How sad are we, really?

Tagore dared to write a long long time ago,

"আমার মতো সুখী কে আছে

আয় সখী আয় আমার কাছে"

Today, as the lovely evening wind hummed the song in my ears, the thought struck me. Oh well it’s all about Tagore. The man with such intense eyes can no doubt reach the daunting heights of such bold thoughts. I have been his loyal lover since time immemorial and even in times when adultery seems to be a pardonable offence, I am proud to keep my feelings for him unsullied. Then again love is such amazing thing. Like happiness it grows when we share it. We all have met love, haven’t we? We have come across it by peeping into a mother’s eyes, felt it in a father’s warm embrace or touched it through a lover’s intense kiss. And happiness, it is that precious thing we all wish to protect. Happiness is everywhere, intangible but in no way abstract.

“All the merry birds which sing
And enter into the sunny horizon
Fearless they are, of the fiery orange
they only wish to meet the sun”

The couplet brings to my mind a familiar vision. A common leisure I share with my friend is to observe these birds enjoying their flight in seemingly endless patterns. Delighted as they sound chirping through their aerial journey, often they strike a chord. They remind me of the wonderful people who surround me and mould my living. Friendship has been a constant companion. Though “change be thy name, woman” fits perfectly when it comes to me, my friends have never complained. They have loved me through my good and they have bore with me through my bad. As I upturn the different chapters of life now, there benevolence only touches me deeper and deeper.
Just then, as I’d feel the warmth of a growing radiance within me, a bird would fly away from the flock leaving behind a white trail of despondence over the cloud. A single odd bird, its sudden departure invites a creepy solitude. Have I felt it before? Of course I have. The nights that came following my brother’s demise still seem to be young and melancholic would be the adjective making an understatement to describe them. I won’t elucidate that further as the harrowing memories would then arrive to knock my heart’s chamber in no time. To sum up in a line I was sad then apart from being wounded. We all feel that way when a loved one is removed. And in spite of being poor comforters themselves, words are what the dead man leaves behind; words that shape up the memories to some yellow picture the mind finds easier to place in it. The lonely bird flies off to some unknown island where it was destined to travel. Often it loses its previous direction even without realizing. Fate always executes its operations unhindered and the other birds can only observe her loss for a few moments. The journey drags them forwards. Destiny, so be it.

“What pain was there in the last wind of night
that walked through my blurry eye sight?
It drank my tears in a thirst endless
and gave me strength through gentle caress.”

I was sad then, really. But how long could it linger? Life does stop for a moment when you stumble down on the way, only to help you get up and walk the remaining road. And in every little tremor with which the pathos arrive, one by one, we are offered latent realizations. The sky turns black to give us the bliss of rain. Even the plants let their flowers wither with a smile. The fruits grow in the loom and grass sways in a lush green. Finally a fall comes with a certain brown to wash away everything like yesterday’s lore leaving behind certain emptiness, coarse and dry. Nature teaches us through its vicious cycle to take the hand which stoops down to help us.

Once we were in disdain and then came the wind from the west, rich in the laughter of yesterday. It brought with it a wine and as I drenched myself in the dark red the voice in the air spoke. Bit by bit it recalled me of everything his presence has attached to me till then. Enthralled I was to live through that moment. How could I be sad anymore? I knew I was already walking.

In the many facets of life, we often pour our heart on many people. Some stay and some leave. Goodbyes were never easy to be spelled. Then again, if we were blinded every time by painful segregation, the beauty and lustre were surely to be missed. In the little time we are given to breathe, life stays honest to its virtue of keeping us happy. We are happy to spend silver nights of moonlit romance. We are happy to play with friends on a vast meadow on a noon of spring. And as long as the dove keeps flying light years above, we can keep alive the hope of happiness.

Like many I have found love again, in someone who has found his love in me. I have found love in all those beautiful places where I have been with him. And though I might not see the best in me now, I have a newfound belief. It states, if we be together for a time long enough I might be able to witness myself the way in which he sees me. Then only I can love myself truly and reiterate Tagore like I wish to do. Once that faith comes, along with the glory in which you find another yourself, how sad can you be, really?

Dear Tagore,
You have educated me like it should be, like the filling of a pail, like the lighting of a candle.
Your faithful lover

Epiphany? So be it.