I Thought I Was Ready For Polyamory...

But I might have overestimated my “coolness”

- Niraj Kakade

The concept of a buffet has always fascinated me more than the actual experience. In theory, it's indulgent. Hedonistic. The freedom! The options! But in practice, you're just standing there with a cold plate, awkwardly spooning lasagna next to sushi next to sad biryani, pretending this isn't a terrible idea.

Love, unfortunately, works the same way. Especially if you grew up watching Shah Rukh Khan redefine monogamy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai — where pyaar ek hi baar hota hai... until it happens again with your dead wife's best friend. So, what is it, really? One soulmate and a shared mortgage? Or romantic communism with Google Calendar links?

At first, you go with the monogamy story. You meet someone at 19. You fall in love the way people fall asleep: slowly, then all at once, and then with an awkward fart in the middle. You build a life. You get good at being a team. You split groceries and Google Drive folders. You're the couple who shows up to weddings in coordinated outfits and sends joint Diwali texts.

You know how they take their chai, and how to tell they're annoyed just by the way they shut a cabinet. You weather fights, awkward family dinners, existential Sundays. It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. Predictable, soft, worn-in.

But slowly you start to feel like the B-plot in Vicky Cristina Barcelona — the couple that moves to Europe and still can't figure out why they're bored despite all the wine and sunlight. You're happy, sure. Just not... alive. So you break up. Or you “take space.” Or you move to Goa and call it a new chapter.

Then comes polyamory. The emotional equivalent of upgrading from MS Paint to Photoshop without a manual. Suddenly, love has layers, transparency, new rules — or no rules, which is its own form of terror.

At first, it’s exhilarating. You're free.