The Woman My Grandmother Loved.

Chapter Eighteen

India, 1972

19th March 1972: The 25-year mutual aid treaty between India and Bangladesh was signed for peace and friendship.

14th May 1972: On the border of Kashmir, fighting between Indian and Pakistani forces was reported.

In June 1972, India signed an agreement with Pakistan to abjure the use of force while resolving difficulties. This treaty was signed by Indira Gandhi and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto.

2nd November 1972: Bhutto, the then Prime Minister of Pakistan reported the release of the 616 prisoners captured in the dispute between the two nations in Pakistan.

Dearest Anita,

It took me immense self-control to not write back the minute I received your letter. But when we parted, we had promised only one letter a year; lest it is too difficult for the both of us. Turns out, spending a year abroad does increase your appreciation for home. Even when we were headed towards the idyllic island of Lemnos, I couldn't help but wish that I were back home with the familiar laughter of teenaged girls ringing in my ears. It is a disorienting experience; every time we step onto a new island or a new place, I feel as though I want to go back home. The new faces, the difference in the structure of the buildings and the atmosphere- all so new and strange. But if we don't venture out, we will never learn of the insignificance of our own existence, will we?

I wanted to write to you so much about every one of these majestic gods and goddesses, I want to sit next to you and talk to you about Aphrodite. It's mildly aggravating; how what I feel for you has barely changed in the two years that I have gone by without seeing you or hearing from you. And it might be absurd, our professor calls it puppy love; a rather demeaning term for all that we were. It is aggravating how older people simply want to brush off the veracity of what we feel by referring to it as foolishness. Are we really fools? For if wisdom is akin to jadedness then I would much rather be stupid than wise.

How have you been, sweetheart? I am drunk right now and the professor keeps telling me I oughtn't to drink so much. It is dangerous, I admit but I had to write this letter. I wanted to write this letter as honestly as I could, without thinking because when I do start thinking, my head and heart both hurt. But I am happy. I want you to know that. The pain was never any reason for anyone to be unhappy. And besides, did you hear about London's first march of Pride? For all our brothers and sisters who dared to love one another? They are celebrating and I should too.

Aside from that, what categorizes a boyfriend? Does a man who walks you to your room every night, takes you out to dinner on Fridays, and kisses you every other night count as one? I think I have one but I don't understand how. Do men simply take every kind of smile as an invitation? I don't love him but I could learn to love the stability. That, wouldn't be puppy love, now would it? For I would grow to love the situation and security but never him and loving such concepts is always easier than loving a person. Infidelity wouldn't be a problem.

And Lord knows I could never stop loving you. I love you.

Your drunken,

Beck.

My darling Becky,

I love you too.

I'm sorry that it has taken me such a long time to write you an answer. But I wanted to be able to write with the same vulnerability and the strength with which you sent it to me. So, I will be honest simply because I have never lied to you. I loved your letter and knowing that you still love me the same sent excited rushes up my spine. Until towards the end of the letter when you packed the powerful punch about your new boyfriend. But I always knew that was coming, didn't I? Life isn't fair Becky and there are so many grey areas that I don't know where infidelity falls. We could love each other for as long as we live, our souls consumed by each other and our realities by others. Would that be fair, Becky? To us and to those other people?

"If jadedness is akin to wisdom, then I would much rather be stupid." I know what you mean by this. I fear the indifference settling on my bones and reducing my ability to say right from wrong. I thought it was wrong for women to love each other but then I met you. I thought adultery was wrong when my father did it but when you put it that way, I begin to question. Is there even a single right or wrong? Every year, the older I grow, the more unsure I become of the way in which I look at the world. Things are only less wrong and more right I suppose, there are only variables. I don't have an answer but Becky, you were the closest I ever got to an answer. And perhaps, in a different world, you could be my answer.

You talk about not wanting to speak about all the wonderful places you have been to and you only wish to speak of me, with me. And when I think of you, you are all that I want to talk about with you. Becky, you make me brave too. And if your professor wishes to relegate that to canine love then so be it. People do not like feeling simply because it makes them question all the values that they hold dear. Feelings juxtapose your decisions and often tell you things about yourself that you do not wish to know. I think the older we grow, the more afraid we are of our feelings; we're exhausted of the never-ending drain of emotions. So much so that we simply decide to turn it off and call that stability.

But being alive, is a feeling and if we refuse to feel, how are we to live, then? Why is music celebrated and art honored? It makes you feel, doesn't it? In your search for stability, my love, I should hope that you never cease to feel. This is the greatest way in which I can let go of you; I want you to open your heart to feel again. And if someone comes along who makes you feel as strongly, I shall not be jealous. Your present will never erase the validity of our past just as I want the past to not curb your present. Let go of the wine, my love. Don't be afraid to feel.

As for me, I have been alright. Promise me, you will be too.

Yours,

Anita.