"Any intelligent fool
can make things bigger and more complex... It takes a touch of genius
--- and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction." -
Albert Einstein
If Noah Webster could
browse the blogosphere today, the tubes in his thought machine would
have probably suggested him to erase words, whose meanings have been
thoroughly abused by the folks who sound English when their lips move
and the fingers press. And probably, he would have had to stress
himself to love love. Infinite reams of paper later, thousands of
routers away, cultures which have heard of others only through the
idiot speak, love is still spoken by all, understood by none.
Neither am I going to try
to define love,even if you let me do it. Yet, love to me is belief. A
belief which transcends the boundaries of logic and rationality, a
belief more powerful than the mersmising words which teach you love.
And belief in a human is a curve which wants to hug the ground every
passing day.
I am a cricket fan. Long
ago, when the only thoughts that disturbed the dance of cricket in my
mind was the stick of my Hindi maam, when girls were “other”
students in class, I loved cricket. Back then, when I didnt know what
was form or class, I believed Srinath would hit a century every
match. I loved Sachin off course, but that was not due to the
majestic cover drive or the other worldly pulls. A reason for which I
did not know the answer.Never, felt why I had to justify why i loved
Sachin.
Sometimes, when we are
drowning in the sea of pessimism, which we so easily mistake it to be
the river of statistics, logic and common sense, to see the day is
refreshing. Makes you feel, there is life outside the sea too, where
you can mistakes and still live. One such day was 72 hours ago. Down
under, dusted, obituaries written, the bodies of the once revered
Indian superstars were waiting to be recieved in the Indira Gandhi
National airport New Delhi. To say,they rose like the phoenix from
the ashes would be cliched. It was something else. I had to bribe
myself to believe that this was the same team which was so pathetic.
While, the logicians and
experts will formulate a theory to confine the Indian victory to
their words, I am happy to believe. Love, i thought is similar. It
was as simple as the game played on Hobart soil. Sometimes, its good
to grow young. Throw a tantrum. Love someone. Tell her the same. Its
a new sun that rises everyday. Forget the dark moon which engulfed
you yesterday night.
To live, you have to love,
to beleive.
1 comment:
I liked. :)
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