Sugar Is the Way to a Man's Heart

By Adhipa Ravindranath 

I write till words find a pause.
I write about you—
but you don’t know
there is love stationed in my head,
waiting for a heart to rest in.
But you just put your heartbeats to sleep
before my goodnight kiss.
You do not know
the wordless words I carry in me for you.
But I know you know—
the words I say are not a lie.
You know you are more important
than my morning conversations
with my mind,
that only finds peace in the morning.
But I know you don’t know—
I will never be happy
like the butterfly or the flower
once again, without you.

Yesterday I prayed to God—
I prayed eternity halts for a moment,
holds back itself from time,
before I fall in love again.

I have to take my heart out of the freezer,
or put my past in the washing machine—
let it all be clean,
let it all breathe air again,
for love to bloom
constellations of peace in my heart.

It was a new moon day.
The baby moon cried.
I took my cookbook
to celebrate the birth of the moon.
I made a chocolate cake—
poured milk and cocoa powder in equal quantities,
stirred it well,
and added white sugar cubes.

Sugar is not healthy,
people in newspapers say.
We call sugar meetha in Hindi.
My grandma says,
“Sugar is a way to a man’s heart.”
So I add plenty of it.
What if his heart melts again?

What if he sends me
Sweet texts again,
tells me I’m loved
and cared for
all the time?
What if he says again—
“You are enough as you are.”
“You don’t need to do anything
to get my attention.”
But my what-ifs
were always mere illusions.

My phone rang twice.
My lawyer is on the other side.
He wants me to visit his place.
He says all documents
are in my favour.
“You will get a divorce easily.”
He says,
“Let him learn to live on his own.”
I nodded.

Should I be happy?
What should I do with my feelings?
the love I’ve parked in my garage for him,
like dried cherry leaves.
Can the court erase love from my mind too,
with a few more paperworks?

I don’t know.
If they do,
It would be helpful.

Perhaps
I should be more practical
and not live in the world
of fairies and fantasies.
“Naira, don’t be childish.
Be a woman.
Be mature.
Live in the real world.
Stop your bookish fantasies…”

I hear his voice echoing in my head:
Too childish.
Too childish.
Too childish.
I still feel
The scent of his Park Avenue
lingering through my memory.

“Naira, stop wearing pink every day.
Naira, social anxiety is not true.
it’s all in your mind.
Don’t be shy and act weird in front of people.
Be smart.
Be smart.
Be smart…”
Echoes again and again.

Now,
I call back my lawyer.
“Please send me the papers.”
And I end
all that is practical.
I be smart.
I be smart!!!