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- Madhukar Dama
- Oct 15, 2025
- 9 min read

π ππππππ ππππππππππππ πππ πππππ ππππ πππππππ πππ ππππ πππ πππππππππππ
We grow up being told that love means giving.
That love means sacrifice, compromise, and putting the other person first.
That real love means losing yourself a little for someone elseβs happiness.
This sounds noble β but it quietly destroys both people.
Because love cannot grow where one person keeps abandoning themselves.
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In most homes, love is confused with control or emotional dependence.
Parents do it with children. Couples do it with each other.
βI do everything for you, and this is how you repay me?β β thatβs not love.
Thatβs emotional accounting.
A truly loving relationship exists between two people who take responsibility for their own lives.
They donβt expect the other to fill their emptiness.
They donβt make the other the centre of their emotional survival.
When both partners have learnt to take care of themselves β mentally, physically, financially, emotionally β they stop using love as a crutch.
They meet not out of need, but out of choice.
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πππ ππππππ ππππππ β ππππ πππππππ ππ πππ ππππ -ππππππππππππ
Thereβs a difference between being selfish and being self-centered.
Being self-centered is about demanding β βI want everything my way.β
Being selfish, in the right way, is about maintaining boundaries β βI will not destroy myself to please you.β
In most relationships, people give up their freedom to keep the relationship alive.
They stop meeting friends, stop doing what they love, stop saying what they truly feel.
They bend and bend until they lose shape.
And when resentment builds up, they start blaming love.
But the problem isnβt love.
The problem is the belief that love means forgetting yourself.
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When both individuals take care of their health, their peace, their purpose β
they donβt come to the relationship empty.
They come full.
They have something to share.
They donβt wait for the other to βcompleteβ them β they already are complete.
This is why youβll notice β the most stable couples are not the ones who βsacrifice everythingβ for each other.
They are the ones who respect each otherβs selfishness.
They give each other space to breathe, to fail, to grow.
When you are selfish in the right way, you donβt love because you are lonely β
you love because you are alive.
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In Indian homes, people often stay together not out of love, but out of duty, fear, or habit.
They confuse staying together with being together.
They call endurance love, and obedience care.
But real love can exist only in freedom.
It has to be voluntary every single day.
The moment it turns into an obligation, it begins to rot.
When both people know they can walk away any day β but still choose to stay β
thatβs when love becomes beautiful.
Freedom is not the enemy of love.
Freedom is the oxygen that keeps it alive.
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πππ π ππ ππ ππππππ β ππππ ππ πππ πππππ πππ ππππππππ πππ
Two people cannot merge and still stay alive as individuals.
Love is not a merger β itβs a partnership.
When you merge, you lose identity.
When you partner, you strengthen individuality.
The healthiest relationships are the ones where both individuals continue to grow on their own paths β
but keep returning to each other, willingly, joyfully, because they enrich each otherβs journey.
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ππππ ππππ πππ πππ π ππ πππππππ ππππππ πππ ππππ πππ β ππ πππ π πππ πππππππ ππππ πππ πππ ππππ πππ ππππππ
Most broken relationships are the result of people expecting others to carry their emotional weight.
They enter love to escape loneliness, fear, and insecurity β and then blame the other when those wounds remain.
But the work of healing is not the partnerβs job.
Itβs yours.
Only when both partners handle their own pain, fears, and needs β
does love stop being a battlefield and start being a garden.
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A loving relationship, therefore, is not two people becoming one.
It is two complete, selfish individuals β standing side by side,
sharing warmth, laughter, silence, and freedom β
without asking the other to carry their half.
Thatβs not romance.
Thatβs maturity.
And thatβs the only form of love that lasts.
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It was a quiet morning at Yelmadagi. The dew still clung to the grass, and the faint smell of neem and smoke from last nightβs cooking fire drifted through the air.
Adhya and Anju had just opened the bamboo gate. The small group of visitors stood near the mud path β five people who had travelled from different towns, each carrying something heavy that could not be seen.
Under the shade of a large tree, Dr. Madhukar Dama sat cross-legged on a mat, a small steel pot beside him filled with Mother Simarouba Kashaya. The sun hadnβt fully risen. The light was soft.
Adhya poured the Kashaya into small cups and passed them around. It was bitter and hot. Nobody spoke for a while.
Then, the woman in her forties broke the silence.
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Woman (softly): βDoctor, Iβve done everything I could for my family. My husband, my children, my parents... I havenβt thought of myself in years. I thought that was love. But now, I feel empty. No one sees me anymore. Was I wrong?β
Dr. Madhukar looked at her quietly, as if measuring her breath rather than her words.
Dr. Madhukar: βYou were not wrong to love. You were wrong to disappear.
Love without a self cannot last.
You gave everything β but from a hollow place.
And now you feel drained because you kept giving what you didnβt have.β
He paused. The sound of a bird echoed from the hill.
Dr. Madhukar (continuing): βLove is not giving everything. Itβs giving only what overflows from your fullness. You can only care for others after youβve cared for yourself. Otherwise, it becomes a quiet form of slavery, decorated with duty.β
The woman nodded slowly, eyes glistening.
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A young man sitting cross-legged spoke next. His jeans were dusty from travel.
Young Man: βIβm afraid of love. Everyone I see ends up controlling or being controlled. I donβt want to lose myself like that. Is it better to stay alone?β
Dr. Madhukar smiled faintly.
Dr. Madhukar: βAloneness is good when it teaches you to stand on your own feet. But when it becomes a wall to avoid connection, itβs just fear in disguise.
If youβre strong in yourself, love cannot trap you.
Youβll love freely β and leave freely if needed.
The weak are the ones who call love dangerous.β
The young man looked up, his expression softer now.
Dr. Madhukar: βBe selfish first β learn your needs, your peace, your rhythms. Then love will not threaten you. It will decorate your life, not define it.β
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The retired schoolteacher β silver-haired, with gentle eyes β folded her palms.
Teacher: βI lived for others. For forty years, I taught, cooked, and cared. My husband passed, my children live far away. I donβt regret anything. But I feel... forgotten. Did I make a mistake in giving everything?β
Dr. Madhukar turned toward her, his voice quiet.
Dr. Madhukar: βSacrifice feels noble while doing it, but lonely afterwards. It wins respect, not intimacy.
You taught everyone around you to depend on you β and forgot to teach them to love you.
Love needs space, not service.
Next time, even in friendship or care, keep a small corner of your time, your thought, your body β for yourself. That corner is your truth.β
She smiled faintly. βThatβs what I missed,β she said.
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The couple who had remained silent all morning spoke now.
Husband: βWe fight often. But we canβt live apart. Sometimes I think she expects too much. Sometimes she says I give too little. We love each other, but it feels like a job.β
Dr. Madhukar looked at them both.
Dr. Madhukar: βThatβs because you both are trying to win, not live.
Love is not about keeping scores β who gives more, who forgives first, who adjusts more.
Itβs about knowing what you will not give up β and respecting that in each other.β
Wife (hesitant): βSo... we should be selfish?β
Dr. Madhukar: βYes. The right kind of selfishness. The one that makes you responsible for your own happiness.
If you stop expecting your partner to make you happy, youβll start enjoying being with them again.β
The couple sat quietly. Adhya placed two guavas from their garden in front of them. They took them without words.
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A light breeze passed through. The pot of Kashaya was empty now.
The conversation had slowed, but no one was in a hurry to leave.
Dr. Madhukar (softly, looking at the group):
βLove dies in sacrifice because sacrifice kills the self.
Only when two complete, selfish people meet, can love breathe freely.
The half ones cling. The full ones hold hands.β
He stood up, dusted his palms, and smiled gently.
Dr. Madhukar:
βNow, go home and take care of yourselves first. Thatβs where love begins.β
Savitri came out of the kitchen hut, carrying a small basket with vegetables from their garden β brinjals, greens, and lemons β for the visitors to take along. Adhya and Anju followed behind, laughing softly.
The group left slowly, each one carrying something unseen β a small shift in how they would love, and perhaps, how they would live.
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You see it everywhere β
men walking with their heads bent,
women cooking with tired hands,
couples sitting next to each other
but not really there.
They call it love.
Itβs not.
Itβs the leftover of a deal
that no one remembers making.
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In every house, someone is always giving.
And the other is always taking.
One is tired.
The other is confused.
Both believe they are doing the right thing.
The one who gives calls it sacrifice.
The one who takes calls it love.
Both are wrong.
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Love doesnβt need your blood,
your patience.
It needs your aliveness.
And thatβs what everyone forgets.
You start with love,
end up managing it like an illness.
You start listening,
then explaining,
then apologizing for being yourself.
Thatβs how love dies β
not in one moment,
but through hundreds of small adjustments
you call compromise.
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Iβve seen people stay married for thirty years
and still not know who they are sleeping next to.
They know their habits,
but not their hearts.
They know the routine,
but not the reason.
Love is not endurance.
It is not surviving each otherβs moods.
Itβs not clinging to history
and calling it loyalty.
If you stopped trying to prove love,
maybe love would finally breathe again.
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Everyone talks about giving.
No one talks about what it costs.
You give your time, your space, your say,
and in return, you get an image of yourself
that looks good to society
but feels rotten inside.
The saddest people I know
are the ones who did everything right.
They obeyed every rule.
They kept the house running.
They never complained.
And now, thereβs nothing left of them.
Thatβs not love.
Thatβs disappearance.
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Love starts with two complete people,
not two halves begging to be filled.
If youβre empty,
you will only attract another emptiness.
And together, youβll build a quiet tragedy
and call it home.
When you are full β
you donβt love to escape yourself.
You love because you enjoy company.
You donβt demand; you share.
You donβt hold; you stay.
You donβt save; you witness.
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Every time you lose yourself for someone,
you plant the seed of resentment.
It grows quietly,
under the daily rituals of care.
One day, it blooms as silence.
And silence never lies.
You can decorate it,
you can deny it,
but once love turns into duty,
the heart knows.
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In this country,
we teach our daughters to adjust
and our sons to expect.
We build homes on guilt
and call it tradition.
We reward the ones who bend,
and shame the ones who walk away.
And then we ask why love feels heavy.
Why marriages turn into arrangements.
Why everyone secretly dreams of freedom
but fears being alone.
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If you want love to live,
stop worshipping sacrifice.
Be selfish enough to stay human.
Eat when youβre hungry.
Sleep when youβre tired.
Say no when it hurts.
Ask for time.
Ask for space.
Keep your edges sharp.
Only then can you touch another
without disappearing into them.
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Love is not two people becoming one.
Thatβs fusion.
Thatβs chemistry, not connection.
Love is two people staying whole
and choosing, every morning,
to walk together a little while.
You canβt build love
by giving everything.
You build it by protecting whatβs yours
and offering only what overflows.
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So yes β
love dies if you give too much.
It survives only when you give from fullness,
not from fear.
If youβre not taking care of yourself,
youβre not loving anyone.
Youβre just slowly fading,
and calling it devotion.
And no one,
not even the person you gave everything to,
will remember your sacrifice.
They will only remember
how dull you became
trying to prove you loved them.
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So stay selfish.
Stay awake.
Stay whole.
Thatβs the only way love can last.
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