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हम हैं ना

 

I do not use that word – love (too misunderstood, damned, and misused). However, err not. Being an aspirational member of Dumbledore’s Army, and a lifelong adherent of the Swanson Code – ‘If you don’t believe in love, what’s the point of living?’ – it is just the word with which I have issues, not what it is supposed to convey. (Again, I do not mean what people generally use it to convey – desire, or want, or all the ‘ships’ being shipped nowadays.) Also, I won’t tell you how I would define love – because I would not! Some things – law, life, love, duty – are निभाने के लिए (I could not better convey it in this language). These are borne by acceptance, dedication and devotion, not by definition. As it is, the very challenge is to seek (or come across most unexpectedly) a person for whom the soul instinctively and effortlessly scooches to make space, as if it always belonged to them (and you never knew that the said space existed before you met them).

Chalo! What was this supposed to be about? Yes – the content of ‘love’ (because you won’t take another word for it) beyond selfish wants. One way it appears is in the form of a desire for self-improvement. When the soul moves to scooch, it looks around. It finds how you’ve been keeping yourself in a dark and dingy space. The soul rebels – Have I been living here! It exhorts – (Mohit Chauhan sings it better) यहाँ रहने आएगी, दिल सजा लूँ, मैं ख़्वाब थोड़े से बुन लूँ…Your cynicism, indolence, and apathy; your explosive anger, fruitless drama, and general insolence – all your ills become visible to you (magnified). You have been living in it for long, but scooching shook your existence, and opened your eyes to your reality. You stare at yourself in disgust – this is not where I’ll let my loved ones reside. You clean, and clean, and clean. And you feel better (love, hence, returns your sanity). This, I feel, is the first response – an internal revolution. This undictated and internal will to improve is the first proof.

And what else? A lot! But I won’t say all that here. Somethings are too precious to express. Rather, expression is a tricky thing. Somethings are for anyone, some for most we know, others for a close few, and then there’s an immeasurable ton for one for whom we instinctively scooch – for whom we wish to constantly say - हम हैं ना…

 

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