Centuries ago, Elizabeth Barrett Browning said it much better than I could ever.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
I could write a book on Narender. And a poem. And a song.
Narender is my hero. Yes, we quite literally ran around trees in a park, singing duets. We sang
in the car, on the bike. I sang to him and the fact that he had absolutely no music sense did not prevent Narender from singing to me. We listened together to music, with an earphone each…something we did even when he was in coma in the hospital. We talked, and talked. And talked.
Narender taught me how to use the ATM card. And how to ride a two-wheeler. He taught me how to write a project proposal and how to deliver the goods. He taught me to cross the road fearlessly, to jump over walls. To organize my stuff, to arrange my words. I learned from him how to keep a straight face in a weirdly funny situation and how to laugh when things were just too horrifying. He taught me to appreciate a cup of tea, never mind how bad it was. And to keep my head down and weather storms – emotional ones, professional ones. He celebrated my victories. And disregarded my failures. He taught me to be courageous. To be diligent. To be detached. In fact, he taught me well in advance how to take care of him when he was to be hospitalized. And to trudge on when he was not going to be there any more.
Twenty years is a long time. That was enough time to weave our lives together. During the last 20 years I have known him, life has been a picnic. Family called us a perfect couple and said we did not need anyone else. Colleagues said we were like college ke bachche – as much in romance as in roller-coastering through life, riding on small joys. Friends said we were the best ever friends they saw. Even his neurosurgeon said we were obsessed with each other.
I was volatile, he was calm. I was exuberant, he was quiet. I was impulsive, he was stoic. I was belligerent, he was indulgent. I was shaky, he was a rock. I was a cranky owl, he a chirpy early bird. I was the brooding night, he the cheerful morning. I cried, he prayed. I laughed and he rejoiced. I trembled, he supported. And somewhere both of us blended into each other. And became an extension of each other.
And I am very proud of Narender. I am probably happier than even his mother that he was born. And delighted that this unlikely alliance happened – an Andhra-Telangana love story that remained untouched by any acrimony. I flaunted him to friends, regaled people to boredom with his stories. I laughed the hardest at his jokes, and beamed in pride when he talked on television. In my eyes, he is the most intelligent, handsome, uncomplicated, caring man. As I was telling someone, he is the husband I would recommend for every woman.
In the twenty days we spent at the hospital, strangers came to me to tell me everything will be ok. People told me they will say a prayer for me. Friends and cousins stood by us and kept my hope floating. I am sure Narender knew of their presence too.
Ironically, the doctors never use the word death. They call it ‘an acute event’. Or say ‘something bad may happen’. Or that he would go into arrest. But, the word that rang through my head every time was ‘death’. It was ‘death’ for me. The moment I was told that Narender the man, became a body that I could just wrap in a sheet and take home, I died. That was the moment when a love story came to an end. A comma became a fullstop. A pause became a stop. When life stopped making sense. Happiness drained out of all the next moments. And I became alone forever.
Narender died at 6 in the morning. No wonder, he has always been a man for early starts. And he knew he could escape unnoticed as I would still be lost in sleep at that time and would not deter him.
Twenty years is a short time. Very short time. That is not enough time to even begin some dreams. Or to gather up the fruits of trees that we have planted together. Or to quench our thirst of each other.
These days, I am doing something I never did before. I am talking to God now. To tell Him, he committed a mistake. Big mistake. In taking Narender away, in breaking us up. And kicking me so hard in the gut. One day soon, I am sure, He will have some explaining to do.
Narender Revelli – Journalist, consultant, analyst, expert, cricketer.
Narender Revelli - man, husband, father, best friend, mentor, partner, colleague, lover, son and god.
I love you more than my life. More than anyone can imagine. But I shall never forgive you for leaving me behind.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
I could write a book on Narender. And a poem. And a song.
Narender is my hero. Yes, we quite literally ran around trees in a park, singing duets. We sang
in the car, on the bike. I sang to him and the fact that he had absolutely no music sense did not prevent Narender from singing to me. We listened together to music, with an earphone each…something we did even when he was in coma in the hospital. We talked, and talked. And talked.
Narender taught me how to use the ATM card. And how to ride a two-wheeler. He taught me how to write a project proposal and how to deliver the goods. He taught me to cross the road fearlessly, to jump over walls. To organize my stuff, to arrange my words. I learned from him how to keep a straight face in a weirdly funny situation and how to laugh when things were just too horrifying. He taught me to appreciate a cup of tea, never mind how bad it was. And to keep my head down and weather storms – emotional ones, professional ones. He celebrated my victories. And disregarded my failures. He taught me to be courageous. To be diligent. To be detached. In fact, he taught me well in advance how to take care of him when he was to be hospitalized. And to trudge on when he was not going to be there any more.
Twenty years is a long time. That was enough time to weave our lives together. During the last 20 years I have known him, life has been a picnic. Family called us a perfect couple and said we did not need anyone else. Colleagues said we were like college ke bachche – as much in romance as in roller-coastering through life, riding on small joys. Friends said we were the best ever friends they saw. Even his neurosurgeon said we were obsessed with each other.
I was volatile, he was calm. I was exuberant, he was quiet. I was impulsive, he was stoic. I was belligerent, he was indulgent. I was shaky, he was a rock. I was a cranky owl, he a chirpy early bird. I was the brooding night, he the cheerful morning. I cried, he prayed. I laughed and he rejoiced. I trembled, he supported. And somewhere both of us blended into each other. And became an extension of each other.
And I am very proud of Narender. I am probably happier than even his mother that he was born. And delighted that this unlikely alliance happened – an Andhra-Telangana love story that remained untouched by any acrimony. I flaunted him to friends, regaled people to boredom with his stories. I laughed the hardest at his jokes, and beamed in pride when he talked on television. In my eyes, he is the most intelligent, handsome, uncomplicated, caring man. As I was telling someone, he is the husband I would recommend for every woman.
In the twenty days we spent at the hospital, strangers came to me to tell me everything will be ok. People told me they will say a prayer for me. Friends and cousins stood by us and kept my hope floating. I am sure Narender knew of their presence too.
Mr Narender Patient and Mrs Narender Patient Attendant were the names given to us at the hospital. The Communications expert remained rather uncommunicative for ten days. The expert commentator stayed silent for nights and days while I chatted to him. Ranted at him. Played songs and cajoled, begged, cried and cursed him. And while Mr Narender Patient battled for his life inside the ICU for 10 days, Mrs Narender impatiently batted for him, outside, at the door to the ICU. It was a battle we lost. My defeat much much bigger than his.
Ironically, the doctors never use the word death. They call it ‘an acute event’. Or say ‘something bad may happen’. Or that he would go into arrest. But, the word that rang through my head every time was ‘death’. It was ‘death’ for me. The moment I was told that Narender the man, became a body that I could just wrap in a sheet and take home, I died. That was the moment when a love story came to an end. A comma became a fullstop. A pause became a stop. When life stopped making sense. Happiness drained out of all the next moments. And I became alone forever.
Narender died at 6 in the morning. No wonder, he has always been a man for early starts. And he knew he could escape unnoticed as I would still be lost in sleep at that time and would not deter him.
Twenty years is a short time. Very short time. That is not enough time to even begin some dreams. Or to gather up the fruits of trees that we have planted together. Or to quench our thirst of each other.
These days, I am doing something I never did before. I am talking to God now. To tell Him, he committed a mistake. Big mistake. In taking Narender away, in breaking us up. And kicking me so hard in the gut. One day soon, I am sure, He will have some explaining to do.
Narender Revelli – Journalist, consultant, analyst, expert, cricketer.
Narender Revelli - man, husband, father, best friend, mentor, partner, colleague, lover, son and god.
I love you more than my life. More than anyone can imagine. But I shall never forgive you for leaving me behind.
