A few years ago, in Delhi, there was this colleague of mine, Rehana, a pleasant, good looking woman. From our casual conversations, I could make out her husband was pretty devoted to her. She told me their courtship lasted almost seven years and apparently, 20 years down the line, the marriage was still "young".
As I got to know her better, she told me she was terribly scarred in a gas accident in the kitchen one day. As a woman, I understand what it must feel like to get your face and body disfigured. The first response would be withdrawal for fear of rejection. That was her instinct too. But then, her husband's reaction was anything but rejection. "He acted as if nothing had happened. There was no trace of revulsion, or pity," she recalled, while explaining why she felt trusted him so much.
According to her, he had the same look in his eyes as he had when she was fine, a tender look. He made it very clear that he loved her anyway but had to get a plastic surgery done for her because she was not ready to face the world and was losing her career and social life.
The thing is, the plastic surgery was FOR HER, not him. he was just as loving, just as accepting.
That left me wondering about the nature of the feeling we call love. I suppose many of us confuse it with plain attraction to a beautiful face or body. Let's face it, we have our standards of physical beauty clearly imprinted on our minds and a romantic liaison, (if we have our way), is possible only with someone who meets those parameters.
Which makes me realise how rare real love is. When you are in love with someone, that person is perfect. Then there is no question of appearances. There are no conditions, no explanations, no expectations, nothing. If you look at it, it is actually rather liberating. But how many of us have ever loved someone that way?