The Bad-Boy Biker I Was Searching For Was Me All Along

Losing my husband five years ago was equivalent to losing parts of myself. Thirteen years with one human being is short when compared to marriages that last for fifty years and beyond. Our bittersweet love story hit an abrupt halt with his passing, and I have felt a vacuum ever since.

The past five years have been deeply lonely yet liberating, chaotically busy yet empowering. All this alone time with a chattering little baby has given me a brand-new perspective on life.

I realised the bad-boy, tattooed guitarist and biker I was searching for in a partner was actually me all along. I am that bad boy (in a woman's body)—free of spirit and mind, always ready to explore the unknown, and forever twenty-one in my head.

As a good friend mentioned to me a mere month after my husband's passing, "You are Poopie now, Gayatri. He will remain inside you forever." ("Poopie" was the pet name my late husband and I called each other.)

Five years later, I couldn't agree more. Here I am, getting one tattoo after another, chugging espresso, and chomping down Portuguese custard tarts—my late husband would have cried laughing. I realise my taste in food was always his, in fact. Except for my love for butter chicken, of course—no one can take that away from me, not even him!

There is always a silver lining to human misery, and mine was finding myself. My inner voice tells me to survive, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and to take it one day at a time.

I don't overthink things deeply anymore. I simply flow with life and trust my gut feeling about people and situations.