Sown in the garden of destiny, love stories that germinate have either withered or flourished depending on the direction of the winds of will power, bonding, and perseverance of the human actors trekking on these paths of intense emotions.

Such was my story where love was a silent spectator for years, though its seeds had sprouted in my heart since the dawn of my teenage years. She used to live on a narrow street adjacent to mine about a hundred meters from our house. Today, I walk these alleys to renew some of those emotions of yesteryears. In these streets (an unforgettable part of the old city of Lucknow) lie hidden adorable havelis and comfortable houses where you least expect them. These are mostly multistory buildings organized around a courtyard, often with a well in a corner, and used to be home to large extended families. They usually feature charming balconies, carved columns, and exquisitely designed wooden doors and windows, and provide for a cozy living away from the noise of bazaars and congested cities.

She lived in one such huge house with her parents, brothers, and sisters. The house was built around a big courtyard where her uncles, aunties, and cousins lived. The buildings were interlinked, and all their family activities revolved around this courtyard. It was always brimming with activity, and in my early teens, I went there to play cricket with dozens of her cousins who were all more or less my age. It was here that I first saw her, and for some reason beyond me became attracted to her looks and her way of carrying herself, not to mention her sparkling smile. This immediate connection that I felt for her struck a chord deep within.

Although she was always lost in a group of young girls, my eyes pursued her restlessly until they could trace her. She seemed so different from all others, something which my heart had already voted for. Everything related to her looked special to me. I was mesmerized by her flair and style; anything and everything she did set me aflutter. Although I never had an opportunity to speak to her (not that I sought it), I knew in the depths of my heart that I had fallen in love with her. My state of mind would be best described by these lines:

In those times, gender segregation was our way of life, especially in conservative families like ours. A single misstep (like trying to converse with her) could have been misconstrued, might have led to banishment from her house and dishonor to my family. A simpler or a more one-sided love could not have been. It had taken root in the depths of my heart, and in all the innocence that had surrounded its inception, my reflex was to protect and store it in the far reaches of my memory. 

A couple of years passed and with my Senior Cambridge examinations on the horizon, I stopped playing cricket. My excursions to the courtyard of her house came to a complete stop. It’s not that I missed cricket, but I did miss not being near her, a feeling I constantly had while I was at the courtyard. Time flew by. I got busy in my studies, did my bachelor’s and master’s in science. During this period, I heard about her sometimes from my parents in terms of her blossoming beauty and singing and dancing skills. 

I was happy that my parents had taken note of her and kept alive a ray of hope that they might one day think of her as my match for marriage. In those days, marriages were fixed by parents. Children had little or no say in choosing their partners. Things have changed since then. At least, they have become more flexible in terms of a visible attempt by them to abide by the wishes of their children. My local friends, knowing of my interest in her, would talk to me about her and keep me in the game by rating my chances of getting married to her as excellent. I knew that these were kind words, but they helped me in soothing my anxious mind.

During this period, my parents invited an astrologer to visit our house. They had many queries in their mind, ranging from the future of their business to the future of their children. The astrologer stayed for over two hours and answered the relentless queries of my parents. Being the youngest in the family, my future was the last one to be put on the table. The astrologer was clear in his mind. I was surprised by the force with which he elaborated about my future ahead. 

He told my parents that they did not need to worry much about me as I was destined to do higher studies abroad and later become a professor in one of the reputed universities in the world. As for my marriage, I can still remember it so vividly. He pointed his finger in the direction of her house and said without an iota of doubt that my marriage would take place with a girl living in that direction just a few houses away. I was flabbergasted. 

I knew at that very instant that in these silent alleys that had connected me with her all these years, the drought of silence would one day usher in the serenity of a lush union and the fragrance of endless love. It was a revelation that gave me inner strength and self-belief that I must do what I had to do without worrying about ifs and buts, celebrating the present and living with a liberated mind.

Another couple of years went by. I did my Masters in Engineering from a reputed university in Delhi. I lost my beloved father the year I was awarded the degree. I stayed home for a year with my mother in mourning and also to help my family put the business in shape. Awarded a scholarship in a French university in the historical city of Besancon, I prepared to leave for France to take up my doctoral studies. I faced a dilemma. On the one side, my future beckoned me to France, and on the other side, there was my love — so perceptible to me in my imagination. But did she even know that I existed? 

Destiny seemed to have perceived the dilemma I was going through in my mind. Just two days before I was to leave, I saw her as soon as I opened the door of my house to step outside. She was walking down the lane. As soon as I stepped out, she turned back, and our eyes were to explicitly meet for the first time. The world seemed to collapse in that moment. I felt stirred and the ecstasy of happiness that ripped through me seemed to have produced an irreversible bonding for her in my heart. Today, I would express my feelings by these lines:

Though our eyes met for only a few seconds, those moments were felt intensely by me and gave me a feeling of exaltation that stretched to infinity. She turned and walked back, away from me, on her path. But for me those seconds were moments of awareness about me and my desire to have her as my partner in my life. Her eyes had pierced my heart and I, ever thirsty for her love, had endured a few of those precious pangs that I knew would keep alive in me the flames ablaze for her.  

The next day, I woke with a serene soul and a mind-defying idea the likes of which I had never had. Destiny helped me again in bringing my idea to fruition.  A cousin common to both of us was coming to visit me that day to bid me goodbye. I used this opportunity to send her, through my cousin, a small bouquet of flowers with my recent passport-size photograph hidden in its middle. The photograph was signed on the back by me and I addressed it to her by her name. I am even today amazed by the indomitable courage that I, born in a highly conservative family, could show in pursuance of her, as strict customs under which we were brought up looked down upon any such initiatives.

The cousin, on her return from her house, told me that my prospective wife-to-be had been more than surprised, rather stupefied, to receive the bouquet, but had shyly kept it along with my photo in her cupboard. There was no way for her to display the flowers in a vase, as questions would have certainly been asked about their origin. I left my home the same night but hoped I had left the signature of my love’s fragrance etched on her heart. She thus had enough time for her to ponder the path to take on the silent landscapes that might now only echo loneliness as if gripped by my absence.

Arranged marriage was the custom that was followed for solemnizing marriages in India at that time. I expected the same type of marriage to be held for me as had happened earlier for my siblings. After my departure for France, the parents of prospective brides had already started contacting my mother with proposals for marriage. So had her parents. My mother shortlisted only a couple of these proposals, and when I returned home for holidays the next year, I was invited by my future in-laws to pay a visit to their home. I visited them and met with my wife-to-be for the first time. She was, however, so shy that she did not answer any of the questions that I posed to her in my attempt to build a conversation. But her graceful presence and expressive eyes had said all that I had wanted to hear from her. Her silence reverberated in my heart and my mother accepted her parents’ proposal. 

That same week we were betrothed and married. Even before we had had the time to realize what the life of a couple truly was, I had to return alone to France to complete my studies. I spent the next year penning hundreds of pages of love letters, keeping in mind that this extra activity could not be of the magnitude to hamper my thesis work. She seemed to attract favours from destiny. This time around, I was offered a job as research assistant at a top university in Lausanne, Switzerland. 

Though there were no fanfares at the time, today this love story in its forty-fifth year is still lived with the same passion and yearning for the other. Our love has blessed us with two wonderful children, and three grandchildren. Today, we share our time between Lausanne and Leysin, a lovely mountain resort where we own a chalet. Our love that germinated in the hidden alleys of Lucknow has blossomed in the Swiss countryside before finding its way to celebrate its freshness in places as diverse as Antarctica, the Easter Islands, Cook Islands, and French Polynesia.