The culmination of an article is a slow metamorphosis of thoughts, of actions observed and emotions withheld. Writing has never been a religious exercise that demanded certain words and pages at specific time intervals.Rather, it has been more like the end product of a thought that has lingered in my minds eye and is now ready to have a delivery.
We have managed to further decode the ‘once-indivisible’ atom, on the path to find a cure for AIDS and would probably colonise the Moon and Mars in a short while.However, what has defeated thinkers, philosophers, artists, writers, poets and even ordinary ,mere mortals is the whole paraphernalia around love.To this date, people have been defeated in their quest for the questions that a broken heart leaves us with. We may pioneer in the field of genetic engineering and astrophysics, but the questions about love and longing, and the million other subsidiary emotions it evokes are still awaiting answers.
And one of the most famous yet under-researched area is the domain of unrequited love !I believe ,we humans, have a certain degree of perverse liking for misery and pain. Before you jump into defence, the perversion probably exists in the abyss of your subconscious! The quest for love at impossible place, amongst impenetrable hearts is probably a search everyone embarks on. And yet I wonder, what is it that attracts us like bees to damnation? is it the thrill of conquering the near impossible? Is the lust for the improbable a disguise of the self to elevate the esteem? or is it some kind of hormonal high that makes it such a malaise?
The glorification of unrequited love, immortalized by popular media ,classical books and motion pictures provide a source of identification; a feeling of oneness in the experience of loss and longing. And even though it is mostly observed amongst adolescents and termed as ‘juvenile euphoria’ or a ‘crush’, it definitely can be manifested at any age. And with age, the longings can only grow deeper and darker.
to be aware that one’s pursuit for love is an exercise in futility can be self defeating.and yet, the colour of unrequited pain is not ordinary ,pale grey. the shades of such love can vary from pinkish grey ,to rosy grey and eve a vibrant glittery gray. The grief can seem surreal because the mourning is for the loss of love which was never possessed in the first place.And as realization dawns, a small part of innocence dies. The innocence that believes in true love and forever-after sheds a little skin and is replaced by worldy wise knowledge . As one learns to finally let go off things and people , a new kind of realization dawns in.Letting go off is never easy, especially if that humble heart once leap (and still does) at the sight of the object of affection.Letting go is never easy if the deepest abyss of the mind still retains the pictures of hope you calculated in a moment of naive optimism.And yet, yet, yet, its time to let go.
Surrender ,probably , is the keyword.