Which idiot said that love was ever going to be easy? Or understandable? Or capable of being slotted into pretty candytuft categories? Love is so real that it hurts with a pinch and so pungent that it can be elixir or poison.
You can lie in noisy corners, fearing the worst, hoping for miracles and all your loving, hating and loathing points in the general direction of love.
Ships that have sailed now have left behind harsh footprints that cannot be wiped off from the sand no matter how hard I try. I can’t wear the wind to shield myself from life, but that’s exactly what I am doing, dressing up moments in shades of violets and roses, giving them names to make them feel more ‘mine’ but in the end, one day, I will open my eyes and it would all have gone away. As moments always do. As people always do.
And then I smile, because I remember that all of this is one great carnival called life. It’s my carnival. I bought the tickets to the rides that rile me, pump my adrenaline, make me laugh, make me cry; sometimes even make me think that I’m going to die. But I like this illusion; it feels very…real.
I’m not wounded, despondent or agitated. I’m only stuck in the wonderment of the absurdity of it all. Where does it all end? What does it mean? Is what we get, that which we truly desire or do we learn to desire what comes our way?
Is it really possible to love without wanting possession of it all? Without needing to have a social security number that comes with a relationship? That’s what it is, right? A social security number, two people fall in love, hormones get going, then they start making these happy public appearances and that becomes their combined social security code. One of them breaks it and both suffer for it and thus the complicated urban dating ritual.
That’s what its become, love – a complicated urban phenomenon. Do we even care anymore to know if what we feel is an emotion that comes from some strange part of our heart or the heat from a definite part of between our legs or an unexplained need to belong. We call all of this and more just one four-letter word, and it doesn’t matter if that word is ‘love’ or ‘fuck’.
8 comments:
dear rochie ,i need urgent colour therapy session from u for my mother ,she s critical,my e mail id is dishaj53@gmail.com
please give me a reply soon ,it will be great if u will give me your phone number.
very nice
nice one
good............
good...............
I know u wrote this ages ago, and I also know tht u hold on to parts of it still, though in parts you have let go, the voice tht I have never heard tells me this from the words that I read... and the words that I read do distinguish between love and fuck.. or may be I am wrong... I dont think so though... When u long to believe.. just remember, u still hv it in u to get hurt, we all do, we all want to take a chance deep inside us, even when we are tired of it all...cynicism doesnt even begin to define the hurt, and yet... give yourself a chance... be bound so u can be free, b free so u can belong... best of love and luck :)And I am sorry if I have over-stepped my bounds are a stranger..I guess today is just one such day :)
Dear Rochie
I need to ask u something
Please reply me
ankita17gupta@gmail.com
Please
crap! life is too precious & a special one as u r as good always as u were,even better, its just matter of time & ppl realize it soon after they think like that & even sooner if living in America :)
Bless u!
U Rock,
Vik
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