YES. I hate that. I wish I could hate all those who hate me, detest them, forget them, and be done with them once and for all. I hate that I still love those who are no more, why is it that I cannot be finished with love, with feelings, with concern, with thoughts running to them, wondering....
Our feelings have a life of their own, at least mine do. They go on random paths, making me feel what they want at a certain time. Is that the way with everyone? I don't know? The presence of those who are behind an invisible wall that we call death is haunting me, they are not present to the eye and in the tangible world and yet they are in me, in my thoughts, with me and around me at all times and on every occasion. I see them in a tranced state, a fossilized existence so to say, they are there, yet, frozen, still, fixed, statuesque. Dead? what means the word? does it imply complete annihilation or a mere stopping of self, that moment for a certain period or for people on this side of the wall. My love, my wanting to talk and to be with the people labelled 'dead' by the world is unnatural, unacceptable and totally unbearable! My thoughts, my heart, my soul is united in wanting to be with them and I find myself facing a wall that I fail to even see,though feel with my hands, my being, and my endless yearnings.
Then there is love for people who are very much alive and well in this world of ours and yet lost to me forever. How do you stop loving them? At what point in time do you finally severe ties and cut the cord of love. Isn't this disappearance on their part from my life a kind of death, a hiding behind another invisible wall? And the stubbornness of my feelings for them? how tiresome is that? How I hate this state and how I want to be able to not love the people that I must, should, and do hate!
How do you love in a vaccum? I'm told that love is a living emotion, that one can only love another living, breathing person simply because to love one must be loved back. That unrequited love of the knights and maidens in distress is a fantasy, a fable and stuff of fiction. For real love to exist, the person loving and the loved one must 'be'. One cannot love a figure in the head, or an image in the mind, or a memory. But, all these well researched dictums fall flat on their face when my experiences are seen in full. I love those dead and gone as I love the alive and breathing! Does this failure to comply with whats 'normal' is an incontrovertible proof of my madness? I know not? All I know is that the sheer fact that someone is removed from your sight and hearing and your perspective does not ascertain that they be lost to us emotionally? I love the dead or those declared dead by the ever cruel laws of life, I love and pine for them and want them back at all times and at any cost.
Of course I allude to my father and my mother who are both dead. After a long time I find myself searching for my mother who has been gone a long and tedious time. I look and look everywhere for her smile, her voice, her person and all that escapes me in the tunnel of time, the dark tunnel of time. And then the fresh memories of my father beckon me constantly. I have spent a greater part of my life being his daughter, a role much appreciated and chersihed by us both. I have talked endlessly and for hours on to him, I have listened to him being loving and kind, and yes being rude, harsh and caustic at others. I have seen him do all kinds of 'nakras' as he climebed the ladder of age, I have seen him become slowly from independent and hard, to dependent and soft. I saw in him the strength he gained from me and my siblings, I keep hearing his voice that special tilt in its cadence, the laughter ( though not very hearty and neither very common) the loving teasing tone in which he addressed his grand children. How is it that he is dead and in the rooms which I inhabit, in the things that bore witness to him, in the self same world that knew him and housed him, he is not to be found. And I am told that since he cannot be found he is dead and therefore must be not loved the way I love a person who can reciprocate that feeling, so I must relegate this strong love to some dark and distant corner of my heart to be brought out occasionally to punctuate occasions such as anniversaries, birthdays, and family reunions. How does one exercise such rigid control over ones love and loving? I simply cannot. I want to be with him at most odd hours like right now in the middle of a boring lazy Sunday maybe for lunch of crisp asli ghee parathas and desi anda omelettes, or maybe I want to spend time with him this evening sitting aimlessly wiling the time away over endless cups of bad tea in mismatched cups overlooking the verdant garden and thinking up of things to talk about!
I love him the way I loved when they were officially there to be loved, I cannot change the mode of love, the way it manifests itself, I cannot not love simply because they cannot or would not love me back. There are days that I don't particularly think of them say maybe for a couple here and there, but they comes to me in my dreams. I love them and I want to see them and talk to them, and at times when I can't seem to get to them I feel sad and every fibre of my body feels weighed down with this sickening feeling of dread.
And, it is then, tired and exhausted, heavy with love for you and knowing that you are there yet not there, I hate to love you so much!!!!
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