It’s one of those now-regular Saturday mornings. I woke up late—around 9 a.m.—to the sounds of the cook making breakfast in the kitchen. I recently moved to this spacious home, a top-floor flat in Balewadi. The size of a home affects us in many ways. It’s not strictly “the bigger, the better,” but a bigger space is often helpful if you have the resources to maintain it.
The kitchen is attached to a large living room, and from the living room, a gallery leads to the master bedroom, which I occupy. The distance between my bed and the kitchen is enough to make the sounds less harsh and more like a gentle, calm wake-up alarm: the clanging of steel utensils, the sound of dishes being washed, all drifting through the living room and gallery to my bed. Unless I’ve had more than my usual drinks the night before, it feels good to wake up to the realization that there’s another human in the home—and, to top it off, that fresh breakfast is being prepared.
Back to Saturday morning: as per my ritual, I picked up my phone while still in bed and started checking Twitter (X, as some call it now). Ashley St. Clair claims she had a baby with Elon Musk. Modi ji’s US visit is making waves. And then there’s Ranveer Allahabadiya and Samay Raina at the center of dark comedy vs obscenity controversy.
One scroll, one moment.
Satisfied that I’m now up to date with the latest happenings across the world, I finally descend from the bed. The hot parathas the cook left in the casserole push me straight to brush my teeth. Alas, I haven’t ordered groceries in a while, so there’s nothing to go with the parathas—no curd, no sauce—maybe a little pickle somewhere. All I could find was chili pickle, which actually paired well with the parathas. Quick commerce apps like BlinkIt and Zepto have shaped this new habit of ordering only what’s needed.
There is a high-priority, red-hot, sales-blocking issue at work that needs my attention today. But it’s Saturday, and my mind refuses to acknowledge the intensity and impact of the work that must be done. So, after breakfast, I switch to Instagram — which I’ve almost stopped using. It’s the second most annoying social media platform after LinkedIn. People trying to fit in the latest viral trend, set to the latest viral music, which is made to go viral. Others have posted life updates, Valentine’s Day pics, Maha Kumbh videos… Wait, there’s a life update from someone interesting—it’s Shrishti.
Shrishti got married—wow! I see her posts whenever I open Instagram after a long gap, and I used to think this would be the right time for her to get married. Why? Because, one, I’m middle-aged and apparently have the right to form opinions about others’ lives; two, she’s the sister of my ex-love, and at some point, I started thinking of her as part of my family. Although my ex and I separated, the love and family feeling remains, just subdued.
I swipe through the pictures in Shrishti’s post. The groom looks handsome, probably from Tamil Nadu judging by the attire. Her smile is broad and infectious, as it always has been. When I first met her about 10 years ago, she resembled her mother more than her sister. In these pics, she’s a mirror image of her mother, who is one of the most graceful women I’ve ever met, but let's save that story for another time.
I keep swiping—there’s her mother, now I see her father… Where’s her sister? Only a few pictures left. Did she not attend? That’s impossible. She must be there. Oh, there she is, draped in a beautiful bright silver-ish sari with a long-sleeve blouse, laughing along with everyone in the pic. I can hear her laugh. Next, she is standing gracefully in the background with a radiant smile. She might surpass her mother in grace when she grows older. I swipe right; now she’s in the center of the photo. It’s the Sindoor Daan (Maang Bharai) ceremony. She’s helping with the ritual. I zoom in; I feel like I’m drowning. I never deserved her. The way she carries herself, her beauty and grace, how she speaks, her intelligence and depth, her brutal honesty—man, I never deserved her. Not yet.
On a second pass through the photos, I notice more details. The groom is gently putting sindoor in the bride’s maang. The bride’s eyes are closed, her expression calm, a hint of a smile on her face. And she—my love—is right in the center, holding a small golden object (either the sindoor daan or a golden stick to apply it neatly). she’s wearing a maang-tika. I get goosebumps. I remember the maang-tika she wore at Shoppers Stop in DLF Mall, Vasant Kunj, when we were shopping for my sister’s marriage. God, she is beautiful!
As I try to move on to the next post, I realize I must congratulate Shrishti. I liked her post, though I worry a comment or message could stir up some not-so-good memories. Yes, I overthink and often overestimate my impact on others. My like or comment probably doesn’t matter to Shrishti or her sister, but I like to imagine it might. When I hit the like button, I notice it’s the 367th like. Every day, every moment, we create a fork in this experience called life. If we had taken a different fork a few years ago, this 367th like—a mere 367th like—could have been someone deeply involved in the wedding, maybe interviewing the groom and helping arrange the ceremonies. That someone might have better things to do on Saturdays, someone shaped by her sister’s influence—spending countless hours around that innocent, honest soul.
I’ve dreamed many times about our kids—especially a little girl—imagining how cute she’d be. Once, I saw her family pictures and came across one of her at around three or four years old, and I melted at her innocence. I don’t cry in public, and only sometimes in private—usually during movies, or when I drown in the imagination of what could have been, knowing it’s futile and knowing we would have quarreled and made each other miserable. But that’s the mind for you—it yearns for what might have been. It obsesses over fleeting Twitter threads, and it finds pleasure in immediate gratification, groceries when needed, news when needed. Rejecting any possibility to adjust or negotiate, fueling petty fights, letting go of someone who meant the world just yesterday-closing the fork we might have walked together.
Today, on this Saturday, I’ll probably spend my time more productively, trying to prove to myself that I could have been good enough for her if things had played out differently. Best wishes to Shrishti—you will always be special to me. Be happy.
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