A Voice for Change

 Last night's chatter had died down. The excited sequels of his grandchildren, the booming laughter of his sons, the frivolous banter of his daughters and daughter-in-law, and the loud beating of his heart. It was now quiet and slow life had returned. Yet, his heart was still drumming in his chest, rejoicing after having met her after almost two decades.  Celebration continued post the celebration of his seventy-fifth birthday.  Sandra, the timeless beauty of St Cathederal School in Shimla, had suddenly paid a visit to his slow, arthritic life in Nashik. Not much had changed with the girl. Ouch!! Could he still call her a girl? Forever, his heart replied. The first flutter she caused in his chest like the gentle flapping of a bird eager for flight was always remembered. How could he forget the way his spectacles slipped down the sweaty bridge of his nose when she stood next to him in the assemble? The memory of her stern glance catching him watch her foolishly, bubbled ye...

We all have some secrets tucked away in the cockles of our hearts, innumerable little secrets. The first night out with friends under the pretext of group study, the first stolen kiss, watching a movie with the chillar saved from grocery shopping, sneaking out to play video games in a shady gaming parlour... oh, so many of them. The list is endless. Many of these secrets we have shared with our friends, spouses, therapists, or even while casually venting to our househelps or drivers. Some we revealed deliberately because we could no longer bear their weight. They sat heavy on our conscience. Time has since washed over them, and now they are like insignificant crabs crawling out of the waves. But share we must, for these secrets pinch, poke, and punch us hard when we are alone. The tossing and turning in bed isn’t because we can’t find a soft spot; it’s because these minuscule mischief-makers keep sleep at bay. Finally, we relent and spill the beans. But among all those secrets lies...

 In one of my recent talks, I surprised myself by saying that respect is more important than love in a marriage. Love fades. Yet, even the color of faded respect shines bright. We often hear people say, “We’ve fallen out of love.” But have we ever heard anyone whisper, “We’ve fallen out of respect”? Even the English language doesn’t support such a notion. A large part of that talk was totally impromptu. I am a spontaneous and organic speaker. Call it my carefree attitude or my deep desire to speak my heart, but I rarely prepare for my talks in advance. My brain simply registers the theme and the age group of my listeners. And that’s it. My heart then opens a small chamber of experience hidden within the chambers of intellect. What spills out is often as surprising to me as it is to my audience. These talks become a mirror to my forgotten self. After that particular talk, for several days, I kept grazing on the thought: Respect is more essential than love in a marriage. Wh...