But the greatest of these is love

I do not know why I did this, but on a mundane Tuesday night this urge to read this chapter of Corinthians suddenly came upon me. It’s been a while since I’ve touched the Bible and it took me a while to locate this chapter. I do not know why I like this chapter, maybe it’s because it’s the 13th chapter (13 being my favourite number).

The first epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians, chapter 13

1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

3 If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

5 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part,

10 but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.

11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.

12 Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

More than words

 

“What a wonderful day,” she exclaimed, taking in the fragrance of the flowers that lined the road, creating the illusion of a welcome carpet. On a day like today, it would have been difficult to find her out on the streets, seemingly without any care in the world. Her life was akin to a whirlwind composed of equal parts responsibilities, work, discoveries and a dash of adventure to boot. In the midst of it all, catching up with friends was a luxury, one that she enjoyed rarely.

He entered the building with a sense of trepidation that had been rising in its intensity since the time he left home. This was going to be his third visit to this shop and for a change his heart was not in the task. That particular statue was very rare, the proprietor had warned him on his first day. But they urged him to come a second time and when that too had failed, a third visit was thrust upon him. The cool blast of the air-conditioning matched the frigid sense of what little hope that was present in his heart.

“Wait for me,” she exclaimed in mock frustration, at her companions. A closer look at her and one would discern a hint of a pout, not wanting to be left out of anything. Her companions stopped by a tree and contemplated their destination once again. It was just a short distance away and they decided the exercise would be good. The road was smart and beautiful and the company warranted a walk.

He reached the front desk. It was a different person who was manning the place. “How may I help you sir?” she asked. He explained about the object that he was in search of and how the owner had requested him to come today. The owner had gone out for lunch, she apologised but would he care to wait till he came back? He thought about it for a while and decided to finish this once and for all. If not today then am not meant to have it, he philosophised. He nodded his acquiescence and walked around the shop.

They were almost there. Just a few blocks and their tired legs would find the rest that they screamed so desperately for. To pass time, they resorted to singing songs. Passersby looked at the trio with wonder. Old heads shook, as if to say ‘kids’. A passing motorbike, laden with youth whistled out their approval. Carefree, in the full summer of their lives, they marched on.

The shop sat just beside the road. It was a personal whim of the designer to install French windows so that one might get a feeling of being on the road itself. He was standing at the window, watching the world go by. The owner, the girl assured him would be back in half an hour. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes were left. He carried his gaze upwards and continued to look outside. The steady humming of the a/c and the drowsy stillness of the day became intoxicating and his mind soon wandered off.

She stooped to adjust her dress and as she straightened up, her gaze went to that antique shop on the opposite side. She had visited that establishment a couple of times and she was proud to say that she knew the owner rather well. Still the mannequin at the window was a recent addition and to her artistic mind, it was a welcome touch. She admired at the craftsmanship. It was so lifelike. They even got the clothes right. “Hey look at the mannequin over there,” she called out to her companions. “Doesn’t it look lifelike,” she exclaimed, just as the mannequin raised his hand and looked at his watch. Her mind flushed with embarrassment and her cheeks grew hot. Her friends were laughing to add to her trouble. She glanced once more at the mannequin and it caught her eye. She stood as if hypnotised, unable to break the connection. Slowly the man broke out into a smile, a hearty one that warmed the cockles of her heart. The blood was rushing through her heart with the same ferocity with which it had invaded her cheeks. She composed herself and walked on, giving the man one backward longing glance. Her heart was still beating as they reached their destination.

“Hello sir, there is good news. We finally got what you were looking for,” he heard behind his back. He turned around to find the owner. He continued his smile and let him lead to the object he craved for days now. The owner brought it out with almost a motherly care. It was a small wooden statue of a little girl, sculpted by one of the leading artists of that time. It was an ordinary one to look at but what entranced him was that smile which she wore on her face. It was something to die for. As he signed the receipt, he looked at the owner and then turned to look outside the window and smiled.

“Isn’t this just a wonderful day?”

A true story, modified just a bit.

A dog’s bark  in the distance shattered the silence that he seemed to enjoy. Turning on his bed, he looked at the clock: 2 am in the morning and still no sleep. As a habit he generally slept late but after today’s events, insomnia was the last of his worries.

How did it all start? he wondered. The day started with the usual promise of meeting her in the afternoon. He had to finish off some of his long-delayed projects, but he still found enough time to keep the rendezvous.

The first sign that something was wrong manifested itself in the presence of her friend. In all the dates they went on, bringing other people was a strict no-no. Wryly, he remembered that cliché: two’s a company, three’s a crowd.

Sitting silently she barely acknowledged his coming. As he came closer, he saw her eyes. They were blood-shot red. It could not have been drugs. And she was not known to miss out on sleep. It was tears. He was in for a shock.

‘Hi sweetheart,’ he said. ‘How are you?,’ he sought to lighten the tension.

It was the friend who replied. ‘She is not doing well. How could you do such a thing?’

‘What are you talking about,’ he asked in bewilderment.

‘It was my birthday yesterday,’ she spoke finally.

‘Shit’, he muttered to himself.

He had already forgotten it  before. She warned him that if there was a next time, their relationship would end. She could not bear to be with a man who had no feelings and no concern for the things that interested her, she had told him the last time.

And lo, he had gone and gotten himself into a pickle yet again. This time there would be no second chance.

His first utterances of apology had no effect on her. Her mother had already warned her about him and she feared that the old woman was right. There were times, she felt, he loved his job more than her. And with a steely resolve she handed him back the bracelet, he had gifted to her when he first proposed to her. And then with a last swipe of her eyes, she said, ‘Goodbye’ and walked off with her friend, leaving him standing with the bracelet in his hand.

At first anger boiled within him. He wanted to scream at her, but checked himself and turning away made the long journey home. He tried to sleep to forget those memories, but with each passing hour, the wounds became fresher.

Sighing, he rose from his bed and examined the bracelet. It was the last remnant of the memory of his mother. He felt his throat go dry and gulped down a glass of water.

He remembered what his mother told him. ‘It is no use running away from problems. Later on they will come to haunt you again. It is best to deal with them right away.’

On his way back to the bed, he saw the phone. Will it be worth a try, he wondered. After all he had nothing to lose.

He dialled her number. It rang  four times before her sleepy voice came through the receiver, ‘Hello.’

‘Hi, it’s me,’ he said. ‘I am sorry for what I did and please forgive me.’

There was silence at the other end, punctuated only by her breath. He waited with anticipation.

‘I forgive you,’ came the reply. ‘Come to my house tomorrow. I want you to meet my parents.”

He hung up the phone with a smile. Life was good again and this time, he swore, there would be no more mistakes.

Rhythm of the falling rain

The rain came down like a punishment from God – unrelenting and heavy. Narrow lanes and by lanes were soon covered with water and the only ones happy were the frogs. Croaks of joy and surprise filled the neighborhood just like a symphony.

He knew it was madness to venture outside. Yet, he had no choice. Like a moth he was drawn to the ethereal flame that shone in her eyes. Was it love or desperation? He never found the answer, but then again he’d rather not.

Clutching a battered umbrella tightly, he made his way to the door and peeped outside. Groups of people huddled up closely under every possible bit of shelter. Those few left out, were running to and fro, hoping to get any kind of respite from the rain.

Much to the envious eyes of the unfortunate wet souls, he unfurled the umbrella and slowly waded through the river of water that flowed in front of his house.  He was wearing shorts and the water slowly began to freeze his ankles. For a while he stood there, cursing and debating whether it was worth the risk? But then, he reasoned, he was already halfway through his course and there was no point in stopping now.

Her house was just a ten minute walk – in the rain, however, it became a half hour crusade.

The water’s numbing effect bothered him less than the way he had to drag  his feet through the watery barrier. He couldn’t walk any faster or it would splash him. He couldn’t walk any slower, because he was already late. He hoped to God, she would forgive him for the shorts.

Just as he was lost in his thoughts, an approaching car’s horn shattered the silence that enveloped his mind. Muttering a curse he got out-of-the-way of the car;  not out of the wave of liquid that it covered him with.

‘Great’, he thought, ‘Just great.’

He could see her house in the distance. There it stood, tall and uninviting (at least to his eyes).

There was no way he could return home and make a fresh start. No, he would have to go in like this.

Gently, he stepped on the threshold and slowly rang the bell, half afraid of what she would say on his appearance.

No answer. He rang the bell, a second time. He could hear footsteps inside. Slowly the door opened and he was standing face-to-face with her mother.

She looked at him with wonder in her eyes and could not speak for a moment.

‘Is she in,’ he asked, praying that she would be  sleeping and would not want to be disturbed.

‘Yes, do come in,’ the mother replied. ‘Dry yourself with that cloth over there and I’ll tell her you’re here.’

The dry towel  was a welcome relief. It reminded him of his warm bed.

Hearing footsteps behind, he turned around. There she stood, radiant as ever. Hair that fell down like a warm canopy, a smile to warm any heart; but it was the eyes. As he stood there on the rug, wet and shivering, he looked into those eyes and then realized why he had made the journey.

Long Time

Its been a while I posted something and a lot has happened in the past two months. College got over and I got a job. It seems that the fun days have finally gotten over. Its hard to believe that I actually enjoyed ACJ. New friends, new things to do; a perfect recipe for fun.
Its also hard to believe that i finally got my diploma .

What a match!!!! and what a week!!!!

Manchester United thrashed Arsenal 4-0 in the 5th round of the F.A cup. I did not catch the match but rather the highlights. Utd really turned on the style. For once they lived up to their reputation of being the best in England. This happened just a week after they were beaten at home by Man City. What extremes!!!!!
Anyway this really made up my weekend. I was literally floating on clouds for the rest of my time. Even pending reports and features couldnt disturb my mood.
This week I am the desk editor for our site. My dream job. I get to boss around people. Added to the joy Gita ma’am is helping us out this time instead of MJ.
And i finally got my guitar back. My brother finally relented and my first love is back where it belongs. Thats the good news. The bad news is that i forgot how to play it and my guitar is punishing me. My fingers have become soft and playing the chords is painful. Its like learning it all over again.
I tried coating my fingertips with glue and left it to dry so as to make it hard but to no avail. But A Dio piacendo I’ll be able to overcome this difficulty.

The face of India that is rarely shown

This is Vandana Shinde. She lives in Bhadumari in Yavatmal district of Maharashtra. Her husband committed suicide because of crop failure and left her with two small children and Rs. 85, 000 in debts. She has neither her family nor her in-laws to support her. She works in her village and gets Rs 25 per day. On account of her children she works only 3 or 4 days in a week.  Whatever she gets from her work goes in paying the debts she took those days when she was not working.
She has 3.5 acres of land but that is not cultivable.

People and Friends

Some old friends came down today. Its funny that I am gaining  back all my friends with whom I never kept in touch with, since leaving college. I must have barely called them once or twice during the past year but when we met up its like we never lost touch. The same old friendliness and joy.
But I am slowly losing all the guys with whom i used to keep in touch. To add cynicism one might say ‘ Familiarity breeds contempt’. When you look at things or people from an outsider’s perspective it looks much different than when you are involved in that given situation.
Khushwant Singh once said that he never got close to people because he did not want to get hurt. But that is really an escapist idea. Its like not going outdoors just because one is scared of the sun. In today’s world it is just impossible to live without interacting with people. And it is highly possible that one will get close to some people. And Life does not judge you by how many people you are close to rather how you deal with them.

Hectic Week

One of the most hectic weeks I have ever had in ACJ. I was the reporter for this week. God knows how i managed to write the report. But it was fun. I got kicked out from a poultry shop. I told them i wanted some pictures for my report and they start accusing me of driving away all their customers due to my reports. It reminded me of Vandana Shinde who also had the same thought in mind.

Journalists are not the  most loved people.  Its almost a thankless job.  Taking hell from everybody and trying desperately to make a change, but failing hopelessly. It made me think regarding my reasons for choosing this profession. If it is just to make a buck then I am really wasting my time here. Its like using the Swiss pen knife for just a single use. Its foolish actually.

Life without my phone

Three days have gone by without me recharging my phone. It feels great to say the least. Now my life is not governed by this instrument. Its like I’m reclaiming my life. I’ve already given up my guitar, my worldspace. But giving up my phone would mean that even my mom or my aunt will not be able to contact me. That is not something I think I should be doing at this point in my life.