A few days ago, I
happened upon a tweet from an online friend.
I could tell that his cup of contentment was brimming, and unexpectedly
so. Did he win a cash prize? Did an underdog team that
he rooted for, win a game? Did he bump
into a celebrity? No, no, no. Someone close to him had shared something
deeply personal and sensitive with him and he felt honored as a result. His
tweet made me smile. Sometimes that is all
it takes to make us feel good about this world, right? That we matter to someone in a way that they
matter to us. As I reflected more on his
tweet, I realized that the feeling that he described was an important one. That the sentiment he expressed was something
I felt the urge to dwell on. Why was
that so?
Be it technological
innovations or tools that enable increased connectivity, they are only what we
make of them. They ‘enable’
connectivity, they don’t make the connections.
I could have access to a friend at the touch of a button on my
phone. But it is up to me to make time
to chat or talk, to send a message or place a
call. Bleedingly obvious? Yes.
Do we think about it enough? I don’t
know, you tell me. This is a fast-paced
world, no doubt. As director Cheran beautifully
expressed in a scene with Sneha in Autograph, we spend an overwhelming
majority of our waking hours to earn for our sustenance. As work hours expand, as commitments increase,
as distances grow, it becomes triply difficult to truly make the time to talk
with and listen to people that had once been a much more integral part of our lives. When we shared a school, college, workplace
or at least a reasonably proximal place of existence, the amount of time spent
was something that we didn’t have to work towards with much difficulty. Circumstances favored us.
As distances grow, the heart
is supposed to grow fonder. In reality,
the mind becomes busier. Noble
intentions notwithstanding, our actions seem to focus on the present, our roles
and responsibilities personally and professionally. The people that once formed a part of our core might
still feel very important to us but the reality is, they are in a concentric, outer circle. Even if for simple
reasons such as logistics and distance, they are in an outer circle even if we convince ourselves otherwise. But here is the
silver lining. At the center of these
concentric circles is our core, our character and the values that we stand for. For those people physically distanced from
us, if we truly care for them and genuinely want them to feel a sense of
belonging, we can indeed do it. It requires
time and commitment but it is not impossible.
What I am about to say
now is not meant to be a one-size-fits-all pronouncement. It is what I believe in. For me, to not have a shared present is a
gaping lacuna that cannot be filled by once-in-a-blue moon meetings. I know of a lot of people that say that
even if they meet someone after five years, they can pick up from where they
left off. I don’t think I have ever been
able to develop that mindset. I agree
that chemistry of a strong relationship can be rekindled in one special moment –
a laugh, an anecdote, a hug. But when
the transience of that colorful rainbow is preceded and succeeded by periods of
darkness, it is hard for me to just bask in the fleeting beauty of the
moment. I prefer the constancy of a sky-
as nondescript as it may be, it has more permanence.
So, how do we evoke the
feeling of being there for a person when we are not there,
physically? The answer is in my
question. It is by being there. It is by sharing meaningful moments – thank you,
technology; you have a role here – inclusive of some highs, some lows, some laughs, some
memories. Just something that is beyond a mere show reel of highlights of our lives, the kind of which floods social media platforms. By sharing meaningful moments from our lives,
we do two things – we give the other person a sense of importance. And by sharing, we might, in fact, spur the
other person to open up about something, whatever that may be, that they might not
have otherwise shared. For someone to
speak up, they must have the unconscious assurance that the other person is listening
with their ears and their heart. I will hasten
to add that I do believe in the saying that “there are certain chapters in our
life that we don’t want to read aloud.”
There will be “chapters” that we hold private for a variety of
reasons. That goes without saying and that is why I said, "some" highs and lows, not 'all'. But if the other person has no access to any
meaningful chapters in our ‘book’, then I wonder whether what is shared is a book or merely a cover.
As I reflect on my dear
friend who passed away unexpectedly three weeks ago, I am grateful that in his
short life, he gave me the strong sense that I mattered. It is the same feeling that made my online friend tweet about someone who had just shared something personal with him. These are the relationships to cherish, to
savor, to salute. Because, at times, life
feels short. Literally so. In the case of my friend, he was never the rarity
in my life that was a rainbow. He was
the sky that watched over me during times of sunshine and gloom. Now that he has left the earth, I can continue
to look up at the sky, knowing that he is continuing to watch me from up above.
