“So this, too, was true of love: it could make us forget our own needs. It could make us strong even when the world was collapsing around us.”
As was tradition, I picked up a book at the Delhi airport and was immediately immersed in it. I’m pretty sure I hardly knew which flight I was even boarding — my nose was deeply buried in yet another feminist saga.
I needed this distraction. I needed to feel my power again as I got on to a flight I really did not want to take. Every step away from my better half pained me like a shard of glass in my foot. I didn’t want to go back to my cave when I could be whatever minimal source of comfort I could to someone I love so deeply it sometimes makes me insane. So I made sure I picked out a powerful book at one of Delhi Airport’s many bookshops. I needed my voice back. I needed my words back.
Much like the many faces of evil mythology tells us about, love rears its hundred heads to face us every day. We see all of them quite clearly — whether it is at the age of fifteen or at the age of ninety. Some ugly, some breathtakingly beautiful. Some bloody, some pure white.
I had had my share of bloody faces three years ago, but it was something I never wanted anyone I loved to ever go through. This grief — it’s decapitating. It renders you numb, maybe blissfully so, because when the pain comes, it comes in overwhelming waves. A tsunami.
I never wanted her to go through anything like this. Some people are so good, so deserving of everything good, that it is the height of unfair when grief of such magnitude walks into their lives.
I decided to name this article “On love”, but perhaps it must have been named “On grief”.
I guess where there is love, there is pain as well. There isn’t one without the other. This might just be one of the infinite bitter truths the world gives us. Silver platter, and all that.
Love makes you ache for people several miles away. It makes you ache in a way that makes their pain your own. It makes you want to pull the darkness out of them and harbor it within yourself so they wouldn’t have to. It makes you desperate to protect them from things you know for a fact you cannot. You cannot protect everyone you love. Another silver plattered bitter truth.
“So don’t cry for your love, cry tears of joy. Because you’re alive, cradled in love.”