Love

“Love is not a habit, a commitment, or a debt. It isn't what romantic songs tell us it is - love simply is.” – Paulo Coelho  

Prologue

Love- the feeling that binds life to earth- the emotion which gives birth to smiles and tears alike. It is of love that I wish to speak- of love, and life. Love has many dimensions – sometimes gentle, at times violent- always possessive. To me, love is pain – not just the immense physical hurt that I feel now, but the soul wrenching pain that my mind has to bear.

I indulged in these pointless thoughts, trying to keep my mind off the pain, but my thoughts kept reverting to the question – ‘Is this love?’ – Love, which had made poets go into raptures, which had inspired melodies, had made people do the impossible? I suddenly felt angry, and stupid! I turned to the window, hoping to see a pleasant sight – anything that took my mind away from the bland interiors coupled with the unmistakable smell of a hospital room – the mingled smell of medicines, lotion, despair, tears and hope. Luckily, my bed afforded a view of a road, so that I didn’t have to be a constant witness to the sad sight of bodies rushed into and taken from the hospital – the relentless wails of the ambulance, the rush for a life! I could see a young couple, walking hand in hand, their heads close together – oblivious to everything around them- their world had suddenly become small enough to contain only two people. The silly fool – little does she know that this is all a farce! She is not to blame, for I too was the same! I looked out the window again, and this time I saw myself…..

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I was in college when I met him- we used to board the same bus, even though I got down before him. I started noticing him since the day he helped a poor old lady onto the bus- a touch of gallantry and kindness that appealed to me at that impressionable age. It wasn’t long before our nods of acknowledgement grew into smiles – and once a word was spoken, it was impossible to limit them. I started spending a longer time before the mirror every morning, and then had to hurry to reach the bus stop early – those few moments of conversation snatched from my otherwise monotonous life made my days. It was a very small step from friendship to love, and finally, when he proposed, I was so happy I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time!

I should say this for his sake – he was genuinely in love with me, in fact it was a bit overwhelming. I lived in this bubble of beauty and happiness for a week when things took a turn for the worse. Initially, I had appreciated his concern over my affairs, but when he started making decisions for me, setting taboos on whom to speak to and not, I was annoyed. Our times together were now entirely spent on blames and excuses. He grew more jealous and I more defiant until we could no longer tolerate each other. However, things would have sorted out with time- if I hadn’t realised that the bubble he made for me was crafted from a pack of lies. He had lied to me about his education, means and his family- for fear that I would shun him for his lesser means- I don’t know if my love was strong enough to overcome any such objections on his part, but these lies made me lose trust in him. Finally, during a particularly angry meeting, I asked him to clear out of my life for over – ‘Whatever it was between us, it is over!’ – these were my parting words.

For a few days, he hung around the bus stop, for an opportunity to talk to me – but I wasn’t giving him a chance. I, too, was not my normal self – when the bubble has burst it had drained me of whatever happiness I had. Days went on to weeks and months, until I graduated from college. They say there is nothing that time cannot heal – that was true in my case too. My days were back to normal and I had landed a job at another state- which would further reduce my chances of coming into contact with him.

I saw him next when I came home for a few days. He caught up with me on my way home, from the bus stop. With pleading eyes, he asked me to give him another chance, but I was adamant. To end things quickly, and to avoid further meetings, I lied that I had found someone else – someone who was much better than him, and was planning to marry him. The plea in his eyes vanished, and his deep eyes took on an expression I could not fathom – was it love, which had turned to hate?  I hurried home....

Somehow, call it a woman’s instinct, I was afraid.

On the day of my return, I found him waiting for me at the same place. I averted my eyes, indicating hat I wasn’t interested in a conversation, but he had another objective in mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him uncork a flask and throw something at me- the sudden heat and pain that I felt – as if my flesh was melting around me- blotted out everything else from my view. I woke up at the hospital bed- yet another victim of the acid attack- and they call this Love!

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Immersed in my bitter reflections, I hadn’t noticed the other people in my ward. Now that my self introspection was complete, and disillusionment was staring at my face, I thought about my fellow patients. There was a good looking girl in the next bed. She had been asleep when I saw her last. Now, she had woken up and her parents were on either side of her. Her mother was crying uncontrollably, and her father was sitting with a shocked expression on his face. The girl, too, was crying…. ‘Why?’, the mother was asking, ‘Why did you do this? We would have agreed in the end! Have we ever stood against any wish of yours?’

The girl replied,’ When you forbade me to see him, I saw no other way out! I cannot forget him’, and went into a crying fit.

I understood the situation- the stupid girl had tried to commit suicide for love- here was another victim of the mighty Love! Had she succeeded, Love would have added another name to its list of losers…I saw the father lean forward and say, ‘Anything you want! It is always your well being that was our prime concern’. In his eyes, I saw Love – Love that was capable of letting go! It made me realise that though we often mistake love to be a monopoly of the young, something that occupies a brief stretch of time and moves on – rarely do we realise that love is forever prevalent, shaping our lives, till our death.

My attention was caught by the sounds from a bed on the opposite side. The doctors and nurses had rushed in and were trying to do all they could for a frail old lady - she was finding it more and more difficult to breathe- an old man, her husband, was staring helplessly as the doctors and nurses worked against fate- but as always, fate had the final laugh! The woman stopped suffering and the noises died away instantly- to be filled with a meaningful silence. This is the worst about a hospital ward, you see death up close, more close than you ever have and ever wish to. I looked at the old man, who was leaning against the wall as if he had lost the power to stand upright. Very slowly, he limped forward, and took her hand in his. Planting a teary kiss on her forehead, he closed her eyes – it was Goodbye. For the first time, I realised that Love exists – not only in the shape of the fiery fiend that had ruined the life of many, but also as the bond that makes life worth living. The old man, with his time tested love, showed me love that doesn’t let go….that goes even beyond death……

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Epilogue

I had recuperated as much as possible – the days in the hospital had made me witness many separations, reunions – had shown me the difference between affection and affectation. I had seen the loving glow in the face of a mother, kissing her new born – pure love, mixed with strength and security. I had seen people fighting illnesses to get back to their loved ones, brooding parents, loving husbands, affectionate children, caring wives….. My own parents were the sole reason for my recovery, if you could call it a recovery!

I still felt the pain, I still felt angry at myself for bringing this on me – but I had changed. I was still wary of love, but I acknowledge its existence.  I realise it is no use being either a hopeless romantic or a disillusioned cynic- my tale of woe did not mean that all the love in the world is a farce- love is everywhere, waiting to be found, in the most likely and unlikely of places- acknowledged and ignored…

Love is not just the beginning or the end; it extends before the beginning and continues after the end.

Today, my pain had eased, but I know I am scarred for life – physically and emotionally. I also know this – I do not want to see him anymore, but I do not wish him ill luck, I do not seek revenge, neither do I wish anyone else to avenge….

 I forgive him - as, to me, that, too, is Love!

The End