The pining

The call is from very far away. Miles away. My name is being called. Twice. Thrice. I respond. I hear my own grunt. Sleep laden. The voice goes on. And then suddenly, from being miles away, it is just near the bedroom door. Missus. Tea is ready. Get up. I stagger to where we would have tea. Like people do when they are walking in a fast moving train, maybe an Inter City express. She's already half way through her tea and messages before I lift my cup. But my mind is not on the tea at all. Yesterday was a tough day and I had been looking forward to some music before sleep. A song just came about from the playlist I was poking into. Jiya laage na, tum bin Mora. Sona Mohapatra singing. I quite like what she sings. Very powerful voice and usually gets her pitch very perfect though I don't get to hear her often. This song has a couple of lines: Paas hai jo sab chhod ke Door ko paas bulaaye. At many levels, these lines struck me. Firstly, if this is about love, then this is about abandoned love. Left alone at home, a lady would pine for her spouse. If it is not about love and it is about duty or ambition, then the whole thing enters a new dimension. Does the spouse or the loved one fathom how engaged or possessed one is in chasing his or her dream? We know of instances all around us. A man leaves home and becomes a hermit. Another leaves home and decides to be a political worker. A sportsman leaves home as a boy and finds it highly uncomfortable fifteen years later when he actually gets married to a lady after all his success. Yet another leaves home, gets an education abroad, works there and the lonely parents sit on park benches and recount his faraway exploits to uninterested passersby and birds. We all seek comfort in the chase of a mirage while we have the dear ones waiting for us, back home. Though one cannot condone exploration, that should happen. If one doesn't seek, he isn't complete. But at the cost of everything else? My reverie stutters. Missus is asking me about someone. I have a tough time connecting name to a face. I can hear my brain creaking. The wheels and screws cranking into place. Okay, I get a face to the name. Last seen in a lift weeks ago. It's where we have come to. Spotting each other in lifts. A meek "Hi". A half hearted stab at social grace, we graceless wonders.