Gautam is Meera’s whole world, and she loves him boundlessly. She’s so attuned to his soul that she can sense what he needs even from a distance — and despite her own circumstances or state of mind, she offers it to him before he even has to ask. He rarely has to ask her for anything; he just has it, every time. But when an argument comes up about Meera not getting enough attention or acknowledgment for how she loves him, Gautam’s favourite line is: “Did I ask you for it?” The argument dies there, but it leaves Meera’s heart in pieces.
She gathers herself, reconciles her emotions alone, and within a while, is back to serving him like a devotee. She doesn’t know any other way to love someone. And the story continues.
Sangeeta and Gopi were married nine years before becoming parents. After years of prayer, they finally had a son, Rahul. He was given the best of everything — toys, comforts, education, a lifestyle that became his baseline for normal. He never had to ask for the basics, and for anything on his wish list, his word was a command his parents rushed to fulfil. No matter how difficult, Sangeeta and Gopi found a way to get it done. And whenever he didn’t listen to them, and they reminded him how devotedly they’d raised him, Rahul’s response was the same: “Did I ask you for it?” or “Every parent does this for their kids — what have you done that’s so special?”
These aren’t just stories about Meera, Sangeeta, Gopi, Gautam, or Rahul. They’re the story of every relationship where someone, out of deep love, chooses to instantly gratify the people they love — more than necessary, and sooner than needed.
Who’s wrong here? The instinctive answer is Gautam and Rahul, because most readers will recognize themselves in Meera, Sangeeta, or Gopi, and understand exactly how much this kind of moment hurts. But it’s worth digging deeper — what drives someone to instantly gratify a loved one with this much devotion? Good intentions, intense love, and often a need to feel appreciated or irreplaceable in someone’s life. But ultimately, those are their reasons. Rahul and Gautam never became “deserving” simply because Rahul was a long-prayed-for only child, or because Gautam is loved by a woman who knows no other way to love. They never had to earn what they received — they just had it, and they knew they always would. It became the norm of the relationship. Nothing about it ever seemed odd or exceptional to them; it was simply the way things were.
And what happens? The giver feels wonderful about giving. The receiver feels comfortable never having to earn or work for what they get. But over time, it isn’t as good as it looks. Is that great love actually valued? Is it even noticed anymore? With time and frequency, it loses its meaning — it stops being a gift and becomes an expectation. A benchmark gets set. And you can never go below the benchmark again.
Have you ever heard it from someone you love — “Why did you do that? Did I even ask for it?”
How much does that hurt? Like a thousand small stabs to the heart. I’ve felt it myself, and I’m sure everyone reading this has too.
And then we complain that our loved ones don’t value what they have — that we’re taken for granted, that it takes them no effort to hurt us so deeply. But honestly, they have no idea of the effort or the pain behind what we’ve given them. For them, it was simply normal.
Take something as basic as food. Everyone needs it to live. If you get your favourite meal exactly when you’re hungry, you savour every bite. You know that next time you’re hungry, you’ll have to earn it again — cook it, fetch it — so when you have it, you value it. But now imagine being given that same favourite food in endless abundance, even when you’re not hungry, over and over. How long would it stay your favourite? How long would you actually enjoy it?
Is there anything wrong with the food, or with you, or with the abundance itself? What lowers our interest in something we love is exactly this: provision in abundance, without ever being asked for.
The same is true in relationships. When we give — out of the best of intentions and love — more than is needed, and before it’s needed, it loses its value. I believe real love and good intention actually look like offering the right thing, at the right time, in the right amount — so it keeps its charm. So you keep your charm. You’re valued and remembered for what you can offer when there’s an actual need for it — not for what you give in constant surplus. There’s no value in overdoing.
There’s no point sitting in hurt or playing the victim every time someone fails to value what you’ve given. There’s no point blaming them, either. They’ve simply never experienced what it would be like without the kind of love they’ve been privileged to receive.
Does this make you rethink how you express your love? Does it help you show others that your love is a privilege — not a given?
