Men in Love

Over the years of my writing, I often pen down how women love and feel. I have written of a woman’s heart -how it can be crushed under the rocks thrown at her by the very men she loved.

And yet, not until this year did I realize something- I have rarely paused to think about men in love.

And not the loud, dramatic kind of love.

Not the poetic, bleeding-on-paper kind.

But the quiet kind.
The kind that sits in their chest and refuses to come out.

Maybe I never wrote about men in love because they are taught they are practical. Stable. Providers. Less emotional.
As if responsibility has replaced their softness.

But softness does not disappear.
It just hides better in men.

Men in love are easy to miss.

You won’t notice it when they are standing in front of you.
You notice it when you turn around to leave.

And something in you feels their eyes still there.

They look at you like they are trying to memorize the back of your head.
Like they want two more minutes of your presence in the air.
Like they almost say “wait” —

but swallow it.

They do not speak because they are terrified of being misunderstood.
Of looking weak.
Of caring more than you do.

Men in love look at you from the corner of their eye.
Not because they aren’t confident —
but because they are studying you.

Your smile.
Your mood swings.
The way you roll your eyes when they tease you.

They replay it later. Alone.

Men in love smile differently.

There’s the real smile — the one that reaches their eyes when you laugh.
There’s the polite smile-when they didn’t fully listen but want you to think they did.
There’s the impressed smile-small, proud, quiet-when you say something intelligent and they think, God, she’s brilliant.

They don’t always say it.
But they feel it.

Men in love carry old damage.

A heartbreak from years ago that they pretend did not hurt.
A betrayal they never processed.
A moment they decided they would never be that vulnerable again.

So they build a wall.

Not brick.
Not stone.

Something transparent.
So you can see them.
But you still can’t fully touch them.

Men in love get angry when you don’t eat.
When you don’t rest.
When you let the world mistreat you.

It comes out as irritation-but underneath it is fear.

Men in love become protective because they have been in rooms with other men.
They have heard how some of them talk.
They know what ugliness exists.
And they would burn the world down before letting it reach you.

Men in love try to hold your finger first.

Because holding your whole hand feels like too much to ask for.
Because rejection would crush them more than they will ever admit.

If you ever look long enough into a man in love’s eyes- really look,you will see it.

That softness.
That melt.
That surrender he will never confess out loud.

Men in love are not loud about it.
They don’t always write poems.
They don’t always cry.

But, they love in protection.
In silence.
In showing up.
In fixing things you didn’t even know were broken.

Men in love, will pretend to forget, only to give you a chance to complain. 

Men in love, will miss valentine’s day but will fill gas in your car, without you telling them. 

Men in love, will make some tea when you most need it just by the look of your face. 

Men in love, will send you flowers to your work place unexpectedly, just because. 

And, the men who truly love-they carry their hearts in their hands, pretending they are strong enough to survive another fall.

But the truth is —if it breaks one more time,they don’t know if they will know how to put it back together again.

To be continued..because I don’t yet know everything about Men in Love. 

The tall glass of water

After 11 years of marriage, Valentine’s Day starts to look a little different. You realize you don’t need vodka shots anymore, but you need a tall glass of water every single day.

This Friday morning was no exception—cloudy skies, sickness spreading through the house, cranky kids stuck indoors, and no plans for celebration.

I woke up with a mind spinning in a million directions, the weight of a week’s chaos heavy on my shoulders. I dragged myself out of bed to prepare for a meeting, hoping to clear my head and get through the workday. But as soon as I made it to the bathroom, the familiar sound of a tantrum followed by an even louder shout from my older one broke through my fog.

Glancing in the mirror, I sighed and muttered to myself, “Happy Valentine’s Day. You asked for this in some lifetime, didn’t you?”

The youngest came running into the bathroom, wailing as if the world was crumbling around him. Between his sobs, I caught a few words: “Chu-chu train.” Huh? 

I tried to ask him what was wrong, but all I got in response was more tears and a full-blown tantrum. I heard the words “t-shirt” and “chu-chu train” but still couldn’t make sense of it. I just stood there, frozen, trying to figure out what to do next.

Then, in the middle of all the chaos, you appeared—like a beacon of calm in the storm. There I was, a whirlwind of exhaustion, frustration, and tangled emotions, and you just walked in. You looked at me, messy and overwhelmed, and without saying a word, you wrapped me in your arms. Your warmth cut through the tension, and in that simple embrace, I could feel the weight of the world lift just a little.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you whispered softly, your words a lifeline amidst the noise. And, as if on cue, the background soundtrack to my life—a cacophony of wails and shouts—was suddenly accompanied by the high-pitched, nonsensical chorus of “Chu-Chu train.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, but the tears came anyway. Everything seemed to unravel in that moment—the exhaustion, the mess, the endless loop of chaos—and I just melted into you, feeling both fragile and strong all at once.

You gently pulled away and kneeled down to our youngest. With your patient calm, you asked him to repeat himself, even as his sniffling echoed in the room. And through the tears, he hiccupped out the words once more: “Chu-chu train. T-shirt. Yellow.”

And in that moment, it wasn’t just a t-shirt. It was the simple magic of you—holding me together when I was falling apart, even in the midst of a Valentine’s Day that looked nothing like what I expected.

And then it clicked. He wanted his yellow "chu-chu train" t-shirt.

I walked over to the laundry room, of course, because the house looked like a bomb had gone off. I dug through piles of laundry until I found what he needed. As soon as I handed it to him, the tears stopped. Just like that—one battle won because of you by my side.

And then there’s everything else you handle. Picking up medicine, doling it out to everyone, soothing cranky kids, managing my endless requests for attention, handling work, listening to my endless rants, all while stealing those little moments of connection in the middle of the daily grind.

They say a woman wants it all—or the cliché: What does a woman actually want? But in reality, all we want is the person who sees you at your worst, understands the chaos you’re swimming in, and still lifts you up. The one who picks you up when you fall, holds you steady when you’re standing, and crawls alongside you when you’re too tired to keep going.

The one who, without being asked, makes the perfect cup of tea and reminds you that love isn’t about flowers or chocolates—it’s about being there, fully, in the mess and beauty of the everyday grind.

Love is that tall glass of water, tender and pure, sipped daily, never tiring, always the cure.
Though the world may tempt with fleeting, wild vodka, it’s the tall glass of water that heals, quenching thirst when the night’s a blur.
For when you wake, hungover and heavy, it’s the water you crave, steady and ready,
A love that nurtures, simple and true, the one thing that always brings you through.

Of mommy's saga

This year marks seven years of being a mother, and you might ask what took me so long to write about being a mom. Finally, after so many years, I've come to realize that the portrayal of parenthood often bears little resemblance to the reality many of us face. The world seems to paint motherhood with broad strokes of glamour and fulfillment, presenting it as the pinnacle of a woman's life. We see images of blissful mothers in picturesque settings, with serene smiles and happy children. Yet, beneath the surface, the truth of motherhood is a mosaic of unsaid pain, sacrifices, and emotional turmoil that rarely makes it into the spotlight. Every single day, a woman doubts if she is making the right choice for her kids. Every single day, I ask myself - if what I am doing is enough for them to be better humans ?

When you become a mother, advices comes pouring in from every direction along with the most common dialogue - "This time will pass away soon, make sure you enjoy it". People tell you how amazing it will be, how fulfilling it is to raise a child. But amidst this sea of well-meaning guidance, one crucial question often goes unasked to parents: How are you feeling? How are you coping with the relentless demands, the sleepless nights, and the constant mental load that accompanies this role?

My younger child turns three this September, and while I've learned and grown as a mother, there remains an ever-present cloud of guilt that hovers over me. I question whether I am doing everything right, whether my moments of frustration with my elder child or my outbursts in front of my own family have caused harm. The constant cycle of self-doubt is exhausting, and each time I see the sadness in my children's eyes, I feel as though I have failed.

Nobody tells you about the intense emotional struggle of leaving your child at daycare, trying to appear strong and composed while your heart is breaking into a thousand pieces. The never-ending “mom, mom, mom” or “dad, dad, dad” can drain your patience and test your calmness. Did anyone mention that this unending call for attention would require a reserve of patience you didn’t know you had?

The truth is, parenthood is not just about the sweet moments of laughter and joy that we see portrayed in the media. It's about the sleepless nights, the overwhelming responsibilities, and the personal sacrifices that we often keep hidden behind a facade of strength. It’s about the internal battles we face, trying to balance our identities with the demands of raising children who depend on us entirely. The load that we are responsible on raising a whole new generation in the world of social media, gaming and peer pressures. 

I wish someone had laid out the complete picture for parents from the beginning. I wish I had known that being a parent is one of the hardest, most challenging jobs we could ever choose, but it is also the most rewarding in ways that are not always immediately visible. The world runs on the energy and potential of our children, and while that knowledge is a powerful motivator, it doesn’t always make the daily grind any easier. I wish, that someone would have said loudly that I will be holding multiple emotions at a single point in time. 

It is time to acknowledge the full spectrum of parenthood—the beautiful and the brutal. Let’s be honest about the struggles and support each other through the trials. Instead of glamorizing the role, let’s speak the truth about the dedication it demands and the emotional resilience it requires. By sharing these unspoken truths, we can offer a more authentic picture of what it truly means to be a parent, and perhaps, find solace in knowing that we are not alone in this challenging, but profoundly meaningful, journey. 

The Heartache 2.0

I walked over myself and crushed my heart one more time to tell you, that I needed to step back. Although, the heartache knocks on me, every minute. 

I distract myself and pretend to be normal but the tingling feeling of this slight pain in the heart, never goes away. 

I wanted to see you and feel as though I felt you. 

You asked me if I was bored of you? 

Devastation engulfed me; as if you believed our connection was mere entertainment, not the soul-stirring symphony that I thought we have.

How do I tell you more clearly that my stomach still churns when I hear your voice and I feel a little wet when our eyes meet. 

You asked me if the obligation to talk is a stress? But, do you never realize that talking with you is my daily elixir, a potion that I could sip on everyday, to fill the void? 

My heart speeds up a little with the non-stop thinking about you, as though trying to catch a breath from running behind you. 

I think, My heart had an ache, when you said, you don’t know how you will feel, when I step away. 

Because, then why do I remember, all the feelings that I ever had, like waves washing on the shore, they engulf me, pulling me towards you. 

You had written well that everything goes into the background but looks like, we will end up there without each other. 

In some life, I hope to be yours, to be besides you and never not leave your side, where the foreground and background will be same.

For now, I hope you feel so much depth about me as much as I feel about you.

Do you? Will you? 

I hope I mattered a little in your daily grind. 

Did I ever? 

     Will you have a heartache just as I do? 

"With People"

Someday in this life or in a parallel life, you will have the time for me and hopefully you will make up for all the moments when I did NOT cross your mind. 

Because, you are the "nothing" that is on my mind, when someone asks me what I am over-thinking about. 

I wish you will make up the time that you spent "With People" and not on me. 

Because, I know, If I was in your place, I would have found the time to talk to you, unlike you.

I wish your "Ttyl" becomes "I want to talk with you now." 

Because, you are never my later, and have always been my now.

I wish I get a reply to every single question I have asked.

Because you always get an answer even before you ask.

I wish you shower your love when you can’t, because anyone can do, when they can. 

I have so much to give to you and nothing to receive but I guess, I am too much extra to ask for, for you.

Go find something less, because I deserve a lot more of you.

The sinking situationship

This labyrinth of emotions, the intertwining of waiting for you or giving up on you, landing in a so-called realm of "situationship." 

Where are we? Rather, Where am I for you? 

Just like a ship, climbing great heights and plunging to profound depths, why does my heart soar up and plunge down in disappointment, thinking it needs you in any form? How more painful can this all be? 

A text, a call or just the intent of you wanting me just the way I want you?  

In the whirlwind, when I can calm myself, I realize, I don’t really need you. 

It's a stark fact, a truth I can't deny. I can stand on my own, walk my path, and face the world without your presence. 

But, Only if you knew, that you shouldn’t let me face this alone. 

The sun will still rise, and the world will continue to spin. I don't need you for anything at all, and yet, here's the twist – I find myself needing you all the F****** time.

When you're absent, everything appears to be the same, but it's not. It's a mirage, an illusion of normalcy. 

In the depths of my being, there is a tempest, a storm that rages with waves as high as a tsunami. 

I wish you could see it, feel it, understand the turmoil that simmers within me.

But, like always, its not christmas that my wishes will be granted. It is halloween, so all I will get is ghosting. 

You will ignore everything that I write in plain text for you and walk away sooner or later.  

Will the situationship sink ? Your favourite word for me is no, but the answer is yes for this and like the past, I will never see the sea-shore, let alone feel it. 

Octobers

In everyday chaos of my life, I am reminded on how much power I always give you to break my heart into a million pieces. 

How much power you have, to always make me feel alive and then slowly kill me with time.

And, Congratulations,you out-do your own performance each time, as you compete with yourself on, how you can trample my heart better, each time, winning every single time.

It is October, the trees are changing their colors and I thought, you have an October too.

Unfortunately, I have had only one season of yours.