The emotional and political science of Love

The affair of Amit and Rekha was well-known. They shared a pyrotechnical chemistry and people derived scenes for their dreams by looking at them looking at each other. Such was their love!

But time saw an unfortunate separation between them. Amit delivered the coup de grace to the moribund relationship betweem Rekha and himself. We dont know why Amit was skeptical about the revivability of their romance. Perhaps he had never seen any movie which showed reconciliation after the stage they were passing through. Or perhaps he had heard a song of separation he was very fond of and he wished to feel it. Or childhood fascination with some story like 'The count of Monte Cristo' in which the protagonist Edmond Dantes says, 'Madam, I dont eat muscatel grapes.' as his statement of refusal to Mercedes. Or the metaphors he had used for love. As Kundera says a metaphor can give birth to a love*, it could also kill it. It could be anything. Anything. We dont exactly know what it was in this case.

(*The unbearable lightness of being - Milan Kundera)

All we know is that the departure of Rekha is followed by the arrival of Jaya in Amit's life.

SCENARIO 1: Once Amit and Jaya were walking on the rainbow of tulips under the azure of the vast canopy. I will not indulge myself in describing the indescribable beauty they were enveloped in. I want to say something else here. I want to examine the state of mind of Amit when he saw Rekha there. He mustered something which meant to be a smile on his embarrassed face. But his smile remained unrequitted as he could see nothing but a tinge of disgust on the face of Rekha who stoned him with her eyes for a moment before imagining that she saw an apparition, a shadow and not a living man whose heart once throbbed for her and only for her. What did Amit feel? Shame. He felt stark naked before her gaze. He knew that she knew him in and out: what does he talk when he feels romantic, how does he hold a woman while walking, all whens and wheres you can imagine, everything about everything! Nothing was secret and therefore nothing was his own. He shared his most intimate nature with someone who was not his anymore. He detested her sight and felt irritated with her for being there. He wanted her to leave him alone. Alone.

Amit was now more scared of her love than her hatred for him. He wanted to start a new life, afresh, forgetting the mishaps of the past because it was dead and he couldnt allow its ghost to haunt his future. After all, the life must go on! But here was she who would ruin her life for the sake of martyrdom, for the sake of glory, for the sake of false pride. What a perversion! He couldnt fathom the cunning of these roadside beggers who exposed their amputated limbs, their festering wounds, their other abominable abnormalities to the horror of others. It only aroused outrage from within him. The miserable pity-seeking bugs! The scum of earth! They punish you for nothing and blackmail you for your well-being as if it's a crime or aberration. They levy tax on you for your health and happiness. She was no different. How was she? She wanted him to feel responsible for her misery. She wanted him to bear the guilt for her misfortune. She wanted him to feel sorry for everything that had happened. And she calls it 'Love'! Why not? God knew what did Hatred mean then! His face contorted into a sarcastic smirk. But he didnt want to feel bitter about anything. He didnt want to bear grudge or ill-will for anyone. All he wanted was to live peacefully. Was it impossible? Was it a luxury?

Rekha tried to think that she saw a dead man walking. She tried to forget the fact that she even saw something. It gave her solace and necessary insulation from the reality which was maddeningly bizarre and excrutiating. She was pleased with herself for not saying 'Hi' to him. She wouldnt allow him to take her for granted. She was happy for her victory.

But her memories and her imaginations were not so easy to be shooed away for long. Like dreams they were autonomous and couldnt care less about her will and gatecrashed whenever they willed. They persisted despite her earnest attempts of losing herself in all sort of beguilements. Her attention frequently recidivated into the 'Dekha ek khwaab' days.

People had suggested her to move ahead. She was genuinely grateful to them for their concern for her. But she had her doubts. They talked as if loving someone was like a standstill, an impasse in a frenetic rush along an infinitely elongated straight rails where there was no time for anyone to experience the life the way one felt like! She used to get attached with inanimate objects also and after some time kept them with care only for their nostalgic value. How could then she jettison something which she valued most? They would urge her to shrug off the last trace of him in her mind. As if one could selectively erase the not-so-perfect lines of the sketch on the canvas of your memory! Somewhere she was not fully convinced. What would be the meaning of words like gratitude if we were morally or psychologically capable of such acts, of forgetting as per convenience? She found these ideas too convenient to be ethically permissible. How could you customize everything according to your needs? She wished she could also convince herself as some other fellows did with their reasonings. She felt you could reason out anything if you had the power of words. Her friends admonished her for taking his name. As if not doing it would transport him in the realm of non-existence! She recalled one atheist friend of hers who had said to her mother when she urged her to participate in the pooja that she could make her join her hands but she couldnt generate reverence in her heart for God. Silence just meant his absence in air not in her heart. She was also accused of glorifying her and making him feel guilty about himself. She couldnt supress her smile. She could not do anything which wouldnt invite any critical remerk or derogatory word from others. And since when did the world become so generous to distribute glory in retail? And since when did people become so sensitive to feel guilt about things they do? Only a few can. And only a fewer do. Now people said she was an egoist person who considered herself more capable for love than others. According to them all are equal when it comes to emotions. Everyone loved similarly, with equal passion. Though surprisingly all are not equal when it comes to rationality, logic and reason! They had to say something!

She had finally stopped minding people much. She had understood a fact that whenever you would need to take a moral decision there would be two type of people. One with moral uprightness and other woth moral depravity. And both would laugh at you and want you to fall in the abyss of turpitude. This would provide exclusivity and superiority to one and company and vindication to the other. She thought that forgetting Amit was as much as a moral question as an existential one.

Failing to ignore the turbulence in her mind, she decided to analyse it and trivialize it and divest it of its emotional contents and then discard it as something useless and valueless. After all she lived in a utilitarian world. When others forgot everything(God knows how?) to live(!) then why should she only shroud herself with the memories of the past? She didnt make the world as it was. She tried to recall the fiercest of altercations she had had with him and the meanest things he had said to her with the vilest of expressions. She felt a searing sensation of fury in her veins. But not for long. It subsided. And his smiling face showed itself again like a moon coming out of the clouds. She could hardly believe this. It was hopeless. She still loved him.

SCENARIO 2: Rekha met Amit in a hospital, in a maternity ward. Jaya had delivered a baby. I am not sure if Rekha felt disgusted but Amit didnt feel any shame. This time the context was entirely new. Rekha had no idea how would he behave to a pregnant woman or to the mother of his child. He had his space and secracy. He didnt feel naked anymore.

SCENARIO 3: Amit and Jaya met Rekha at her wedding ceromany. Though there was no air of erstwhile informality and amiability but still many complicated knots had been slackened and hoped to be disentangled in future. Amit could easily pretend to not having seen a glance of longingness in Rekha's eyes. Now she was happily married and he could relieve himself of all the real as well as imaginary notions of guilt. She had no tragedy left in her life to derive glory from.

I have not said anything about Jaya. Because I dont feel like. I am not interested in that. Or may be I am not very sure about her feelings. Or may be I dont have anything to say.

After all every work of art is an expression of the political preference of the artist. And every work of art has to be therapeutic in some way or other, and thus autobiographical.

DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this post are fictitious. Any reseblence to anyone living or dead is incidental.