How I met a girl

Sometime in March 2017, I met a girl via my friends, Poornima and Aditya.^[1] She stuck out in many ways: she was six feet tall, attractive and an obvious foreigner bopping around Indiranagar. ^[2] But, moreover, she had a wicked sense of humour, was personable and exuded chill vibes. After hanging out with her a few times, I started having that familiar feeling.

On our third hang-out, she invited me to McLeod Ganj and I…dashed; because I had a crush on her. I later learnt that she did too (I had an inkling). We spent six days in Dharamkot, just above McLeod Ganj, and fell hard for each other. The Himalayas and its pristine air played wingmen. It was the furthest I had travelled from home, until then.

One thing led to another and we started dating. We had to go back and forth between America and India to make it all work, with tourist-visa restrictions and what not. It wasn't easy to say the least. The worst was when COVID hit and we ended up being separated for a year and three months. After going through a trying time, we reunited in Zipolite, Mexico—the only country that would let us both in. Viva La Mexico 🇲🇽 (I wrote about that here.)

But for visa restrictions, there has been no other external obstacle in our relationship. We both were (are) lucky to have very open-minded people as parents and siblings: accepting, caring, loving and unconditionally supporting. With all that support from our families, our hearts were always full. I do like to believe that 'we' would have happened no matter what.

Three nights before leaving on that trip to McLeod Ganj in 2017, I sat at a bar, drinking alone, wondering whether or not I should go hangout with this random foreigner. I didn’t quite know her. I worried that I would come across as desperate, if I eagerly accepted her invitation. I didn’t want to feel too excited by the prospect of her and me dating. I had no money for a romantic escapade. A deadline to deliver a film project was very near. And the whole ordeal seemed too romantic, too good to be true, hence, scary.

As I sat at this seedy bar (one that I often frequented), penning my thoughts to untangle them, amidst the cacophony—both, around me and inside my own head—I kept knocking against one consideration: what was the worst that could happen if I went? I had some answers: the worst that could happen was, this person would not be fun to hang out with and I would have embarrassed myself by going all the way. But if I didn’t go at all, I would never know what awaited me on the other end… and, maybe, this person would be gone before I got to know them even. I decided to risk feeling embarrassed; I’m glad I did.

Three days ago, four and a half years after that night... I married her.