A Love Untold Of

On a hospital bed, waiting for the doctor to see the progress in her bone repair, lying there with her hair disorganized, with one foot seemingly reduced and apparently abnormal when I glanced at mine to confirm, and the other, in a dressing gauge, was a woman in her 50's. A few other acquaintances of the various patients, my mother and I sat across the lady's temporary bed and I started to wonder how she must have damaged her foot. I got acutely engrossed in observing every detail of her and comparing myself with her on every possible ground. Her face was dark, wrinkled, and spoke of a sadness nobody except her could comprehend. Her eyes were closed and didn't give an impression of her being asleep. After all, who feels the need to sleep on a hospital bed. 

A little while later, I felt shattered. I could see her crying. The world, at that instant meant nothing to her because her pain kept her reluctantly occupied. Her weeping got my vision blurred. She made another movement to adjust herself in a way nobody could see her, for, there is no market of her sorrows in this world, she better not advertise them. What happened next was the sole driving force of me writing this post. An old man, probably in his 60's, got up from the second chair on my right and went to the lady. He was lean, wore a simple shirt and a pair of trousers, big glasses, had dirty toe nails, as if he is so busy earning his livelihood, he can't remember to clip them. He carefully wiped her tears with his old hand and said something to her. It was not audible to us, sitting just a short distance away. He moved his hand once on her right cheek, then left and then again right to reassure me that love can actually exist. I could see the lady stop crying and become motionless once again. The old man came and seated himself. 

I was so comforted by the gentleman's act, I could not have been happier for the ailing lady. Sometimes, more than medicines and rest, we need an assurance that we are wanted; that there are people praying for our well being and that we cannot disappoint them. Being totally touched by this happenstance, it didn't just restore my faith in love, but also made me thank the Almighty for my condition. I was much better than her by all means. I longed for her betterment and then came my turn to see the doctor. It was as if I was destined to witness what I had, and as if it were meant to convey my emotions here. I now think love is much more than those lavish dinner dates and cliched magical words. It is probably beyond every explicable feeling and so- called romantic sentiments. I feel it has to offer a greater deal of self- confidence in oneself. If it has to be something, it is about standing by the person at all times. In place of love making us weak and dependent, it should always be our strength and a constant source of encouragement to help us become better individuals. Love should constitute small, meaningful things to be proud of. Love should be the comfortable silence between people that need not break.  

If merely opening doors and pulling chairs for someone is what the world calls 'love', then I cannot help but happily disagree.

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