When a friend recently said she wasn’t free this Friday to play tour guide role for visiting friends from India because it’s Valentine’s Day, I was amused – people in their late 40s still do this V-Day thing? I had completely forgotten about V-Day. I’m a hopeless romantic, but it hard to contrive how two people still feel this is the most romantic day on earth.
I grew up in a small town in northeast India, a pretty westernised one at that. It is also known as the rock capital of the country. But in my conservative middle-class family, dating was a non-starter. The rule was simple: no romance until a marriage proposal appeared on the horizon or until you were independent and earning—whichever came first.
I often pawed at the idea of having a boyfriend and imagined things such as sharing an umbrella on a rainy day. It rained a lot in Shillong, the town I grew up in. I watched my friends get picked up by their boyfriends on bikes after college, while I, raised on a steady diet of Mills & Boon, kept waiting for a dashing hero to sweep me off my feet. Spoiler alert: it never happened.
The closest I ever got to romance then was writing letters to a fuddy-duddy bureaucrat—fresh out of the state civil services exams and more eager to settle down than sweep me off my feet. When he suggested, “Let’s elope,” I nearly fell off my chair. I told him that’s the kind of thing teenagers do in a fit of irrational passion. End of romance. He went on to marry a co-worker, no elopement required.
When I moved to Delhi in my 20s, there was still hope. I don’t know where the hope lived. You know, big city, big dreams… and sometimes, big disappointments. The people there could be rude, especially to Northeasterners like me, whose features didn’t quite match their narrow definitions. But Valentine’s Day in Delhi? That was something else. It was practically a red-letter day. Newspapers (I used to subscribe to four) were filled with pages of advertisements, markets were decked out in heart-shaped decorations, and the whole commercial circus around the day was in full swing. Every now and then, you’d hear about lovebirds being beaten up or rounded up by the moral police. It all added to the masala of the day.
So, here’s the confession: months turned into years, seasons came and went, and yet, I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day—not even during the times when I eventually started dating someone or even got married.
Actually, I get this cringe-worthy sensation whenever someone mentions Valentine’s Day. Sorry to all the die-hard celebrators—it’s totally your prerogative. I’m genuinely happy for those who do celebrate it, like the friend (mentioned above).
I’m not sure where this sensation comes from, but I’m not about to say the cliché, “Every day is Valentine’s Day for those who love each other.” That’s just nonsense. At the end of the day, it’s not romance that’s the real challenge —it’s cohabitation, which brings me to my favourite line: love is blind, cohabitation is an eye opener.
Years later, in Melbourne, I still catch glimpses of Valentine’s Day in the world around me. Over time, I’ve come to realise the many shades of romance that exist today and the fluid nature of love itself. Personally, I’d say—celebrate you and your life instead of Valentine’s Day.
For those searching for something meaningful, real celebration isn’t about a date on the calendar. It’s that moment when you meet someone, and for no apparent reason, you both recognise something in each other—something beyond gender, class, caste, race, nationality or religion. That’s what truly matters.
Happy V-Day to all who celebrate!
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