To have read, to have understood, to have understood and to have realised. Reading too much maybe, relating too often, that’s how life has so far rolled out to be. Closures don’t often come by, perhaps a good read inflicting a tragedy brings about the end that wasn’t thought of, thought about it was; but not thought deeply enough, but then this is what makes life and reading fascinating, a closure does come by. Not glossy all the time, and not so happy often. But, as in life and as in the books I have always loved reading, love hadn’t culminated into togetherness.
And togetherness in itself is overrated, the worth of it often fading into an oblivion, distance and longing however keeps the mind and the heart in good stead, inspiring it to think and love in unison. Impermanence and the futility of efforts don’t hold the heart from longing for something that isn’t necessarily easy to come by, the mind lost in solitude in the midst of faces unknown, looking; longing and seeking for a solace that is evasive. That feeling is a solace in itself, mind over matter; undaunted by whatever lies ahead.
To have found one such soul, found light in her soul and to have parted, all that now remains is her afterglow. And, this will remain. We choose to end certain things, but we don’t choose the endings, a relationship never ends, it only fluctuates. From high to low to even hitting the baseline, everything translates into something, for the better at times. An invisible red thread binding my soul to hers, the magic pull of the string shall stay and so I will write, write because this is what remains of her and now remains of me. To cast into words the good that has been done unto me, to mould the glitter I am left over and make it a monument to glorify the tales of her presence, subconsciously She will exist.
She has been the essence of all that I read, the tragic tales of life and love and not so happy but blessed endings, no ending here though, for that’ll be the end of me and my writing capacities.
In her, I found the zeal and the urge to write, the will to start reading books which were long left on the shelf, collecting dust and turning yellow. For now, I see her emerging again, this time in my thoughts, her absence is a boon now, I can now think, reflect and jot down her tales, my stories and our not so happy ending, perhaps a beginning is in sight here. She, my Northern Light and the moon spreading her radiance. No eclipse in the galaxy where I hold her, never.
To have been touched, to have felt and to have found what my soul sought, it was a blessing indeed. She was the blessing, She the prayer and She the Goddess, but like just like any other prayer that is answered and does away after serving the purpose, She perhaps had done hers. I still raise my hands, look up at the skies shining bright in all it’s glory and the same prayer leaves my lips, the soul still seeking her light, she isn’t here but everywhere, the moon light testifying her presence as I bathe my soul in her glory. It’s time, it’s about time. The ending here is just but the beginning, the distance, the longing, the pull of the invisible string; all culminating into something gloriously tragic, and Yes!! I will write about her.
“Promise me, you wouldn’t stop writing” ; she had said. Well, I won’t ma’am; for now I know better.
abhishek purkayastha 