While in a cab on the way home, I saw a girl wearing a waist pouch, something that he finds hilarious when I carry one. (“Is that for your baby kangaroo?” he asks in splits). I instantly whipped my phone out to message him when I remembered he was not in my life any more. The plaster of happiness that had dried on my face for the past few months cracked into tears. The driver checked the rear-view mirror because I was snotting into his seat covers. “Kya hua?" (what happened), he asked out of concern and traffic-induced boredom.
I blabbered oddly specific details of my broken heart to him, the things you only share with someone you know you’re never going to see again. A car cut in front of us and the driver blurted, “Abbe *expletive* (I assume this was to the car ahead), arre dil hi toh toota hai na, sabke saath hota hai, hota reheta hai, abbe *one more expletive* dikhta nahi hai kya? (It’s just your heart that’s broken, it happens all the time. *Expletive*, can’t you see?) I felt instantly comforted by his words. I was not alone in my grief and loneliness. It was not the first time I had had my heart broken and it wouldn’t be the last.
As millennials, if we have more avenues to find love, we also have equal avenues to find heart break. And as singular loneliness and heartbreak feel to the person suffering them, they are the most shared experiences of the human condition. Even Elvis Presley in Heart Break Hotel crooned, “Although it’s always crowded, you still can find some room.” Yet, while our advertisers have their grimy paws in the love market, selling us access to companions, home loans, diamonds and holiday packages, it is the heartbreak market that is grossly underserved. Heartbreak is a sad business, but a profitable one.
In my contribution to the economy of loneliness, I have signed up for guitar classes, where I wonder how many of my classmates are getting calluses on their fingers so they don’t have to think about the wounds in their hearts. I have already worn out two pairs of sneakers running miles that brings me back to me. I take myself out on dinner dates, where I pack up half the meal for a cold lunch the next day. When something happens that I have to share with someone, I call (surprised) friends and family who were ignored while I was in the relationship. It might even would do for clothing stores and salons to have a ‘Break-Up’ section, so that we can all buy clothes and get haircuts that we will either love or regret the moment we have paid for them (I have gotten both).
When I got out of that cab, I tipped the driver what would equate to my day’s salary (for his seat covers and to thank him). He promptly returned half. “Rakkh lijiye na? Aapki baaton se dil seedha ho gaya,” I plead. (Please accept it. You comforted me.) He presses the money back into my palm, “Maine koi nayi baat nahi kahi beta, kisi aur dil ke dukhi ya *expletive* ko de dena, bahut milenge.” (I didn’t say anything new. Give it to some other heartbroken or *expletive* person.)