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…