Hope

"The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned [from Crete] had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their place, insomuch that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same."

As the time slipped away, and moments, one by one carved their way toward infinity… as decayed timber, broken images, and withered underfed impressions were replaced, as sight of one shore was bartered for anticipation of the other, as we, and the ships were reconstructed part by part… something more than the structure, less tangible but more perceptible also changed. The necessity to exist, and its relevance with the reason, widened up to a point where it all became insignificant. And then there was nothing but a small black dot marking the end of journey. Deathbed; you have finally reached the other shore.

What if all the planks and images and impressions could be gathered and used to build a second ship, or the second you; the new, the older, the earliest of you? Would you recognize him?  

………….

Quite often I think about my grandma. How when reminiscing, her wrinkled face would lighten up, and then within a span of few minutes, how that broken smile would evaporate… unforgiving facts always resurfacing, trials becoming more visible and more unsettling every time. When my father passed away last year, she would fondly talk about his childhood, how good he was in school, what food he liked, how early in his life he started working… difficult to calm her down then; and to contain her tears.  Some day she would talk about her husband… With a twinkle in her eyes, she once told us, ‘tumhara dada mujhe kuch kaam karne nahin dete they, sab khud karna hota tha unhein…’. And then she went quiet, lost in nothing but recollections and endless voids.

Parents, husband, siblings, son…

What is our capacity to lose?

Is there a limit?

………….

‘My breaking point is fast approaching…I am there, it is here.

I will not rise again.’

I might not know it all, but I do, that you have been hurt. Your trust broken, trounced by insensitive and inconsiderate mediocrity around. I say this because we are connected in ways difficult to verbalize, but so strong that I can almost tell every time when something goes wrong with you. There is nothing more important than your happiness, an expression I can and do revisit several times, every single day. My idiocy, my eyes, pearls, smile, short hair… my singing, this blog… devoted so naturally to make you smile. And when you do, my world lightens up. When Kafka mentions endless togetherness, without interruption, and a grave to clasp and hide… I think about you. Rumi’s sleepless night, and Faiz’s night of union, and hundreds of other lyrical illustrations… they all come to life when you are close to me. As Hafiz had foreseen, I find myself asking today… how can I be more kind, how can I love more.

You don’t feel like talking, and you are exhausted…but all I want you to know is that I really love you. That you are a beautiful, beautiful person, who knows how to love, and to respect relationships. That yes your experiences have shown you the other side of it, but you deserve all the affection all the love. Because this is what you give out to the world.

I do not want you to be, but even if you are going down, I still wish to be with you. As what we have created together, I believe in all my sanity, has that strength to bring us up again.

No matter how much time it takes, it will bring us up again.

I miss you tonight.