once more the same thing
“No. This is wrong.”
“How can it be? Don’t look at this like just another girl. It’s not that. It’s another fight. Another battle. Do you think I should let it go, un-fought? Even though this is uncalled for. Even though this is weird. Or may be, psychotic.” He stuttered and looked around himself chasing a trickle of water flowing over the glass-pane of the window. It was raining for last two hours and still the clouds didn’t seem to have emptied their stomach even by an ounce. He moved his hands over the glass, feeling the coldness of it on his palm, then slightly pushed his index finger against it, and felt a sudden urge to feel her palm against his, she against him, and her beauty crossed his eyes that he shut so tightly as if not allowing even a single instance of her to pass by him and settle in the dust of past, instead he tried to get hold of it, which was his first and the biggest mistake. He never realized it, still in awe of the moment and her, he turned towards me and continued, “She is too sweet to resist. It’s like blood in veins, too necessary to run away from.”
“Do you love her?” I asked, putting my hands on his shoulder to support him during the imminent need of his. I knew it was nothing, nothing at least as significant as to make this much of fuss about. He was just obsessed with an idea. Obsessions are abstract. He was trying to close in to his obsession, his idea of love.
“It’s not like I want her. It’s just I can’t get out of her thoughts.”
“That’s what we all are. Aren’t we? It’s just…my foolishness is stuck to her…more precisely to a point, to an object that you are inveighing me this way. When you say you search for God, isn’t that idea also foolish…abstract? Who is God?”
Men! Men are such an animal.
“Forget about God. And truth. Just look into yourself. Where are you going?” It was my inner self that was speaking. Very slowly I had lost faith on men, and even more slowly I had lost faith on the notion of love. Don’t we make fool of ourselves when we claim our love to someone, what for? To own them? Or to belong to them? The basest need of men is a string to get attached to, a point they can belong to, and as soon as they are tied to a noose, they find their breathe chocking, and they want to get rid of it…only to get trapped in another noose.
Actually it’s nothing. They only want to assert themselves to life. So they take on newer fights. Each time with a newer cause. Holy…eh?
“There comes moments in one’s life when one starts living beyond the truths and lies, moral and immoral, ethical and unethical. He lives for just one desire of his. Call it anything you want – obsession, crush, passion. Or love. The mathematics remains the same.”
He was trying to philosophize his stance. Or may be his utter mess, that he had created during last few days, was giving him ideas. I didn’t know what to say. Such passions were tough to tame.
“May be it is just momentary. Nothing lasts forever. May be you should check your premise if you feel it so strongly. How come so suddenly it took you over?”
“Storms are always sudden my friend.” He gaped at me, held his look for a while, and then pointed his fingers at me, as if preaching me a sermon from his personal Bible, “It depends then on you whether you face it or save your face from it.”
Is it all noting but warfare? Chasing a girl is warfare. Pursuit of love is warfare…a fight…politics?
Is saving your face an act of cowardice?