Under the Rainbows

Folding the dreams that gave me a warm sleep like my quilts, I woke up to the calm rain striking my window pane. The coziness is not attributed to the encapsulated air between the covers but to the solace my mind has acquired over a few days. Droplets of drizzle-like memories which impounded on my etching past, made not writing about them impossible, almost next to kissing a cute little baby when taken into arms.

If I were to say that I am a soul with humanly experiences, I would submit myself to negation. Because, all the philosophy and the due outputs are out of your nasty thought twinges, only once you relish the homosapien delicacies. To some it is Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. But to emotional freaks like me, it is those flavours of love. Tasting like a Rainbow.

Why is that we love? Someone, something, somewhere.

Beyond dimensions and beneath conventions.

I realise, it’s not about attraction or convenience. It’s about connection. I love reading because I realise I am not the only person with a particular set of ideas. I love writing because I know that I am not the only person longing to read about them. It is simply justifying one’s self-admiring persona.

Then, what is the reason for something called self-less love? I hear it often, experience it rarely, but empathize with it constantly. Mind urges me to dissect them case by case. Yet, gives up only to realize that I am not just a drop in an ocean, but an illusion of being a drop itself.

Parents. There is a special reason why their ordinary traits assumed extraordinary influences upon me. Dad. How he managed being ambitious in his career and yet, never compromising on the qualitative and the quantitative aspects of loving his doting daughters, beats me. Mom. She is this unnamed feminist who in fact cried with joy when she got two daughters, only to realise they would just imitate her to become mature women. Calling their love as sacrificing would be an inappropriate christening. But, understanding the reasons which give them joy, will give you memories. Of fondling medals in a race called life....

They are just visible examples. But there are umpteen forces who still don’t show up. It’s not show time yet, may be. It takes a sleepless night to assimilate this. As it did to me yesterday.

How do I thank the guy who first told me I love you? Because if not for him, I would never understand what does it feel like being a rainbow. Of hormones tangled in assertive urges. And the matured ability to reject by seeing beyond them.

How do I thank my friend for believing in my worlds and pushing above my potential? Because if not for her, I would never take any of my inherent capabilities for granted. 

How do I thank that co-traveller in the train for sharing his life’s miseries? Because if not for him, I would never assimilate what does it take to destroy a rainbow. People and their self-centered desires.

How do I thank my hater? Because if not for her, I would never know that even rainbows have to be made and re-made.   

Love is all above sense and sensibility, I told myself.

After all, what is my rainbow? It’s my inner world. It’s the beautiful receptionist who sits nears the entrance desk, checking the details of events and stamps an entry/exit mark on their sheets, to let them happen to me. It’s my conscious which has adapted itself over the years to acceptance. To take pain and joy, as they embrace me.

All that is needed for a rainbow to be visible, is water in the air and light from the source. If you take in, tears in your eyes and the light of experience, will bring the colours of life to the main stage. Just like that. 

It’s really awful to stress the need to hope for it. Because Andy Dufresne was not wrong in The Shawshank Redemption, when he wrote..

Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. 

And no rainbow will give you the deception of success or failure. But only the reality of tasting life as it is. How it cooks a story for you is beyond your comprehensibility.