So, after six years together, we held a Commitment Ceremony on 24th May.

It wasn’t legal, but it was our way to celebrate us, surrounded by those who’ve supported us.

Born and raised in Bombay, I lived a quiet, content life—happy with my routine, my hobbies, and my own company. I knew I liked boys, tried dating, but by my early 30s, I had given up on love.

Then came Ashish.

A mutual friend, Jigar, casually mentioned me to Ashish. Curious, Ashish found me on Instagram—we’d been following each other all along, silently. He reached out, and soon our chats turned into long phone calls. Our first coffee meet turned into breakfast the next day. Suddenly, what felt like just a chance encounter was becoming something real—something more than either of us expected.

We had a lot in common, yet some differences too. I’m a die-hard Bollywood fan; he couldn’t stand Hindi movies or songs. But family values and respect — those were sacred to both of us. That bond pulled us closer.

Of course, it wasn’t always smooth. We had our ups and downs.

Then COVID hit.

Not knowing when work would resume, I asked him to move back to Pune with his family. For 1.5 years, we lived in different cities, meeting whenever we could. Even when he returned to Bombay, daily meet-ups were tough — work and distance kept us apart. Weekends became our lifeline.

At one point, we wondered: are we destined to be just ‘weekend boyfriends’?

Then Ashish rented an apartment in my building complex. Close enough to touch, yet still holding onto our own spaces.

Mothers always seem to know everything, but I hadn’t come out to mine yet. Ashish kept pushing me—“Tell her. She needs to hear it from you.” I wanted that too, but fear held me back. What would she think? How would she react?

During lockdown, with her around 24/7, Ashish said, “Now’s the time. What’s the worst that can happen? She might shout, fight, or stop talking. You’ll handle it.”

So, I told her.

She looked at me and said, “Okay, ab naashtey mein kya banau?”

Later came the questions — “How will you manage? Will you marry? Who will take care of you when I’m gone?”

I told her about Ashish.

More questions followed — “How does it work? Are you living together?”

Her final word: “Not under my roof while I’m here. I don’t want to answer people. Do your thing, but that’s where I draw the line.”

Ashish and I still respect that boundary.

After I came out to her, Ashish made it a point to meet my mother often. At first, she worried whenever I was late, but slowly her fears eased as I told her I was with Ashish, and he would take care of me.

Then, two or three years ago, we realized Mom was showing early signs of dementia — Alzheimer’s. Every day is a different struggle. Sometimes she’s present; other times, she’s lost in memories long gone.

Ashish stepped in like family. He cares for her like his own, sharing meals, making chai, even watching Anupamaa—a show he doesn’t care for—just to connect with her.

I tell him it’s not his burden to bear, but he does it with his whole heart. Watching their bond grow is nothing short of beautiful.

Once Mom grew comfortable with Ashish, we began taking short trips together. She’s now genuinely happy — taking pictures, making reels with us, sharing moments.

My whole family adores Ashish. My nephew lights up every time he sees him, running over to play. That means the world to me, because my nephew holds my heart. As soon as they knew we were together, Ashish was invited to family dinners and Ganpati puja. His sister is incredibly sweet — always checking in to make sure he’s supporting me. His brother-in-law and mother are kind and welcoming too. On Mother’s Day, Ashish sent us breakfast, and later we visited his mom on her shooting set with pastries. It’s a blessing to have families that accept us just as we are.

Somewhere deep down, I was always a bit skeptical about our relationship because of my past. I had been through so much before. But after 2–3 years — when you’ve seen each other’s worst sides, fought, stopped talking, faced every kind of mess, and yet stayed together — that’s when it truly hits you: this is forever. For me, that realization was the most beautiful part of our journey.

On our 5th anniversary, he surprised me with a proposal. He had planned the whole day — lunch, sailing — and then, with a simple ring, he said, “This is what I have right now, and this is my proposal. But whenever we actually decide to do this, we’ll get a proper ring made.” I said yes.

When Ashish had to move away for work, I realized I wanted a symbolic commitment. So, after six years together, we held a Commitment Ceremony on 24th May. It wasn’t legal, but it was our way to celebrate us, surrounded by those who’ve supported us.

We hope to marry officially one day, as legal recognition would make things easier. We dream of retiring together peacefully, but the uncertainties of acceptance and rights remain. Still, I’m happy with us and hopeful for a future where our marriage is recognized.

After running around for 40–50 years, we just want to live a peaceful, calmer, more meaningful life — doing the things we love, rather than the things we have to do to make a living.

That is the dream.