“How I Went from Hating to Loving Fruits”

I never understood the concept of peeling oranges or pomegranates. I disliked having fruits for a long time; they are such a hassle. Except for grapes. Who could ever hate grapes? I read countless poets and writers writing about peeling mandarins. I read about how pomegranates are pearls of blood. I read the story of Hades and Persephone, but nothing changed my judgment.

With time, although I did not change my perception, I started eating fruits. Indian people’s love language is inclined towards showing love through food but, I never liked it. I always wanted love to be bold. To be out and be open with it. To express it ever so clearly that even in dreams one could never doubt their love. I did not wish for roof-top screaming, but I wished to be a constant priority. I wished to be their safe zone, to be the first person they wanted to call, but I also wanted them to be my safe zone. I wanted the love to be direct, overflowing, and unstoppable. Tiny bits of love served on a silver platter left me in a state of yearning for a long time. Maybe that’s why I never liked the concept of loving someone silently. Because it reeks of heartache and sickness. But one day, I realized I had become that person who loves silently.

It was just another day; I was home after a long time. I was lazing around looking at the clouds through the window while humming a tune of Bollywood. All alone at home as both of my parents left early for work. I wanted to eat something, so I looked for food in the refrigerator. I found pomegranate in a bowl. As I was relishing the juicy pearls, which had a touch of coldness to them, for the first time I was so relieved I did not need to peel them. And I remembered how they are always peeled when I’m at home. My dad always peels them for us. Gratefulness is such a serene feeling, isn’t it? It feels like the voice of Aurora is slowly being poured into your heart. That is what I was experiencing at that time. The previous week when I stayed in the PG hostel, I had a terrible fever, but I still got up and bought myself fruits. Sitting on the bed, I peeled a pomegranate for the first time. It was easier than expected, yet I wished someone could do it for me. I wished someone fed me a fruit. The fact that there were fruits peeled for me warmed my heart.

 I remembered all the moments when I was fed fruits. When I was a child, my grandma, my dad’s mother, used to peel the orange pith (white dense structured fiber on oranges) so that they would taste better. She also used to peel grapes for me, saying, “You deserve sweet things, my child." Her hands so small and nimble, I loved the way she used to smile with all her heart being out in that single smile. My other grandma used to feed us delicious mango slices. Summer always reminds me of her. She still saves every other fruit she has for us. A brave, courageous woman she is, a self-made person, yet she waits for every moment to feed us to our hearts' content. Serving or feeding fruits has become a silent love language that no one ever spoke of. If I was fed so lovingly and had been showered with love through fruits, would I be sane if one day I was told to just eat fruits on my own and got scolded for not eating? How can I act like a normal person when the only thing that made me feel loved was taken away? It was relieving once I found out why I disliked eating fruits; it’s because I felt robbed of love, of all the moments I felt loved when they fed me. I felt so silly, but I felt content. Because I understood how all these people cherish me, and I understood, ‘I would peel your oranges for you’. 

A simple act of peeling fruits taught me that love is a burden taken willfully and happily. It has taught me that love always needs not be expressed in words. Because, now whenever I peel my pomegranates, I’m grateful that I love myself and I have a father who would peel any fruit for me without asking. As much as silent love hurt me, it also healed me. I started looking for love in the quietest moments, and I’ve never felt so loved.