On The Course of Love
When I was pregnant, my brother-in-law recommended a book—The Course of Love by Alain de Botton. I remember reading it slowly, taking it all in. It felt like the right book at the right time. My husband and I were stepping into a new chapter, and the book offered a quiet kind of wisdom—about what love becomes as life unfolds.
Last night, I picked it up again.
I was preparing for our next New Mom’s Circle at the wellness club. Our topic this week is a juicy one: Date Night & Romance after kids. And I guess I was curious—how would the book land now, as a mother, as someone deeper into the rhythm of marriage?
It landed differently. Like I was reading it with new eyes, or maybe a more open heart.
Because now I get what he meant by “real love.” The kind that lives in the mundane. The kind that isn’t lit by candlelight, but by one person making the baby’s bottle while the other cleans up dinner. By someone asking, “Did you eat?” even when they’re tired too.
One line in particular stayed with me: “Real love is a skill.”
It made me think about those old cute couples I admire—holding hands, moving through the world in sync. I used to think, “I want a love like that”. Now, I see how they got there. It’s skill - it takes patience and presence to stay connected through the noise of life.
I remember something my mother-in-law said at our engagement: Choose kindness.
I think I finally understand what she meant. Not niceness. Not politeness. But the kind of kindness that softens anger. That makes space for imperfection. That steadies you when you’re unraveling.
I see this in my husband. He’s not a romantic in the traditional sense—but when I look closely, I notice how often he chooses patience. How he lets the heat of a moment pass and comes back with gentleness. That kind of quiet strength—that’s what love looks like now.
Another line from the book echoed that thought:
“To love is to recognize, and accept, the humanity in each other—to keep saying, ‘I see you, I know you’re trying, and I’m here.’”
That one felt like a deep breath. Because staying—really staying—is an act of love. Not staying out of duty. But staying with someone. Staying for something. Choosing to see the person behind the mood, the exhaustion, the moment.
And maybe that’s what romance looks like now. Less grand, more grounded. Not about sweeping gestures, but about a soft presence. A shared look in the chaos. A quiet “I got you.”
It made me think about family, too. At Bhansali, family is a core pillar of our world. And unlike romantic love, we don’t choose our family. We choose how to be with them. And that kind of love—the kind that holds history, tension, tenderness—that’s its own art form.
That’s also why I think jewelry holds such power. It’s not just about beauty. It’s about what we mark. What we choose to carry. The anniversaries. The reconciliations. The acts of staying.
I think of a woman who reached out to customize one of our HERITAGE rings. She had found me through Bergdorf Goodman and wanted to change the stones to reflect her and her husband’s story. They had divorced after having children—but during the pandemic, they found their way back to each other.
She didn’t want a new wedding ring. She wanted something that honored their whole journey—the past, the growth, the return.
That story stayed with me. Because HERITAGE is more than a collection. It’s about remembering who we are, and who we’re still becoming. It’s about making beauty from the truth—not just the perfect parts, but the full picture.
And maybe that’s the deepest kind of love.
The kind that stays.