To promise is to take love from the abstract and anchor it to something as real as breath.

The truest promises of love exist in the everyday, in the unnoticed, in the persistence of choosing each other, again and again, long after the day has passed


Somewhere between Bollywood’s grand monologues on pyaar, ishq aur muhabbat (the many iterations of love) and your grandmother/mother’s practical wisdom about shaadi (marriage) being “zindagi bhar ka samjhauta (a compromise for the whole life),” lies Promise Day — February 11 — a day dedicated to making commitments that, ideally, should outlast your phone’s warranty. Promises in India are serious business. They’re practically sworn upon samundars (seas), sitare (stars), chaand (moon), and occasionally, one’s own maa ki kasam (swearing by mother). They can be as intense as “Main tumse shaadi karne ke liye duniya se lad jaunga (to marry you, I’ll fight against the world” or as practical as “Main hamesha ghar se nikalne se pehle bataunga (I’ll always inform before stepping out)” — which, let’s be honest, is the real test of modern love. But making a promise is the easy part — it’s keeping it that truly separates the heroes from the side characters.

So, this Promise Day, forget the Hallmark-style mush and let’s talk about how to make a waada you can actually keep that won’t crumble like a papdi in pani puri. Because anyone can promise the moon, but when the honeymoon phase fades and you have to deal with real life — bills, boss ki daant (scoldings from boss), and your partner’s undying love for soap operas — suddenly, forever seems like a long, long time. In India, where romance exists somewhere between the long, arduous road to parental approval and nosy aunties asking, “Shaadi kab kar rahe ho? (when are you getting married?)”, a promise means more than just a sweet Instagram caption. It’s about choosing each other even when their cricket team loses, and they’re sulking for three days straight; they want chai at 2 AM, and you’re already in bed; his mom casually asks if you can learn how to make round rotis; they watch a Netflix show without you. Because, ultimately, a real promise is about the small, everyday choices that prove your love for each other, come hail or storm.

What does it mean to promise?

To promise is to take love from the abstract and anchor it to something as real as breath. It is to say, ‘I will be here’, and let that be enough. The grandest promises are not those inked in public vows or bound in the pages of law, but the ones exchanged in spaces where silence holds more weight than speech — fingers grazing in the dark, a glance that lingers just long enough to say I see you. So, this day is not about excess, though the world will try to convince you otherwise. Retailers will nudge you toward glossy cards where words already lie printed, waiting to be adopted as one’s own. Florists will offer you roses, as if their transience does not betray the very nature of what a promise is meant to be. Jewelry stores will suggest gold, because they know that love, when translated into metal, holds a price. But a promise — a true promise — is never transactional.

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A promise is not a contract. It does not come with clauses, nor does it demand witness signatures. It is spoken into existence — sometimes whispered into each other’s ears — and upheld by will alone. The weight of a promise is not in the words that shape it, but in the spaces between them — the patience in waiting, the courage in forgiving, the quiet resolve to stay when leaving would be easier. And so, Promise Day is not merely about making promises, but keeping them. Anyone can say forever, but to stand by it when the days feel unremarkable and love loses its cinematic sheen — that is where a promise finds its truth.

In our halcyon days, it is easy to promise passion when the world is gilded with the thrill of newness. In the electric rush of first confessions, when hands tremble before they meet, when kisses taste of urgency rather than habit, words flow freely. “I will always love you.” “I will never hurt you.” “I will never leave.” But what of the days when love is not a fever, but a reassuring presence? When time has worn down the edges of longing and left behind something softer, steadier? A real promise then is made not on the best days, but on the worst. Not in candlelit corners with the scent of wine in the air, but in moments of exhaustion, when patience wears thin and life makes demands that leave little room for romance. It is in choosing to stay, not because of an obligation, but because the promise itself holds more meaning than the fleeting emotions of a single moment.

The art of keeping a promise

A promise, once made, is not self-sustaining. It must be tended to, like a garden whose roots grow deep even when its flowers are not in bloom. It is easy to assume that love, once promised, will remain unchanged — but love is not static, and neither is the promise that holds it. It must be reaffirmed, nurtured, carried with intention. It is in the small things: remembering how they take their tea, listening when they speak — not just hearing, but listening. It is in knowing when to hold space and when to bridge distance. It is in the comfort of presence, in the ease of knowing that even in silence, nothing is missing.

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A promise does not demand perfection. It allows for human failings, for moments of doubt, for the ebb and flow of emotions that refuse to be controlled. But even in the face of uncertainty, it stands — it bends, but does not break. If you look at it differently, a single day cannot hold the weight of a lifetime’s worth of promises. It is merely a day to pause and reflect, to acknowledge what has been given and what must still be upheld. It is just a quiet reaffirmation: “I am here. I will be here.”

And if you must mark the day with something tangible, let it be something that holds meaning beyond the moment. A letter, written by your own hand, that they can open on a day when doubt creeps in. A book, with passages underlined that remind you both of what you mean to each other. A memory revisited — not through photographs, but by returning to the place where it was made, breathing in the past to carry it into the future.

A promise is not a chain. It does not bind; it anchors. It is spoken into being to to assure that no matter where life takes you, there is a constant — something unshaken by time, distance, or circumstance. So, on this February 11, when the world is busy selling you the idea that love needs a timestamp, remember this: the truest promises are the ones that do not need reminding. They exist in the everyday, in the unnoticed, in the persistence of choosing each other, again and again, long after the day has passed.

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