Love Traps – 4
Ever tried turning a normal stuff into sinister, a benign concern into treachery, a pure love into hatred, may be pogrom?
People do it, everyday, everytime, everywhere, and assert that they are right. Of course, they are – things you do – and if you can defend them, they are right, and you righteous.
But what does the whole essence of whole business of whole life remain then? We take birth, we make birth, and we are gone. Just like that. Mechanical. Robotic. He came, he saw, he went. Why did he come here? To make children, or to make a living, or to make a relation, or to make money, or name, or fame, or home…what? What did he come for? Nothing stays, neither he, nor his creations, his assortments. Nothing. What does he endeavor for then? The whole business looks like a game of puppet. Where the control of our master chip is in someone else’s hands. And we just act; just move here-there-here-there. Who is the director of this play? Who…God? He is the one who makes us feel what we feel, makes us dread what we are scared of, make us want what we desire? He is the controller of my life; my world; my desires. Foolish. Who gave him these rights, these powers? Is there a bigger God than him? And then another big one…then another…then another…and another. Does it stop anywhere? No, not at all.
So, much to my chagrin, I deny the existence of any God.
So, much to my ease, I tend to breach the laws, the codes of morality, ethics, principles and all the bullshit.
So, much to my delight, I live life without any logics, rationalities, expectations, planning. Only on impulse, by whim.
Now, back to my question, did you ever try going beyond the fences, trespassing the boundaries, breaking your image that people have in their heads?
I did. Last night. When I asked her about love. “Is it flat or circular?”
Oh, love again. Can’t you think of any other thing? Who….me? why should I think of anything else…why…when this is intriguing me for…I don’t know how many days…one problem at a time…one…single…the lesser the easier…only one at a time…I will solve love first…then my life…then the world. But first, love. I know she will help me, she has to, who else will if not she…who?
“Certainly not flat. It has many ripples, many ups-and-downs. Can’t be flat. Circular…no. Love can’t be circumscribed. No boundaries please.”
And she chuckles; her benign smile that can alter the course of stars, dripping down from her eyes, in small droplets, held at the edge, between the flickering lashes, glued with kajal and dreams, ready to fall, and then a moment later…air-borne, flowing in the air, her smile flying without wings, by the sheer force of love, of hope, of a life after this moment, of intimacy beyond this distance; fixes her eyes that held several questions onto mine, and incites the dormant passions.
I move towards her…closer and closer…Love is no geometry, it is chemistry. I understand the basic principles in her arms. Here remains no complexity, no weird equations, no rationalities, nothing…only me and her and love…fixed to each other…clung to each other…lost.
She is the panacea I was in search for so long. She is the home, my home.
It is a mistake. Love itself is a mistake. It hides the reality, the cruelty of the real world, real people, real adversaries, and preens the world around us with white, snow white, bridal dreams and fictions. Love is an escape.
“Only love is real, rest is a fallacy.” She murmurs, half asleep.
It’s a strange thing. She is so real, so close, so mine that nothing else seems to be true but only she, yet there lurks a strange notion of discomfort…what if everything turns out to be a dream and…no, it can not be like this. It has to be the truth. It has to be.
Love makes you belligerent…eh?
But sometimes love makes you weak instead. What do you do then when you find no strength to face off the brutal world? Where do you retreat: recluse, solitude, dark, or death? Suicide…hmm?
No way, it’s the greatest cowardice…Why? When I have a right to live, don’t I have a right to die? It’s my life after all…No, the life is precious, you can’t chuck off something precious just like this…why not? I own it. I can make it, I can break it…stupid, once you have broken it, you can never un-break it. You are free, but not as much as to end you freedom. You die, you end everything. Even your freedom to love…Stop it. Don’t preach me. I have had enough of you all.
Death is not free. You can desire it; you can’t claim it.
Love is not free. You can desire it; you can’t claim it.
May be a constant struggle to make things our way. “Isn’t it darling?”
“We will make it…will make it together. Come here…” And she slips into slumber.