It was a Monday. Morose, melancholic and mournful as they have been made out to be. Monday’s by themselves have no character, apart from the one that we have imposed upon them.
On a taxi-ride south to north in my beloved city, amongst other things that I thought of and experienced, there came a word to my mind that excited me – as a writer; fair enough, I stand corrected – as a blogger. My consciousness split in half, one with a focus on the conversation that I was having, the other tracing and romancing the word that the rain had just teasingly poured through the half open window of the taxi.
It isn’t a word, I assured myself (and to no avail; I learned later) – I have just felt it.
Imagine my dismay when I discover that it is a word that has (for a while) found its way in the dictionary.
But I am unwilling to shed the romance that I experienced when I discovered this word for myself. I am not blessed – as such – but, I am in a state of blessedness. The renaissance I mentioned in my previous post contributes to that blessedness.
My friends move my life. I have never planned to have a friend, and all friends I have, have contributed immensely to my life, without transacting. We are allowed to believe anything about ourselves, even convince ourselves who we are, but our true friends become mirrors and help us see ourselves, better. It’s a closed room and you are the only audience of yourself on stage; only friends can do that. Like I chose to employ the word ‘hate’ with some respect, I am now learning to use the word ‘friend’ with the same reverence. Notwithstanding Facebook’s use of that word.
I have a newfound respect for taxi (and rickshaw) drivers. (In fact, with anyone who is willing to have a conversation.) I believe that a taxi driver’s conviction in your short-term memory allows them to share far more than we are capable of. More often than not, the passenger becomes a listener and the driver a sharer; which is not really a conversation. The anonymity that the driver feels, should equally work for the passenger. The driver ends up sharing strong identifiable information (license plate of the vehicle, etc) – the passenger shares much less, when he should be sharing more. These guys are so easy to talk to. They bare all. One long drive in a taxi with an ongoing conversation is therapeutic. And since you are (eventually) paying, you can often decide the direction and tone of the conversation. We have made some unfortunate decisions about who we can talk to.
What do we know? Many things. We read books, we read articles, we hear from people, we study. That helps us know more. But there comes a moment in our lives when we get to know something which stumps us. It may not be a tweet-able thing, but something that makes us wonder. That is a wonderful moment, because we aren’t “angry” that in spite of our planned laborious knowledge acquisition, we didn’t know it, but we are exhilarated of the discovery; wherever it may come from.
We will always have a love-hate relationship with folks that are “tied” to us (You love some; you hate some). You cannot ignore that. But, we will have to look within and discover that, actually, we do things for the family not because we are supposed to or want to – but because we want to. This is difficult to discern. We make different kinds of investments in our family. Some are of pure love, some borrowed and some lent, some are transactional, some opportunistic – but they all are investments of sorts. Sometimes we make bad investments. But, the metrics that apply for traditional investments, do not apply here. Love, is the indicator and the index of our investment. Soon enough, the transaction becomes void.
That’s for us to decide, isn’t it? You could say there’s more to it or less, but blessedness is beautiful.