A river flows some little way out from my home. At least- I call it a river. After each dam that blocks her way has claimed a part of her for itself, she is little more than a trickle by the time she finds her path to freedom. Some have even taken to calling her a stream... or ‘Naalaah’. (But we meander… and we will go far afield if we do! :) )
It is to this river I often head when I’m seeking a quiet evening to myself. My usual trajectory takes me up one side of the river, across the bridge, and down the other bank. The river is always playing witness to a diaspora of human emotion and conversation. All along the bridge are faces as similar and as distinct as pebbles on the river bank.
Walking along, I catch snippets of conversation… glimpses of a familiar emotion on an unknown face. It is strange how we reveal a little bit of our deepest emotions to an unknown pedestrian, simply through the connection of being human. A couple seated on the stony steps- her head bowed; he seated next to her… ready to comfort her, yet giving her the space to recover her strength. I walk on in haste lest I intrude into a private moment; but the briefest picture reveals the entire story.
Groups of youngsters animatedly discuss the day’s events. It is quite entertaining how each of us imagines that all that we think, feel, experience is brand new and unique to us! It is- in a way. So when a 19 year old holds forth eloquently on her life plans and sees no possibility of them not working out, the confidence is only slightly amusing and a lot more inspiring. For that moment, a fresh energy surges through the mind cleaning the slate for some brand new drawings! For a moment one becomes 19 again, forgets the exhaustion and disappointments and smiles a real smile.
Looking away, my eyes rest briefly on a mother and daughter in earnest conversation. The words are few, the emotions many. The young age of the girl, the flowers in her hair, the shiny new Mangalsutra (Hindu equivalent of a wedding ring), and the expression on her mother’s face make for a poignant picture. Youth bubbled over to express itself; Age looked on with patience - recognizing similarities, noticing differences, and coming to terms with a growing, independent reality. Such a moment -what more could one ask for in one's pursuit of the picturesque on the banal landscape of routine.
And yet, the river flows on. She doesn't pause to eavesdrop. She doesn't whisper her own advice. She does not mock the futility of it all. Somewhere along its banks lovers whisper… somewhere a debate flares… somewhere two friends enjoy a dialogue of perfect silence… and somewhere a lonely heart tells the universe its sorrows. Next time I visit my river, I shall listen closely- for I might hear an unexpected gurgle of mirth… I shall look closely, for I might just discern two recently shed tears joining the tide.
