Another weekend.
And once again, life gave me a chance to relive those forgotten emotions buried somewhere deep inside me.
Somewhere between the noise of adulthood and the silence of routine, the lover-boy writer within me woke up again.
A couple of weeks ago, while travelling back to Hyderabad from home, the journey felt endlessly dull. The afternoon sun was unbearable. I kept scrolling through Instagram reels, watching YouTube shorts, trying to distract myself from the boredom. I even opened ChatGPT to read something, but nothing stayed in my mind.
The heat outside slowly entered my thoughts, too.
Then suddenly, while listening to music, an old song started playing.
A forgotten melody from Uhalu Gusagusalade.
For a moment, everything inside me paused.
It did not feel like I was listening to a song.
It felt like a memory had quietly returned after years.
And instantly, I wanted to watch the movie again.
I watched it almost after twelve years.
But this time, I was not watching it as a child.
This time, I was watching it as someone who had slowly begun to understand life.
In the movie
When Venky and Prabhavathi first meet in Vizag, their love feels innocent in the purest possible way. Not dramatic. Not complicated. Just alive.
They wait for each other.
Search for each other in crowded apartments.
Steal little moments from household work.
Find excuses to talk longer.
Smile for no reason.
And slowly, without even realizing it, they become each other’s world.
Venky is from Hyderabad.
Prabhavathi is from Delhi.
But at that age, those things do not matter.
They are too young to think about caste, distance, careers, society, or the future. The only thing they know is the happiness of being together.
And perhaps that is why teenage love feels so beautiful.
Because it loves without calculations.
Back then, Venky did not stop himself before expressing love.
Prabhavathi did not hide her emotions behind maturity.
Their hearts moved faster than their fears.
But years later, when they meet again in Hyderabad, something feels painfully different.
The love is still there.
In fact, it feels even deeper than before.
But now, silence exists between them.
Earlier, Venky would chase her endlessly just to speak for two minutes.
Now he hesitates.
Earlier, Prabhavathi’s eyes searched only for him in every crowd.
Now those same eyes carry caution.
Nothing changed.
Yet everything changed.
They still love each other.
But life slowly entered between love.
After completing the movie, I sat there quietly, carrying a strange warmth inside me. The kind of warmth that old memories leave behind.
Then Hotstar suggested another film — Malli Malli Idi Rani Roju. Another masterpiece I had watched during childhood.
And once again, it was a story about love.
Ram and Nazeera meet during their college days.
Young hearts. Young dreams. Young innocence.
Ram, a poor Hindu boy dreaming of becoming a runner.
Nazeera, a Muslim girl from Malaysia studying in India, raised in comfort and privilege.
But love never cared about those differences.
Ram loved Nazeera with the fearlessness only teenage hearts possess. He could run behind her in front of an entire college without embarrassment because, at that age, love mattered more than dignity.
And Nazeera loved him just as honestly.
She entered his small world quietly.
She learned music from his mother.
Waited for him.
Understood him.
Loved him in the simplest possible way.
Religion existed around them.
Society existed around them.
Money existed around them.
But none of those things existed inside them.
At that age, they only knew how to love without walls.
But time separated them, too.
And when they meet again after years, their love feels different.
Not weaker.
Just heavier.
The younger Ram would have spoken endlessly.
The older Ram remains silent.
The younger Nazeera would have expressed love through presence itself.
The older Nazeera hides love behind composure.
They still carry each other in their hearts.
But adulthood teaches people how to suppress what they once expressed freely.
As a child, I never understood this.
I used to wonder:
“If they still love each other, why are they behaving like strangers?”
“What changed between them?”
But today, after watching these films again almost twelve years later, I finally understand.
Time changed them.
Once upon a time, their only responsibility was love.
Venky only wanted to make Prabhavathi happy.
Ram only wanted to run and love Nazeera.
And the girls loved them back with the same innocence.
But adulthood slowly teaches fear.
Responsibilities enter first.
Then expectations.
Then society.
Then silence.
Questions slowly replace innocence.
“Will this relationship survive?”
“What will family think?”
“What about the future?”
“Does this person still love me the same way?”
Those questions never existed in their teenage hearts.
Back then, love was simple.
Childish.
Pure.
Fearless.
When I first watched these movies as a child, I could not understand the silence of adulthood.
But today, I understand it painfully well.
Because somewhere along the way, I too became a victim of time — someone who slowly forgot how to express love freely.
And perhaps that is why a part of me still wishes for something impossible.
I want to become that child again.
The child who only knows how to love.
Isn’t it beautiful to remain forever that child who only knows how to love?
I Want to Be That Child Again Who Only Knows How to Love – 002