Date: 9/6/2012 6:26:00 PM
The only comment I got on my post, Haunting, was that it was impossible to understand my chamatkaarwaad, and it did nothing for the reader. And that was certainly true for many a entries on this blog. But this entry, like a few more, was simply a memory.
I saw a scene in a song, and it triggered a few memories. And I jotted them, as is. The reality that felt fake must be very strange. Or so I thought when I saw that comment. But then, I think it is because we, I, have been leading a fake life – or at least a life which did not have a single reality. Multiplicity of realities is real, not just a trait of “literature”.
Or maybe the life was plain fake. Long time back, when I was 13-odd years old, papa looked at my janmpatri and at the lines on my palm, and said that I would never by happily married, never be happy in love – because I would look for the perfect love, the kind that does not exist. I did not believe him then, obviously there is perfect love – the love that we had for each other mom and papa and my kid sis and me. Obviously, love has to perfect. There is no other love.
The love that I remember in those lines wasn’t perfect. I knew she did not trust me as much as I trusted her. I knew she did not want to introduce me to the people that really mattered to her. And, people who really mattered to me did not like her one bit. But I made myself believe that it will last forever, that it will become perfect – slowly, steadily. That it takes time to earn trust, and once that is earned love is perfect. I wanted her to be free, and she felt that I was pushing my beliefs on her, that she had no elbow space.
I suppose, believing that it was perfect turned it into fake. Or maybe it was perfect and imperfect at the same time. It must have been perfect, that is why it still haunts me – it makes it impossible for me to interact with the world around me. It makes me seem fake. Unreal.
Woh mudaten hui hain kisi se juda hue,
Lekin ye dil ki aag abhi tak bujhi nahin.