Today, a broker took me to seven apartments around Andheri and Versova so I could choose a place to move to. The first had no view. I mentioned this to the landlord, who said rather merrily, "Oh, but there is a view. You can see the next building's garden from the bathroom."
The second was quite good, and everything seemed right, but something important I could not think of was missing. The next was boring. But the fourth, now that was love.
The dealer unlocked the door to a smallish two-bedroom apartment on the first floor and I stepped in. What happened next was, well, just like love. It struck hard. I felt that if I moved here, nothing would ever make me sad again. It was cozy, it was warm, it was near the ground and the rooms were clustered together, like a little commune. At that moment thought would have been useless; amounting to nothing. I wanted to bring the world here and say 'this is happiness, this first floor 2bhk' with a view of children playing and a little flowerbed outside each room and a kitchen with a full length window where I imagined cooking pancakes and Thai green curry without gobi.
Friends could cook themselves something and crash out. They could come and go as they wanted - while I was around, of course - and we could watch movies and have tea and make plans to do devious things. My front door would be a revolving door.
I used to think love was an intense feeling that no one understood, so it could not be shared with others. But I was wrong, for I want to jump about and share this place and tell everyone I've fallen in love.
The kindly broker took me about to three more places but it was of no use. My mind was elsewhere; I'd found love.