ANY WORD RESONATING WITH LOVE
ANY WORD RESONATING WITH LOVE
While cleaning and dusting the room, I came across an old diary. Deem it as a co-incidence only that the page that opened in front of me had a heading in bold letters,' Any Word Matching with Love'. On the very next page, my attempt to draw an incomplete sketch of a flower-----the memory turned fresh. On reading the first line---It was my last meeting with her --a smile bloomed from inner depths. As if some old story has turned new. A few minutes ago, everything was normal, but in a wink of an eye, under the spell of a word, picture or line, I don't know myself, where was I led.
In the same bus, we had moved from the same city. Our destinations were different , only our path was same. Her way covered my city. I presumed that we will be co-passengers for sometime. I did not convey anything to her, but secretly nurtured a wish that she could halt at my place if she wished. Next two days were holidays. None of us was in a hurry. Presently, I repent why I I did not tell her to halt. She might or might not stop, but I should have suggested her to stay. I am not sure that she would have acceded to my request. A doubt or fear dominated my mind that how she would take if I implore her to halt. A story sprouts when a male and female remain together or come closer. A story surely begins when someone remains close to you or together. In our era, this sort of friendship is difficult. Holding the thread of her staying or even of my imploring her to stay with me, I don't know to what extent you will stretch this story. Is there any other relation persisting except love, between two human beings.
Memory of that time is still afresh like a fragrant flower. So many years have passed by and I am still holding it carefully like a love story. That wound still seem afresh. There is no infliction; only a soothing sensation, that had swayed with a gust of wing. All of you know are well acquainted with the fact that living in present, wandering in past is pleasant at times and sad at other times. While doing my work, why I am indulging in introspection on topics like pleasant and unpleasant. Still, a lot of work is pending. If you ever experienced visiting room of an author, you might be familiar how many books, magazines and other relevant material lies in an author's room.....A chit of paper can be very significant. Any line of a poem or opening lines of a story lie scattered. Within us, so many rivers, drains, windows and doors etc. exist, from where we find an outlet knowingly or unknowingly and are lost.
We live a parallel life to existing life simultaneously. I was pretending to manage my room, but actually lost in in that story. I had told her to give me a miss call after reaching home and she did send a miss call that very night. She had reached her home in a smooth sailing way and never called me again. A petty event can cause upheaval in life. A code word could have been managed----like miss call. This small episode of past might be capable of creating so many stories at present. My wife, sons-daughters and friends will do its post-mortem according to their own point of view.
It is very true that such stories are not disclosed publicly. Many stories don't turn old in spite of originating in remote past, just like this love-story. You are curious to know what shall I write further. Both of u, moving from different cities had met in a same city due for attending a workshop. She looked attractive and distinct from others. My reason of getting attracted towards her was not due to her beauty or her being of opposite sex. We were working in different groups. During tea break, when I saw her for the first time and continued seeing her, the reason behind was that she was holding a reputed story magazine in her hands. Her passion for literature was reflecting. I was surprised that in this deserted place, and amidst academicians who recognize period of contemporary period of Hindi literature, who was this modern lady of twenty-first century. I had rightly guessed; she was story writer and her story had been published in that magazine.
I am moving my story further, but I intend to clarify the assessment that I had presented in between, so that you get convinced that I am right. I don't have any presumption. If I impose a question to the class present here that who are story writers in Hindi? Response will be --Premchand. And to them, ahead of Premchand and following Premchand will be Premchand only. Initiatingwith Surdas, Kabir, Tulsidas and concluding with Pant, Prasad, Nirala and Mahadevi, how will they know about this story magazine? Several friends asked her about that magazine and they were sorry to know about it------Oh! This magazine was published by Premchand Ji, has its publishing been resumed? I am presenting this true statement without any dramatic mode or satire that teachers of Hindi Literature are not much concerned with Contemporary Literature. I know that you have concern for heroine of this story that how all this happened ?
Do I still dwell in her memory or is this my memory only that still binds her to me . Does this not appear something magical to you. With whom, we have tied ourselves is unaware of it! There is something seed like in relations that he weaves dreams. Is her reverie a dream that is still dwelling in me spreading its roots. She might have forgotten me for the time being, but when due to some link, her memory touches that point of past, I will revive in her in some scene. But, how will I come to know about that presence. I will have no intimation of it. Actually, this situation of being unaware should not persist. Both of us, in spite of our marital status, got tied in this attraction unintended. For our this story, we can not find any word resonating love. In the inner cores of heart, any scene gets united with other! As if a tune is playing in heart....let love remain love...don't assign any name to it. This untitled story has no name, still it has a name. During intimate conversations, tales and stories of of family, one end of relation that got created and developed, that is left behind in our last meeting. No, nothing such happened; some part of it still exists in me that still sways in me. It is beyond me to let it sway or let it stop.
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