Comfort Of Dusk

Love is not a very complicated emotion to understand. Love, however, is a very complicated emotion if one were to try to define it. Love, would acquire an even more complicated texture if a person sought to analyze it in terms of gains and losses. Love is merely a feeling, which is drawn from the depths of one's heart, and which lingers and touches and comforts and gladdens. It can lead to pain and melancholy too, but even in that pain hides an element of fondness, an element of sweetness too.

Happiness, they say, is like a butterfly, which alights on you when you are least aware. Happiness, again, they say, cannot be pursued, but can only be felt. Magicians are those people who have a contagious laughter; those who know the trick of staying happy and the deftness of waving their wand to spread the smiles in all directions. Happiness, pure and unadulterated, lies in the company of such jovial, selfless magicians.

 There was this person I met, when I was in tenth standard, who had an infectiously happy personality. Humble and sincere, his unassuming mannerisms made him a favorite with students and teachers alike. One of the people he effortlessly cast his 'happiness' spell on was me. I remember remembering him like that. He would come, linger around for a little while, say a few nice words, talk to you respectfully, ostentatiously display his modesty and leave you (me) feeling glad (thrilled) for the exchange. That person stayed around for a very little time in my school. Today, 6-7 years down the line, I can proudly say, he is one of the closest people to me on the planet. And this fact, still, gladdens my heart like the teenaged girl who had met him in school.

Life has a way of fooling around. She does this in a bid to give you the best birth to death journey. I philosophized in the beginning of this post about love and happiness. Ostensibly, the subject of this post is neither emotion, but the friend I have spoken of in the above paragraph. Journey with him has been life's way of fooling around with me, but only to give me the best adventure possible. One that I am incredibly fond of.

Growing up in two separate states, with only the resources attributable to students, how we remained friends, I have no idea. What I do know is, we not only remained friends, but kept on becoming better at what we share. What I feel for him today is nothing short of a lot of love, and care, and related things. But love for sure. In our own disparate worlds, our own trysts with this word ('love') have been very different. In the zone where our world's converge, an unspoken importance, almost invisible importance is attached with the same word, the same concept. Time with him does not exactly bear the freshness of the morning or the vibrancy of the afternoon sun. His company is more like the mustiness of the rains. Even more appropriately, his concern is like the homecoming at dusk; the sharing of a cup of coffee as the day recedes into the background.

I quote and believe - There is nothing more truly artistic than loving someone. 
Today, as the artist inside me, yet again, fails me, I resort to my blog.

 Dear friend, on your birthday, I do not know what better can I do. I can think of you. I can tell you what I am thinking right now. And I can also tell you that I always think and wish the best for you. Thanks for the smiles. Thanks for the love. Thanks, even for the tears, which make me feel alive. 

Hope this is the year which fulfills the promise which all your visions have held for you.

God Bless!