Being Romantic

I always remind my husband to be a little romantic, to remember to show little gestures which take not much time; dropping little hints of how it would save us the trouble of having serious conversations in future about what needs to change in each of us to avoid the monotony of being with just one person like forever. Let’s face it. It’s not easy being with one person for 50-60 years of your life. Heck, it’s not easy for me to be with myself for that long.

But again, what if you entire idea of being romantic is formed from what you see around and what you subconsciously start defining as romantic. The way I see it, it terribly limits your imagination and makes you blind to beautiful, precious gestures that are directed at you on a daily basis, just because they don’t fit your hallmark idea of  romantic.

I playfully nudge my husband when I see someone getting their lover a bunch a of flowers, or surprise gifts or some surprise experiences (they are a new gifting trend apparently. Loads of options available here, none very interesting). But the nudges are only playful. I can’t take not being romantic seriously enough when I myself am not much of an enthusiast. But a little incident yesterday made me realise that I need to stop…even those playful nudges and light-hearted complaints. Just stop entirely. First, the husband is far to special to judge his romantic quotient on the basis of whether he got me flowers, or chocolates, or whether he planned our anniversary celebrations. Second, his being romantic is far more spontaneous and frequent than the stuff I have come to believe as “romantic” but which isn’t necessarily my original idea…just a social legacy.

So, the incident that led to this epiphany! I had been wanting to get wine since the last two days. On the first day the husband was willing to go get it at after 10 pm at night, but I didn’t feel good about it and we wasted a lot of time in arguing over the pros and cons of getting wine at that moment. Long story cut short, I dissolved his resolve to go get wine. Yesterday, I mentioned it again and yet again the husband energetically took it in his hands to get me what I wanted. The moment we got onto his bike, I started feeling guilty. It had just rained, the terrible Bangalore  roads now had become even more dangerous with pot holes filled with water, sticky mess everywhere and all this generously peppered with asinine morons driving like somebody’s life depended on their breaking all traffic rules and defying common sense at every metre of the road. At a particularly bad patch, I felt too sorry and apologised for putting him through the misery of Bangalore traffic and he said, “I am not romantic and I don’t get ideas to surprise you, so this is me being romantic. I like to do things for you when you want them.” And he said it all matter-of-factly. It doesn’t sound all flowery when said in Marathi. This makes it even more special.

What is being romantic anyway, if not this?  And I am showered with little gestures like this throughout the day. Be it bringing me breakfast when I am too lazy to make it myself, or keeping a water  bottle by my bedside every single day even though I barely wake up at night, putting a sheet over me when I sleep, rubbing my feet just about anytime…and there are countless such moments which I probably forget to notice because I am too busy thinking about how he never got me flowers.

So the gist of the story is that the husband is quite romantic after all, huh?



  1. I’m so glad you left your link in your comment and I decided to come read this! Unfortunately, we are all so conditioned by the movies we watch that we believe romance to be a certain way. Nothing else counts. Keeping the spark alive after being married for a few years is difficult. But the comfort you still find in each other’s company, the feeling that nothing can go wrong as long as you are in the embrace of your partner is far more precious than flowers and surprises.


    1. Exactly! We are products of conditioning by society, media, and what have you…I sometimes wonder if I’d be the same person in the absence of any of these external influences. May be not.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s