Hundred hues of Love
Part One in the series ‘Tales from Travel’
One of the best things about travel is how it helps you discover new stories. Some stories that you are part of, some that you only see unfold. Then there are others that you experience through the people you meet.
On my last trip, I was literally sandwiched between one such story. On my right was a woman, likely in her sixties, and to my left was a bearded old gentleman. It took an hour, and a few exchanged gestures between them, for me to be certain that they were a couple.
I presumed that they must have erroneously checked-in into non-adjoining seats. So, in an attempt to be their knight in shining armour, I cleared my throat and gently offered to exchange seats with the lady. The woman uttered a rather raucous laugh and said, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. You see that’s how we like it. He prefers the window seat and I prefer the aisle.”
As the woman told me about her kids in Israel and their home in New York, food came in. That’s when the airlines staff realised they had no kosher food even though the couple had booked for it. The woman kept her calm and after a brief discussion, the chief steward said they could arrange for some cut fruits.
The gentleman hadn’t spoken a word yet and was peacefully engrossed in a movie. The woman called out, “Honey! They can give us fruits”. The old man smiled and gave a thumbs up, simultaneously jiggling his head jovially. I swallowed. It had been over two hours and the old man hadn’t uttered a word. Doesn’t require a math whiz to add that up. Cruel are the ways of the world, I thought.
Much later, when the old woman was away, the beverage guy came. He asked our preference. And as I looked at the old man with pitiful eyes, he announced, “Tea for me!”.
I was too surprised for words. Then I bowed with respect in my head. Our old man had cracked the formula to a perfect relationship.
When the wife is around, just keep quiet and smile.
Relationship wisdom in the air did not stop here.
Over the second leg of the journey, I met a middle aged Indian man who was heading to Greece via Istanbul. He drank and spoke tirelessly. He told me how he had married twice. And presently, he was on his way to meet his son from his first wife, who studied in London. ‘Life can be tough’, he said, but he made sure he took out time to bond with his son and never make him feel the pangs of his parent’s split.
Love changes form and shape. And it is beyond judgement.
Over the next couple of days, the little nuggets of love were lost in huge Walmarts, the towering skyscrapers and the teeming city crowds caught up in their busy lives. And I surely wasn’t looking for any such nuggets as I set foot into the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in Washington DC. The spacecrafts, and artefacts from lunar missions were amazing but, to be honest, my 10 year old self would have been way more excited there until I chanced upon this.
As I walked past a series of war scene depictions, some bloody engravings on bunker walls, my eye caught hold of this particular stone carving that was etched by a soldier destined to meet his end soon caught inside a bunker — a silent picture that told a tale of great love, and greater longing.
The next day brought me to New York, and it was fitting that my last encounter with a moving expression of companionship had to be at the majestic Central Park. The park, as a whole, is romance brought to life — the silent passion between couples holding hands, the mirthful laughter of families enjoying a day in the sun or paddling across the pretty lake.
And in the middle of these countless endearing stories, brimming with happiness and life, I walked onto this symbol of undying love.
Having lived my life in a country where park benches are either absent or bear the name of a politician in gaudy lettering, this simple declaration of love made that sunny afternoon a little more pleasant.
Love — etched in stone. carved over metal. immortalised in hearts.
We all have our metrics for love — some weigh it in passion, others measure it in time and some others have a scorecard for grand gestures. And often times, as it is with these things, we tend to forget that none of these definitions is absolutely right, and none downright wrong.
We complain of the rarity of the love we crave for, not realising that it was around all the time — hidden in a different veil, humming a new tune, and waiting for its warmth to be uncovered.
