Back today after a week-long trip.
I am feeling so much, and my handwriting is a reflection of what my mind and body feel.
It is slow, deliberate, not afraid to linger on, stare, lean in in the moment.
Not trying to run away.
How is it that love happens?
Why does it happen?
With whom?
Does it happen with different people at different times?
Or, it is it flowing constantly, and we are too scared to touch it?
And then, given that our default setting is love, we end up replacing it with hate.
Once we take that bullet train, moment-to-moment awareness of love is no longer strong enough.
Then comes fear. At each passing station that just zipped by, we ask, who can give me all the love I have lost?
So we hate more, mostly directed inwards, sometimes dressing it up like love, at other times, wholeheartedly leaning into the fire of it all.
And in that moment, we get separated, lonely, I guess.
But hey, we accumulate. A bank balance that ding ding dings with Hatecoin.
We earn it for every hurtful transaction we do with ourselves and others.
We even buy subscriptions to pleasing others, worrying, double-checking every word and action ( in real time ), which we renew with the discipline of an Olympian.
And every now and then, when the bank balance starts choking us, we travel.
Far, away from self and in search of those who understand the whole business and have a balance to match.
And when we meet them, there breaks a smile deep within us.
Doesn’t dare to reach our lips and words, though, not yet.
We then try to find ways to reach out. From afar initially, as if a child standing behind his ma, looking at the other child who is standing behind is ma too.
We wait, then something happens, and the stilted “hi, hello, I am “XYZ” and you?” happens.
Before you know it, they are sharing their truths with the recklessness of a drunk.
But you know, this doesn't come cheap.
Each smile, now visible, will cost you your Hatecoins.
Till you are ready to splurge your balance of pain and fear, they ain’t getting in the business of love with you.
So you do.
They share stories, so do you.
Funny, warm, sad, angry, different complexions, but all share something.
Each story reveals a kernel of truth, wrapped in an oversized coat of these stories.
They share truth, so do you.
At some point, the kernel fits the coat, then tears it apart.
Then, we love.
Not any variety of love, but unique versions of it with multiple people and their multiple versions all at once.
And it comes gushing out.
Each voice they stifled (or was stifled).
Life experiences that were sharp enough to scar them so much that scars are all you see.
But now you love them, the bank balance is dwindling.
And at some point, you end up falling madly in love with yourself, for a few moments at least.
In the last 4-5 days, it happened to me.
I managed to deplete my balance of hate, for now, anyway.
To each one of you, the physical space we shared, your words that you gifted like Naani used to give “kharchi” ( a crumpled 5 rupee note she kept hidden in a wallet close to her chest ), to Bijlee and Shea, and the truths we filled that place with.
May our bank balances stay red for the time being.
When you see the balance stacking up, tell us a story.
