_for_you.” Of course, sense of humor is key, but where and how you apply it, is even more crucial. Take notes boys.

Despite my cynicism towards this site (and all other related dating/matrimony services), I still remain a one in a 10 million member – partly for entertainment reasons (try reading some of the profiles out there if you want a good laugh), and partly because… well, I’m still searching for that one in a million…

"Good"bye

Goodbye -- it's the one word I absolutely hate. Such a small two syllable word that's packed with volumes of pain, solitude, and angst. Where's the good in "goodbye" anyway? It’s the one word I try to avoid, and the one word I uttered twice this weekend.

The first time around was with the aforementioned friend moving to Tokyo. It still feels surreal, as if it isn’t really happening at all. As if I didn’t just see all his suitcases packed up. As if I didn’t really go out to his farewell party. As if I didn’t just hug him for the last time… No, I don’t buy it. A part of me will continue to think that he’s still in NYC – just a hop, skip, and a jump away. And maybe it’ll never quite hit me until I actually turn around and realize I’m standing there by myself, in a room full of memories.

Saying “goodbye” robs people of creating new memories. Whether it’s death, career opportunities, or distance – at some point or another, we all become victims of this thief. And if you have my luck – more often than others. I’m unlucky in love. I get it Mr. Almighty – thanks for making it loud and clear. I fall for all the right guys who are totally wrong for me – which just forces me to bid adieu to them sooner or later.

I fell for someone really unexpected recently. All I knew is that I liked him – without ever really being able to pinpoint exactly what it is that I liked about him. Those are the best kinds of attractions though, I think, because it goes beyond just a single quality – it’s the kind of attraction that makes you smile unknowingly at the mere thought of them. How quickly that smile turned upside down though, with a single word: goodbye.

He said it – just like that, closing off all possibilities of any illusions I had. Let me make one thing clear: saying goodbye is not my forte – being in denial, however, is. He said it and I heard it, but I don’t want to deal with the inevitable: the pain, the anger, the solitude. If only ignorance of these pangs of emotions could bring bliss, how many years of therapy that would save people. But alas, here I am – fuckin dealing with it.

We both saw the red flags ahead but gave it a go regardless, in our quest to answer the “what ifs.” I took a chance and welcomed him into my world of hookah, bollywood, and so much more. The problem occurred when he got the answer to his “what if,” but I was still trying to figure it out. The bigger problem, however, was that he didn’t enjoy being a part of my world as much as I enjoyed having him there.

Maybe that’s the solution: stop inviting people into my life. If they never enter, they can’t leave. And if they never leave, then I never have to say another ill-fated goodbye ever again.