My India romance ironically does not begin in India, but in Ocala, Fl, possibly one of the most non-romantic places on this Earth. Actually, it technically started in cyberspace, but does that really count? A lot of people would strongly disagree with me on that, but suffice it to say the real romance began after that. I had recently recovered from an extremely messy divorce, not because we had any property to speak of, but the emotional toll had been heavy. I was living with my aunt and trying to finish up my Master's in journalism and I found it very difficult to meet new people of any quality. I was done with classes and the nightclub scene yielded less-than-desirable relationships. So I joined a dating site, the epitome of modern, mediated human contact. Entering the world of chat, emoticons, acronyms, texting language - linguistics majors must have a field day pondering this level of communication.

Anyway, I met Abhinav from New Delhi, India, who was in Florida on business, on one of these sites. Looking for any sort of companionship on his trip, we connected over a mutual love of Kafka and other absurd and existentialist literature. I knew at that point that he was not the typical guy on the web, not to say that he wasn't interested in the same things, but there was more to him than that.

What started as a simple lunch date and a canoe trip down the Silver River became a whirlwind romance. It was a sensory overload of food, music, and passion. I discovered that the Indian culture not only appealed to me, but moved something deep within my soul. My romance could be summed up in three things: love, cardamom, and Punjabi bhangra music. Curry was involved as well, naturally, and I would taste some of the best I had ever had, but that love goes way back. Cardamom has an indescribable, sweet, intoxicating flavor that I had never tasted in all my foodie experiences. And the bhangra is so wonderfully tribal and festive, I don't see how anyone could dislike it, although I know many who do. I'm convinced I was a Punjabi in a past life, maybe even a Sikh warrior, who knows.

I compare Indian men to sirens in Greek mythology, without the half-bird bodies. They are these beautiful (in my opinion, some of the most attractive men in the world) creatures, so captivated with the exoticism of foreign women, that they lure them in only to be dashed on the jagged rocks when they reach the shore. In this, I refer to the system of arranged marriages in India, which makes marrying or even having a meaningful relationship with a foreign woman extremely difficult, even for Indians living abroad. My situation (divorced and 2 year older than him) did not make the situation any easier. My intense respect for the culture makes dealing with my personal feelings even more difficult. The fact that I was previously unaware of this fact made it even worse when I learned about it because I had already allowed the torrential waters of love to crash into me and seep into my soul.

It has been intensely difficult to deal with, even worse considering Aby's mutual feelings for me. I eventually after much contemplation, took comfort in the words of Kahlil Gibran on Love and I felt as if he was speaking to me personally, as will the readers of the words of any great prophet.

He tells me:
"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden."

This was when I decided, against all advice, to proceed full force into this relationship, even if the outcome will not be what I want. Because what is the point of living if not to love and feel, but maintain the knowledge that every perigee must have it's apogee as well. So I made the decision to love as long as I am allowed, which is yet to be determined.