Modern Love: Our Long-Distance Relationship Has No Label And We Like It Like That

A disastrous sequence of events in 2013 forced me to reevaluate my stance on romantic relationships. I transformed within twenty-four hours: an emotional teenager who believed in fairytales embraced the necessary aspects of stoicism that successfully repel men. I wanted complete dissociation from the realm of love.

This change was quite effective. Until last year.

In summer 2019, I took part in a residential programme in Haryana. I met several interesting people and a couple of sad misogynists whose only claim to superiority was their successful survival in a competitive Indian engineering college.

On the twelfth day of the programme, I found myself sitting next to a man whose handwriting was hilarious. The speaker was talking about a governance model when I turned to my neighbour and whispered, “Hey, is your writing really like that or are you trying to save paper?”

He smiled. I smiled, too. He was amused, not offended.

The session ended in fifteen minutes. We headed downstairs for lunch. White rice, yellow dal, curd, salad. Again.

We ended up talking for over an hour about grade inflation in some engineering colleges, his embarrassing interview during his MBA admission process, and Rajasthani food. The remaining days of summer were a blend of learning, conversations and projects.

On the last night, I was playing Mafia with twelve other delegates downstairs. I eventually got tired and called him at two in the morning to listen to his voice. The call ended after sixty seconds because I couldn’t find an excuse to prolong my interruption of his slumber. His voice sounded nice, though. Really nice.

I knew that he was a great person, but I still clung to my rejection of the idea of matrimony. He, too, didn’t want an orthodox relationship for professional reasons: consulting is, after all, a demanding job. Our ambitions didn’t allow us the possibility to think of romance.

He was eating lunch, yellow dal and white rice, when I hugged him awkwardly before finally departing the following afternoon. He smiled, I bit my lip. Neither of us proposed. We weren’t looking for heartbreaks.

We met again after five months. I was in Mumbai to judge a creative writing competition and he was at work. But, by eight in the evening, he managed to make it to the airport on time. It was slightly awkward: I was somewhat intimidated by his formal clothing in spite of being dreadfully tired. I was supposed to depart in eighty minutes, but I couldn’t care less about missing my flight.

This time, he laughed at me for visiting Mumbai a week before my college examinations and I faked a smile when he told me that he was planning to shift to south-east Asia in a few years.

I utilised the opportunity of attending a conference in January 2020 as a pretext to visit Mumbai again. He invited me over to his house at 11 pm and we ended up talking for five hours straight. I told him about psychoanalytic criticism of Alice in Wonderland and ranted about Mr Rochester from Jane Eyre. He talked about his family trip and suggested the possibility of his cousin’s interest in engineering.

He’s a genuinely nice person who is both interesting and sarcastic. That’s the ultimate dream. But my rejection of romance combined with my increasing belief in Camus’ existentialism prevents me from considering the possibility of a relationship seriously. I am sure he has his own reasons.

Further, we have vastly different interests. I want to be paid for talking and he is getting paid for working in a socially approved industry. I would like a life of books, coffee and conversations, and he seems rather mercenary.

Anyway, I don’t want to sign up for unsolicited ‘good morning’ messages because that’s apparently my parent’s part-time job. I refuse to spend fifteen minutes in front of the mirror for a five-minute video call that involves awkward staring and absolutely unnatural giggling. That’s what I think most relationships are like. I don’t want that.

I am somewhat confused: I don’t want a typical relationship with this man, but I like talking with him about the consequences of death penalty to rapists. I hate cheesy messages, but every conversation with him invites a totally normal smile on my face. I love calling him to rant about Ayn Rand’s philosophical notions on sexual attraction, but I don’t want to call him every day because I need space. He’s nice and I refuse to think beyond that.

My friends have no idea how happy I feel when he actually listens to me talk about my experience at the Indo-German exchange programme organised by my high school in 2015. He must have graduated from his college the same year. But, he didn’t feel weird while listening to me. Neither did I.

Back at the summer programme, I loved exploiting the time that we got to work on our projects to spend time with him. The two of us were working on a business model for a content consulting firm for YouTubers. We were supposed to present the idea using a chart paper. After colouring the logo of YouTube with red colour pencil for five minutes, we finally parted at three in the morning toward our rooms.

I have never really felt awkward while talking to him. Partly because he’s really nice and interesting. Partly because I can be quite garrulous on some days. 

We haven’t discussed the dynamics of this relationship yet. I don’t think I love him. Not yet. I might like him in a way that’s not completely platonic. After coming back to Delhi subsequent to my five-hour long conversation with him, I urgently felt the need of his physical presence.

I think I am willing to characterise the modification in our friendship by subtracting the platonic element that is inherent in most modern friendships. But, I’ll probably discuss this with him the next time we meet. That possibility has been obliterated for at least the next few months because of the novel coronavirus outbreak. Maybe I’ll find another opportunity to visit Mumbai after the lockdown ends in India.

But missing him is not the worst part. The most difficult exercise in maintaining a long-distance relationship that doesn’t quite officially exist is the process of explaining the ‘status’ of my ‘relationship' to my friends. Apparently, a twenty-six-year-old man having an inexplicable and informal long-distance ‘relationship’ with a nineteen-year-old college student in Delhi is unconventional. I know that it’s a complicated mixture of feelings, but what’s wrong with that?

Simplifying everything with labels and tags is leading to incorrect generalisation. He’s nice and I like talking to him. That’s it. Why am I constantly asked to review my opinion for the sake of establishing a formal relationship with him?

Frankly, it becomes an obligation to repeatedly defend my attraction for a man who was born seven years before I was. I need to remind my friends that age difference doesn’t need to become a common denominator for separation of two people who like each other’s company even if they’re too arrogant to confess their emotions in an explicit manner.

I told one of my professors about him. She’s perhaps the only individual who hasn’t frowned upon my choice. In fact, she was quite surprised because my aversion to traditional romance is a well-known fact in college.

I was expecting her to give me some advice. I assumed that she might want to warn me against something. She just smiled and told me that it’s hard to find people with whom we can genuinely share our feelings. When I informed her that I had spoken to him for about five hours, her face exhibited all signs of happiness and wonder.

Most professors who teach literature are unusually sensitive and mature. I know that the vast majority will disapprove of my equation with him. Since seeking social validation is not an agenda on my priority list, I don’t care about the general presumption. I hope he doesn’t, too.

If my friends and family understand that I really like talking with him without pretending to be somebody else, it would be a great relief. He accepts me with my whims and fancies. I never judge his actions and behaviour. I think it’s a nice feeling to have someone like him.

I acknowledge the possibility of the transience of our current ‘relationship.’ Today, we like talking to each other. After some time, we might not. But, our present commitment to engage in meaningful conversations without using any filter to safeguard our selves is what matters.

Lastly, he’s fairly complicated. Unnecessary baggage from my loved ones increases the extent of complexity with which I have to deal. If my friends view him as a man who makes me smile a little too much, then I think I’d be much happier. Their support will make the process of discussing him in sleepovers easier than it is now.

I am still uncomfortable with the discourse on matrimony. So is he. We haven’t named our kids or bought an apartment together. We’re too busy and disinterested to figure out a label that defines our relationship. We like talking to each other. There’s an obvious sexual tension and I absolutely wouldn’t mind kissing him now and then if he doesn’t object to the proposal. But we really like meeting each other for wonderful conversations. Right now, that’s all that matters.