First, let’s get this out of the way—most of us love the idea of love the way we love the idea of six-pack abs: from a safe distance, with zero intention of doing the hard work. We swipe right on illusions, marry projections, and then act shocked when our “soulmate” turns out to be a snoring, opinionated, gloriously flawed human being. Welcome to the real Olympics—where the only sport is seeing people as they actually are, not as you wish they’d be. Spoiler: The gold medal is actual, grown-up love.
You think you’re loving someone? Nah, you’re loving your own mental Netflix series starring them as the hero/heroine. David Brooks nails it: “We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are”. Translation: Your love life is less ‘reality show’ and more ‘hallucination with popcorn.’
Let’s take a global detour. Remember the Anarkali-Salim saga? Prince falls for a dancer, empire loses its collective mind, tragedy ensues. Was Salim in love with Anarkali, or with the idea of rebellion wrapped in a pretty package? Fast-forward to Indian boardrooms—how many managers “love” their teams, but only as long as they agree with every word? The moment someone disagrees, it’s “off with their heads!”—Mughal court style.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery said, “Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction”. But try telling that to half the world’s couples, who think love means staring at each other until someone blinks (or files for divorce). The French get it—love is a partnership, not a staring contest. The French Kiss Of Reality anyone?
Or look at Japan’s concept of Wabi-Sabi—finding beauty in imperfection. They don’t demand flawless. They see the cracks and love them. Meanwhile, you’re out here ghosting people because they don’t fit your Pinterest-perfect fantasy.
Mythology beckons: Mirabai didn’t just love Krishna; she saw him, warts, flute, and all. She wasn’t in it for the palace perks or the Instagram likes. Her bhajans are a masterclass in loving beyond the surface. If you’re still loving people for their ‘potential,’ congratulations—you’re dating their LinkedIn profile, not the person. Fast forward to today—your parents want an arranged match with a “fair, slim, homely” partner who ticks boxes like a grocery list. Where’s the seeing? Where’s the awareness?
Osho(Bhagwan Rajneesh) does a classic pattern interrupt as only he could. Osho, never one to sugarcoat, drops this bomb: “Your so-called love is almost an illusion. The man of awareness has a different love arising in his heart which is not an illusion. Your so-called love is a bargain…You use the other, he uses you. This is a kind of settlement, adjustment. You call it love”. Ouch. If your love feels like a business deal, maybe it’s time to renegotiate the contract.
Awareness is the ultimate relationship hack no one’s using.
The ancient Greeks had four words for love, but somehow we’ve managed to dumb it down to one oversimplified, Disney-fied concept that’s about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
Let’s go back a bit in time with the poster boy of Indian idealism. Mahatma Gandhi’s marriage to Kasturba wasn’t the sanitized version they teach in schools. For the first 20 years, it was a disaster of epic proportions. Gandhi was controlling, jealous, and tried to “improve” his wife constantly. Only when he stopped trying to change her and started seeing her as she actually was – strong-willed, independent, and perfectly capable of her own moral choices – did their relationship transform into something genuine. The man who preached non-violence had to learn to stop waging war on his wife’s personality first.
Winston Churchill was an alcoholic, depressive, warmongering aristocrat with the social skills of a rabid badger. His wife Clementine knew this from day one. She didn’t marry the myth – she married the man. Their 56-year marriage worked precisely because she never tried to turn him into someone else. She saw his darkness and chose to love the complete package, tantrums and all. Compare this to most modern relationships where people swipe right on potential, not reality.
Here’s an awakening that we could all do with. Arranged marriages in India have a lower divorce rate than love marriages. Why? Because arranged marriages often begin with realistic expectations. When your aunt tells you, “He’s a good boy, but he snores like a freight train and has the fashion sense of a colorblind buffalo,” you’re starting with awareness, not illusion. Meanwhile, love marriages often begin with the delusion that your partner is perfect, leading to the inevitable crash when reality hits like a Mumbai local train during rush hour.
Bollywood has convinced three generations of Indians that love means never having to say you’re incompatible. Shah Rukh Khan running through mustard fields doesn’t prepare you for the reality of someone who leaves wet towels on the bed and thinks “5 more minutes” means 45. The real love story isn’t about finding someone perfect – it’s about finding someone whose particular brand of crazy complements your own insanity.
Real awareness comes when people drop their masks. If someone has never shown you their ugly-cry face or their 3 AM anxiety spiral, you don’t know them – you know their PR department.
Despite what Jerry Maguire told you, another person cannot and should not complete you. If you’re half a person looking for your other half, you’re going to create a whole mess, not a whole relationship. Your soulmate might be someone else’s nightmare roommate. And that’s perfectly fine. Compatibility isn’t universal – it’s personal.
Look at countries with the happiest relationships: Denmark, Finland, Sweden. What do they have in common? Brutal honesty about expectations, realistic views of partnership, and the cultural permission to be imperfect humans rather than romantic ideals.
Meanwhile, countries obsessed with romantic perfection (looking at you, France and India) often have higher rates of relationship dissatisfaction despite all the poetry and Bollywood songs.
When you truly see people as they are, your expectations become realistic, and suddenly everyone becomes more loveable. It’s like switching from expecting your local chai wallah to be Starbucks – once you adjust expectations, you can actually enjoy what’s in front of you. Thats the liberation of lower expectations.
Let’s be honest. We don’t love people. We love the edited version of them we’ve Photoshopped in our heads. The Insta Story version with bad lighting cropped out and unpleasant truths muted like a WhatsApp group full of relatives.
Awareness isn’t about becoming Zen. It’s about becoming honest.
Honest enough to say: “Hey, this guy’s got warts. And baggage. And an ego that could use its own seat on a flight. But he’s real.”
When Naseeruddin Shah admitted to hating Rajesh Khanna’s acting and later owned the backlash, people woke up. Why? Because realness stings. Awareness isn’t diplomatic. It’s disruptive. And sometimes, that’s how respect is born.
Haruki Murakami. This guy writes characters so nakedly honest, they make you squirm. He doesn’t give you heroes. He gives you humans—with all their dusty flaws and dreamy contradictions. That’s awareness dressed in literature.
When you truly see someone – their fears, their wounds, their weird quirks, and their magnificent strengths – and choose to love them anyway, you’re not just loving a person. You’re loving humanity itself. You’re saying, “I see your beautiful, broken, complex reality, and I choose to be here anyway.”
That’s not just love. That’s revolution.
And in a world full of filters, fake news, and carefully curated social media lives, choosing to see reality might just be the most radical act of all. That is the final truth: that awareness is the ultimate act of love.