Sunday, September 17, 2006 

The Final Frontier

When you go beyond the usual inanities of superficial conversations, you end up giving of yourself. To let go of a part of yourself, to place a piece of you in somebody else’s hands, is an admission of trust. Of surrender, if you will. And an entrée into the mind; that from now on, the other can make you happy. And have the capability to cause grief.

Of course there is a remedy. (Isn’t there, always ?)

You can cut off the part. Without the invisible, yet umbilical link of your attention, all that will remain of it is a shrivelled, desiccated memento that some will junk and others will keep in old diaries like pressed flowers, in the bottom of trunks below old sarees, forgotten jackets and books once read.

And you can forget about that chunk of you, removing forever its capacity to grieve you, hurt you. And the price to pay for that is an emptiness inside.

There are boundaries of refusal and whispers of love. And when they are broken, there emerges a yawning distance in the relationship.

The boundaries of refusal are those that limit our affections to what is possible, what is appropriate, what is real. And beyond that are the whispers of love; that promise more, that promise freedom, that promise joy. That make the relationship endure despite the refusals.

The mistake made once too often is to let people in beyond that boundary. Or go into places one shouldn’t. For once inside, the inability to fit in with the other facets of life creates a discordance, a conflict. And grief.

And a distance then ensues.

Learning not to enter other’s boundaries is the easy part. A kindly Providence that has blessed with a bland exterior , with a little help from the self in being remote, can easily ensure nobody is knocking at own gates. The mistake that has endured is the straining to hear the whispers of affection beyond the keening threnodies of the daily grind. Of imagining them from quarters unknown, and searching for their source.

Which is why when I give you a part of me, it is with a catch. Much joy may you give me; but I will not be offended by you. Or hurt.


And those sneering in the head, those who talk of ersatz affections, can hear their voices resound in the emptiness inside.