Being an apprentice designer, I have lot of scope to allow my emotions to flow through me, to sit down and dig into my heart and analyze and realize and come up with my own theories and look at the world in a much wiser outlook everyday.
I have recently been illustrating poems on love. I was hence, reliving all the impulses that have once traveled through me, some which bounced, some which I turned away wisely, some which I longed for and allowed dreams to take over and some which trickled unknowingly to make its own beautiful story.
Well, and that makes me feel so bouncy today and thought must use this opportunity to fill my emotional container or this blog.
I yet do not know how infatuations, love and lust are distinctly separate. For me it has always been a difference in time. Yesterday’s love that allowed me to talk to winds, and whisper to rivers does seem a silly infatuation today. But that moment was true, so is this and its not really a justice to evaluate a moment with yesterday’s mind re-judging with this.
And like everyone feels, they are very unique than others, I too like to flatter myself with this hypothesis. I was fond of Sharat Chandra’s novels at an early age and perhaps that soft influence acting together with my being very emotional and at the same time having a knack to analyze everything bit by bit to its finest form, caused me to have developed different rapport with this emotion.
I live more within my world than this and that gives me so much scope to analyze things better and at the end of the day laugh out loud realizing ‘When you know yourself, you know the world.’
Falling in love too many times gains you the bad name of being a pervert and not falling in love at all frustrates so much that you look for alternatives and cling to it so hard that you tend to lose the softer aspects in life.
Well, I had my self-crafted way to deal with this emotion very diplomatically. I never needed a man. To know that I am loved by the one I wanted to be in love was just enough. All I needed was a voice to say, ‘dance’. And I danced. I danced with my perceptions increased high, I walked on the same path noticing every spec of dust assuming they have a secret message embedded and sometimes even forgotten which path I traveled in. I looked at the sky and admired its colours, I shivered even plucking a leaf thinking even they love me. My entire surrounding turned poetic resonating with a mysterious rhythm...and my interaction with the world kept me so busy that I never really felt the need of interacting with the man who caused it.
To let things happen practically, I like to be passive. It’s the Universe’s conspiracy to get hearts together. All I can do is open the door wide, keep it swinging partially or keep it closed till more trust thrusts in… to CAUSE anything is not my job anyway. But in any of these conditions I was at gain. Whether I opened the door to him or not I unhesitantly, opened it to my perceptions. I opened it wide enough to allow all the light to enter in bundles and get me bathed. I danced with new colours, new auras, new ‘urjas' bringing me closer and closer to the Universe every time. And the secret messages from the celestial world kept being whispered into my ears constantly making me so one with it.
All the poems that speak of trees turning greener and sky turning bluer when one is in love, I can undoubtedly agree to and not only appreciate as a poet’s hyperbole. I can so closely associate my experiences with the conversation in ‘Shesher Kobita’ by Tagore where Amit says to Labanya, ‘So far I had only known that birds sing, today I am realizing it.’
I have closely observed that the dual mind talked of in mediation becomes so prominent when in love. One part of the mind which observes and the other part which keeps wandering restlessly take different roles in love. One part engages in the daily activities trying to be very practical, discarding and suppressing the colour the new love has painted all over, and the other part is constantly painting. It splashes new colours over the large canvas of heart again and again and scribbles wildly with the large brush thick with paint and sometimes it drips out of the pallet and forms the glow that never lets one hide the secret of love.
And love for me is more of self-love. He has very little role otherwise except for donating his eyes. Eyes that so passionately looked at me even for a second, pupils dilated…though focused but lost, beyond the worries of outcome and clever tricks of love…outside the barrier of one’s self protecting ego and so strangely surrendered. So fixed, so haunting, so silent yet demanding! They can look through your own eyes, travel inside and break all the desire pots you thought you would never disclose.
I fix those eyes around me to inform my own eyes of all that things it can not see. It’s a new self discovery possessing the power to see oneself assuming as though being seen through an extra eye. And people in love if combs their hair in new ways everyday, adds colours to their outfit and watches the poetry in their steps are definitely not people seeking for more attention but catering to those silent eyes that they already carry with them.
I have never quite understood men’s way of love but I can confidently claim that a woman’s way of love consists a large part of the love for self. And perhaps that is why foreplay is more important to her where she can be flattered by the EXRESSING of love than simply MAKING it. And I often hear men assume so profoundly that the way a woman dresses is to excite a man. Not to generalize anything in this world full of varieties but I confidently believe all women carry a pair of the silent, extra eyes that make them so artful. A male’s assumptions to think himself as the target all the time and to claim sometimes that she provoked and so I forced seems so baseless. It could be that you assumed her extra eyes to have been yours but alas for her you never even existed in the game.