Right around this time of the year, all one can literally think or talk about is – Love. From restaurants cracking their Valentine’s Day menus, to hotels, airlines, and spas decoding the perfect “discount offers” to entice love birds, it’s a busy season for everyone. And rightly so. After all, “Love is in the air”, isn’t it? And as much as I love heart-shaped chocolate bon bons, and gift guides that help me decide on the perfect gift for the ones I love, I also cannot help but look at all this from a distance, and really wonder – Is this it?

Is love in the flowers we give each other, chocolates we devour together, spas we enjoy together, and the candlelight dinners we reserve months in advance? Is love a feeling we feel for that “someone special”? Is it the butterflies in our stomach when we see that someone? Is it when we feel “seen” by someone, who makes us feel that we’re finally understood, and feel less alone? Is it holding hands and deciding to walk together forever? What is it?

I’m walking on the road, and our eyes meet. He’s on his Yulu bike, as he’s on his way to deliver something to someone ‘under 8 minutes’. We exchange a look, he looks away, only to look at me again. His bike wobbles, but he steadies it, confused at this wordless encounter. The red light turns green, and his cheeks are flushed. He blinks and presses hard on his accelerator, and we’re strangers again.

I’m at the salon again, after months. My hair needs some love and I’m sitting in the chair as my hairdresser opens them, runs his hands through it, fluffs them up, while deciding on how much length to maintain. I tell him to shorten it, as I’m bored of my long hair. We decide on the length, and I know I’m in safe hands. He is ‘Edward Scissorhands’, minus the scissorhands. We’re comfortable in our silence, and feel no need to talk without reason. He’s wearing kohl around his eyes, and I notice how it gives an edge to his personality. He says “My wife made it at home, with some kitchen ingredients.” I’m amazed at this information, and I compliment him on how good he looks with it. His hands continue to work their magic, and the final result is nothing short of applause-worthy. I give him a tip, which he accepts with a bow. He knows he’s good, and still lets me tell him again, as I head out. We’re strangers again.

I’m at a café and there’s a couple sitting next to me. They’re getting married next month. The woman is visibly distraught over the hard sourdough bread that’s served alongside her Turkish Eggs. Her lips are puckered and her frown is making her eyebrows look like little hills. She’s a makeup artist and her fiance is into real estate. She’s had it with the server, and is explaining how she can’t take one more bite of this and would like it replaced with something softer. Perhaps a Hokkaido bread? I glance at her, and say “Turkish Eggs?” She replies “Yeah.” “They’re good”, I respond. We talk about the cafe we’re at, how it’s so noisy, and why they chose this table because it’s quieter. We talk about the cafés in Mumbai, and how new restaurants are always opening in the city. The real estate guy seems interested to buy a place, and asks if I have contacts, since I write about food. I share some places they must try, and the guy notes them down, visibly glad to have such coveted information from a stranger. The woman shows me her Instagram page. She has ninety thousand followers and recently did a big celebrity’s makeup. We exchange no numbers, and I finish my coffee and biscotti, ready to leave. We say goodbye, and we’re strangers again.

I’m at a newly opened restaurant, and the guest relations executive shows me around, to help me with the piece I’m writing about the place. Her face has a smile that’s genuine and kind. She’s from Manipur, and was working with an airlines before landing (pun intended) here. She’s excited that someone has come unnanounced to cover the place, and answers all my questions, even the ones she doesn’t have answers to (she promptly asks her boss on the phone). She doesn’t let me go without making me try some dishes. I tell her I shouldn’t. But she insists. A few days later, I go there again, and she greets me with the same warm smile. I hug her instinctively. We eat, and she keeps checking on us without going overboard, like a light touch on the shoulder. I hug her again, while leaving. And we’re strangers again.

It’s a Tuesday night, and I notice the full moon from my cab. I’m inspired to write a little something on my phone. A few days later, I notice that someone else noticed it too. I share the note with him, and he notices how we both noticed it. We share this moment, and are strangers again. I ask my former boss for a food recommendation, and she replies within seconds. I’m at the recommended spot within hours. We share our mutual love for food despite not bound by the workplace anymore. And we’re strangers again.

I am walking on the sidewalk, and notice the fallen flowers. They’re still fresh, and I linger for a bit, counting the tiny veins inside the tiny crisp pink boungainvilleas. I’m listening to Flowers by Miley Cyrus, and the two old women behind me are waiting for me to move along. I say my goodbye to the flowers, and we’re strangers again. I am sitting in the car with someone, and I notice him, his face, his disheveled hair, his sleepy eyes, and his shiny skin. I don’t feel the need to touch him yet. We’re strangers in this moment. I feel the love come to the surface. I rest my head deep inside the car seat, and feel full, just like the moon.

Love isn’t in the air. It’s everywhere I am.