On a scoreboard- respect or love scores more?

 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.

When did the girl who once waited for a prince from the Arabian Nights to sweep her off her feet start believing in respect? For her, the jitters of first love and the romantic glances of her lover were so precious that she could easily push aside her self-respect. The warm cuddles and the silky, fleeting touch of her man were enough to help her survive on barren land. When did that girl step out of her dreamy castle and build a humble hut of reality?

Somewhere, between finding the prince and meeting a commoner, life happened. And it happened for good.

I relate to that girl in the third person. She is my past, delicate, fragile, yet adorable. And this is me now, toughened by the spark stolen from cinders. Burning, bright, and beautiful.

Love is consuming. In a fit of passion, the fire devours the wood, turning it into ashes. What once glowed a brilliant orange falls as a heap of dull grey.

But the gentle brook that flows beside a gulmohar nourishes its roots. The boughs dip into the cool waters, enjoying a meaningful rendezvous. For years, the gulmohar and the brook respect their boundaries, never stepping into each other’s space.

Unlike the love that kills the moth drawn to the flame or the wood that melts in a desperate bid to embrace the spark, the tree and the river coexist, content with what they share from a distance.

I choose respect over love, unconventional, yet reliable and steady. Not only in my marriage but also in my relationship with food.

When I loved food, I ate as if there were no tomorrow -more on my table, more on my plate, and finally, more in the bin. The moment I learned to respect food, just a few morsels were enough to pacify my growling stomach. The environment was respected. The farmer was worshipped.

When I loved writing, my words were fast, sometimes abrasive, often leaping to conclusions. As respect replaced love, I began giving my thoughts and words the space to emerge on their own. My writing now dances to the whims of my thoughts. Only when they wish to make a public appearance does a blog get written. Haste has made way for patience.

And then, the most important part of my life- friendships. There was a time I needed constant coffee dates and long phone calls with my gang. If a friend turned down or canceled a meeting, I fumed. “I love you! Can’t you see how desperate I was to meet you?” I would accuse.

Respect ushered in peace. Demands and expectations lessened. Bonds deepened. Like pearls lying on the seabed, untouched by the waves, happiness settled quietly. Waiting, giving space, forgiving, and forgetting became the pillars of every relationship.

Love may or may not happen. But respect must always be nurtured.