I heard an anecdote that got me pondering about love and the games it plays on its innocent victims.
” A psychiatrist visits his patients at a mental institution he newly joined, while his nurse gives him a brief overview about each patient.
Room 1 is occupied by a man, staring out of the window with a sad and faraway look in his eyes. He repeatedly says Priya, as if it were a mantra that tethers him to life. The nurse explains that Priya was his lover, but he was unable to marry her, and this made him incurably crazy.
Room 2 is occupied by a man who is as violent as a mad man could possibly be. The doctor sees him throw things around, yell and shout, and tear at his hair in anguish. The nurse explains, “Now this man here got married to Priya”. ”
I do not know where you belong, but if you are in love, you are bound to find yourself in one of the rooms soon enough (even if it is only for short periods of time). On this happy and optimistic note, let me share the recipe of the chocolate