Journal

On Love

Artist’s impression of CR7: the brightest galaxy in the early

If you’d asked me a few years ago what it meant to love, I would have been cliched. I would have spouted for you quotes of filial affection and maternal bonds and tales of friendship and companionship built over years. In theory, that definition still remains. There is nothing to argue with the feelings and bonds mentioned above. They are definitive, assertive, law abiding and biologically defined measures of what we term love.

There is that. And then there is another thing. The thing that you never expected and never asked for because you did not know of its existence. For lack of a better word, it is a force field. A feeling so all encompassing, that one really cannot go and reason with it. Biology and society be damned, “Excuse me, I feel a deep passionate thing. It feels like that thing they call love. Only this time I truly think that this is what they mean when they call it that”. That is the thing I am talking about now.

Ah, finally. That elusive thing that they spoke about. Did they all really experience it? The poets, the writers, the painters and the lamenters? How much of our art do we owe to that one feeling – that deep down, heart clinching master of all feelings? Love – that spectacular pot of Gold that we all chased after and when we did get, was even more divine and uplifting than what we had ever imagined.

We all need that pot of gold in our lives. Not all of us get it. Some of us get very little time with it. Love and Luck are brothers in arms you see. It is rather rare that one of them outlasts the other. Which is why I treasure the love that I have found. Its intensity may never ebb away but luck may decide to scatter it a bit further than what I can reach for. I leave it be, for luck is an errant and unreliable friend. But the mystical ways of the universe will ensure, that even if not today there will soon be a tomorrow, when the scatter comes back my way.

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