Letter to Chhuti XIX

Sweetheart,

Over a period of eighteen letters, we have traversed a lifetime of introductions and togetherness. Like a job I hold, or a work I love, you are my sense of shadow belonging -- something I cannot disown even if I wish to. In spite of being this part of me, why do you think I write to you today? Because love, I can never have enough of you, and you have hardly been around. I mean, it would be criminal of me to say I haven't had you lately, but like an undying passion, I wish more of you -- daily, right here, now.

Big-big people, Little-Chhuti, have so many Big-Big Things To Say. It is then that I understand how inadequately I am blessed with it. I mean, see, just take a day, wake up, laze around, laze some more and then prepare for some more nothingness to end the day with -- how difficult is that, Chhuti? It has neither Big, nor Small Things To Say. It is like you and me, and that it why I miss you and hence the letter. An Embrace full of Silence. Would you rather it be called a Garland of Words?

Life, people have often tried to convince me, is our greatest blessing. Is it really, Chhuti? How on earth then, I have never thought of it? Why, for me, You have been the greatest instead? Why do people even try to put Life on a pedestal, as if it were something we bought at a fair? We are in that fair called Life, isn't it? Unfair, but true. All of us have same lives in the end, in between and to begin with. Wake up, work, struggle, succeed, falter, fail, love, betray, sleep. 

And then you come from the Fair and Life becomes a kaleidoscope of geometric moments -- perhaps irrelevant, mostly incomprehensible, yet, breathtakingly beautiful. I long for a lifetime of You. The clouds clear from the head in dissolving concentric circles and the evanescent stairs evaporate. Big People disagree that such a life cannot be, one only with You. I disagree, silently. I know what we do best together, we laugh, we play, we paint ourselves in poignant patterns and erase them to build some more patterns. Yes, we look forward to the next moment of Order. We live. 

Is that too much to ask?

K.