A Thing of The Past

The other day, I was going through a piece by Lang Leav on ‘Lost things’, and after reading it, I started to think about all the people who were once very special to me, but are much like strangers today, or mere acquaintances. This thought made me uneasy. It’s like someone is the most important person in your life, someone you can’t imagine your life without, and then, gradually, due to certain circumstances or just indifference—with the passage of time—they lose their worth in your life and then, maybe five years later, when you come across a memory of them—an old photograph, or a souvenir they brought for you from their vacation abroad, or a letter or e-mail they wrote when you mattered, brings back all the memories in a flash of a second, and you begin thinking what was the main cause for the distance that prevails between you two now, and at most times, you can’t think of one substantial reason or event that triggered the parting. It seems more like a gradual decay, some little germ that once found a prospective cavity in the apparently insignificant tooth, and then went on eating it up till the whole of it was completely devoured, leaving behind a black spot, and making you wonder what was it that brought the germ in the very first place.

The germ may vary for different cavities. Sometimes you offend the person and their self-respect is too much of a hindrance to grant you forgiveness, sometimes you are too tired of trying to keep things going smooth, and after failing in your attempts to pull together all the pieces of your relationship, you decide to let go, with however a heavy heart, and the other person is too occupied with other stuff to have realized it; and sometimes it just happens that you meet new friends, and, unable to manage your time between the new and the old, you unconsciously ignore the latter, giving them an impression that you no longer need them, and by the time you are able to learn to manage, it’s too late and you aren't left with much to manage really.

Then another thought struck me, there are also people who I have known for a very long time, who are still as good as they ever were, and if there’s any change in my equation with them, it has only made it stronger.

So what is it exactly that differentiates the two categories? If I were witty enough to be able to decipher that, I guess things would have been different and I wouldn't be feeling all nostalgic right now and that nostalgia wouldn't be driving me to write this piece.

But still, it’s my rough guess, by analysis of my experience, that it is a matter of mutual desire and compatibility that keeps a relationship going or makes it a thing of the past. It is not a one sided effort, altogether, though you might have to put in some extra sweat at times or just not be an over-thinker and let things be the way they are for a while, it’s also about knowing how much to hold on and when to let go. It’s about discussing these limits with your friends and updating them frequently. It’s about sharing how you felt about something the other person did and giving them a chance to justify, or apologize. And most of all, it’s about forgiveness. For I read the following quote on the internet once:

 ‘A wise man will make haste to forgive because he knows the true value of time and will not suffer it to pass away in unnecessary pain.’

—Samuel Johnson

To sum it up, the best idea would probably be to apologize for your faults without a second thought and forgive those of the people you love. Because if you take too much time juggling between the possibility of holding on and letting go, then, by the time you arrive at a decision, you might not be left with a decision to make, and all you will be left with is that black spot—and memories that will make you nostalgic, or perhaps regretful.

You might be wondering what triggered these thoughts in my mind. So here's for you, 'Lost Things' by Lang Leav. 

Maa

She asked her daughter, “What do you want to become when you grow up?”

“I want to become a rich man so that one day I could come here and buy you, so that you wouldn't have to lie to me and cry at night.”

Shital was dumbstruck. She always thought she was being successful in hiding her sorrows from her daughter. During the day, she used to tell her, these rich men were very sad and they took an appointment from her to tell her their sad stories, and after the counselling session was over, they paid her the consultancy.

Nidhi was 9, and Shital never wanted her daughter to know about the hideous truth of her life. She knew that her background would affect her daughter’s confidence, and performance in school.

She was herself 14 when she had been kidnapped and brought here. Initially, she was kept in a closed room with only one window, and the window had bars, like those in prison cells. It was a bad phase, painful and disgusting. She couldn’t live, and she couldn’t die, for death was a luxury for those whose life was their own.

They say it’s a trait of human race to learn to adapt to their surroundings. Shital, too learned the survival skills, and gradually got ‘promoted’ in her job. She had realized that it was her destiny. And she could either live it or lament over it.

Her daughter would never see this side of her, was her decision. She would work all day and cry all night. But that smile would never waive off her face in the vicinity of her daughter. Nidhi had to be made felt that her family was a happy family, no matter what the reality was.

Sometimes she thought that she was better than those women with apparently happy households. At least these men weren’t wearing any masks before her. At least they weren’t lying to her or trying to flatter her to get what they wanted. They could just ask for it and get it and then pay and leave. It was that simple. She wasn’t one of those unlucky women whose husband cheated on her with another woman or who had to keep calling her boyfriend every half an hour to check on him.

“Maa?” The voice of her daughter snapped her out of her thoughts.

“You’re a strong girl. And you’ll become a very brave man.” She told her daughter and nuzzled her to sleep.

Soulmates

Sometimes, when you feel like you’re in love, look up, close your eyes, they say. But the first person who comes to your mind is the person you were already thinking about. It’s not a fool-proof method of finding out if you love someone, it’s a psychological phenomenon, for that person is already on your mind. And mind and ‘heart’ are separate entities(though scientifically it's the brain that is responsible for the release of dopamine, too and the heart just pumps blood; but let'sjust stick to the conventional idea for now).

What is love—or who is our soulmate, then?

That would be a subjective answer. Someone might want a person who understands even their silence. Someone else might want to be pampered all the time. And there may be another person's dream to just be Ranbir kapoor's. :D

But we then forget what kind of a person we're going to be. I mean, we have a checklist for judging our perfect partner, but where goes the self introspection? Are we're too confident to think about that?

It then sounds more like reality that soulmates are not really made in heaven, but develop their soulmate-ness over a period of time, i.e. by spending time together, by sharing their feelings with each when required and learning to decipher the silence between them, at other times. Maybe Adam and Eve would have been Adam and Stella, and, Eve and Marc if the other two existed at their time.

Nobody’s perfect. And nobody can ever be. Even the figure of god has its own set of flaws. And perfect’s boring. There should always be some room for improvement; and change, which perfect would be too perfect to be able to accommodate, right? 

And hello! Soulmates aren't compulsarily the  people you marry. It can be your mom, or your daughter, or your best friend.
 Let's just break the stereotype. Can we?

Stranger.

We didn’t know each other, just two strangers sharing a room with ten other people, and kids.

She and I never shared our personal lives, or stories form the past. We just liked the craziness in each other— perhaps that was what made us feel connected. She asked me, “Were you always that quirky, or you've just turned so, recently?” I didn't know. I didn't even know if I could be called quirky at all. All I knew was that I wanted to stay happy, feel happy, look happy, think happy, talk happy. Happy was the only thing that could overcome that soul-devouring feeling of gloom and—heartbreak. Happy was the only thing that could make you feel less dead, more alive.

When I told her that just ignoring all that I don’t like to see or hear or think about was the reason how I could smile all the time, she looked into my eyes, and smiled. “You carry a load of grief in there”, she said then, pointing towards the two black wells, surrounded by ice-covered fields.

My words could lie, my eyes could not. I wanted to hug her, but just managed to smile.

Sometimes you're too vulnerable to a stranger.