Letter to Kindness

Dear Kindness,

I do not know if I write to you because you shower plentiful on me, or to show you that often you forget to pay me a visit. Hopefully, by the end of the letter we will have arrived at a conclusion. I am a little sad today. Hurt, maybe. We never figured out the exact translation of obhimaan anyway. You may not enjoy this letter, especially with Plath having written one to you, which raises the qualitative measure of any creative expression.

Kindness, you are very careless. Alright, I have decided to take out my anger on you. It's been a while. And since you are kind, you will not retaliate in a manner that I am either too stunned to think, or too numb to respond. You came to me from such unexpected corners that it is hard to believe that you are you and not some magic-show. And yet when you did not, you hit hard as reality.

For every single time that one takes undue advantage of excess love showered, for every other time that the advantage is exercised genuinely, I wonder about the quality called you. Rare though you are, we have heard so much of you in fables and folktales that it is impossible to believe that you reside in me too. In fact, I know you do, and hence I need to write, because sometimes it is difficult to reach out to the deepest within. There is just too much cobweb of practicality gathering dust over the clarity of thoughts.

I am torn in this tension between the dichotomy with which you present yourself to me. I do not know how to deal with either. After a long time I write with many I-do-not-knows, and strangely it does not choke me with sorrow, for I am glad I am able to see through shades, and touch the tones. All I have been ever, when it concerned you, is myself. Known my diameter and parameter. But you had to desert me on opportune moments of probable situations. Your absence shattered me into thousand silent tears and muffled cries.

I realized. I was wrong. I expected. And, I should not have. So, I am done being sad. When you do not encounter, I have decided to be kinder, to double up on your lack of presence. It cannot be worse, can it? Guess who taught me this? You. You did, you still do. You have been faces, phases, phrases. You have been.

I too will,

K.