Not too long ago, I was, supposedly, naïve in this world. But, see me today, or rather experience me; I am a grown up kid. Learned through the labyrinth of life and grown like a haggard tree with its roots rotten and trunk as intact as modern virgins. Virgins! Sounds offending? Perhaps, it is though. But there remains the catch. Dare to say what people, slyly, wish to listen; and you are through. It’s not insertional virginity I am talking about. I have something bigger in value and volume – Love. Is Love virgin? If not, then who raped it? Probably, Love itself?
You couldn’t believe that? Well… I have a true story for you.
There was a man insanely in Love with a beautiful woman. Beautiful – this adjective might not seem absolute and up to some extent relevant too; but Love makes its victims feel in such a way. You Love and your other half would instantly become “the best” in the whole world incomparable to anything, to anyone. They went on smoothly, tacitly. Nothing was said, nothing was verbalized yet everything was heard, read and seen. They both had a past alone and a future together. Apparently, they had accepted it that way. No one implied any change, neither did they enforce any – but deep down they did wish, they did expect an expectation to rebuild the past, to erase all err, to rewrite their “last four years” in which no man could cross her way, neither could any ‘femme fatale’ his. But, if this course were such an easy task, history would have many more faces than it has today. So they condoned facetiously. But trials went on surreptitiously. However, the chastity of the newly discovered Love could not discover the potency to inflict anything. And similarly though the archaic definition of Love had told them to accept things without trying to change. If they did, Love would run the risk of being named as ‘business’. And business could be anything; certainly not Love. So they kept this blasphemous desire veiled, hidden and concealed, though running.
Then one fine evening, this boy heard about her off-the-line escapades. That too unconsciously and implicitly. She mentioned nothing, but he heard everything. Here, then, all the fallacies went toppled, smashed off from the peak. The Love, the so long “chaste Love” went naked. All unchaste, untouchable, un-talk-able, unconceivable among the vultures as he left the way traveled till very recently. He refrained from seeing her anymore. What happened so suddenly? Rape! Yes, his Love was raped – furiously and grittily and abruptly.
Rape is not a real substance just as Love isn’t. One doesn’t rape virginity; one rapes the idea of virginity which is nothing but a myth of purity. In this world where nothing is pure, nothing is unbroken, how come something like sex be termed as divine. Take, for example, a fresh news-paper; as soon as it comes out someone buys and leafs all through it – in other words, someone rapes it. Once done, it is left abandoned, but still useful for someone else whom it can teach something new, something fresh. So, rape doesn’t destroy its integrity. I read it somewhere, precisely in some bio-evolutionary analysis paper of rape that considered it as a phenomenon to inflict manly superiority, that women who are raped do not confront the fear of violence or of unwanted forceful sex but of losing the trust of her would-be. And trust is not a real substance; it’s a myth. So rape does nothing but breaks a myth. It’s not that I am advocating rape; it’s just the idea that accompanies with it sympathy and pity I am standing against of.
Since, Love is a myth, and myths are broken only by myths, Love can rape Love. Love can break Love. The slightest idea that she had a past with some upfront, extravagant episodes was enough to perish long nurtured Love. And it happened to that boy.
Love is a strange concept. I can call it a concept because I don’t see it real. Take, for example, Newton’s mechanics laws. He explored the world as he saw it; and until Einstein came we all considered his voyage authentic. But what happened later, everyone knows. Newton’s vision was parochial. Not full-and-content for every possible possibilities. His theory held correct for bigger objects, or say, stuffs at the higher plane, but went futile for smaller ones – stuffs at the more naked level. Similar happens with Love too. Until you consider it superficially each theory of past written or unwritten continues; as soon as you see it through fences it lays naked vulnerable to any pithy or any vague argument thrown against it.
Love is an evolutionary emotion that emerges after loads of trials-and-errors. You frame imagery and expect everything to fall onto exactly in the way you have thought. But, then with conditions and presumptions and prejudices, love makes its own path; and you start falling instead. Then comes your ego, taking over to the podium. Then some writhes, then some politics and then, eventually, its ‘Demise’. Love never retains at end. Because love simple can’t. Any idea – outcome of an evolution – is vulnerable to possible future proliferations and ramifications. As soon as it happens to grow, it leaves the ground where you stay for long and long and even longer alone and forsaken.
Love is a thought, as enigmatic and as contaminated as a girl claiming herself virgin. But the rubbles behind her clearly show the mental rapes she had gone through. No thought is absolute and hence not chaste. Love too is un-intact since its very conception. It is its friend; it is its foe.
Today, I am through it and am able to distinguish it from all other different feelings that keep coming to me every once a while. Love, if nothing less, had helped me to grow, however haggard the growth might be, beyond the normal lay-mans’ routine above the daily mundane chores. As they say, a story of one man is the story of all humans. My story too is yours, and of your second half, and of the whole human race, and of Love! Of Course…