I have never confined and defined my ‘self’ to indoctrinated limits of sanctioned social behavior. It was ingrained in my breed as I came from a broken home. And even in the time much before I was borne.

In days of yore, I heard that my cousin grandfather, a married man with three children fell in love with his widowed tenant. A demure, childless woman in her late twenties who ran a flour-mill for survival. My grandmother made a huge ruckus as she faced a threat that can topple her position in her husband’s life. The men of the family gathered and evicted that woman from the grand mansion of our house.

Now my grandfather is dead and when he was alive I was unbeknownst to his love tale. And how I regret not talking to him about this #infidel tale that took place way back in 1950s in a small rural village with no electricity. Was it a non-verbal love embodied through eye-contact or could he speak to that woman in the backyard amidst guava trees in the moonlight bliss. How did he feel when he found himself helpless in protecting the dignity of a woman with no man to her side, whom he loved?

In the name of marriage the sacrosanct institution, love took a beating. I miss you grandpa! I miss this untold story which was burnt with you on your pyre.