The Soul Connection

Old Man

“Savitri. Thiiiis biiiiiiig machine you know!!!”

How can I ever forget those dreary yet stunned eyes of that old man coming out of the MRI room? His exclamation punctured the silence. He was old, perhaps in his early eighties. Fine lines of aging had already transfigured into thick folds of skin. He was certainly fair once upon a time and the present blemishes on his face trumpeted his scuffle as the bread earner during his yesteryears. Over time, that extra ladle of ‘desi ghee’ in his diet had produced quite a distinct pouch of cholesterol under those sluggish eyes. The branded walking stick what supported his juddering footfalls flaunted his sound financial stature too.

Somehow my eyes remained fixated on him. In a childlike excitement, he almost scampered towards his wife, fervidly ignoring the precautionary instructions of his medical assistant, as well as the other inhabitants in the waiting hall of the diagnostic centre.

In that early morning wintry chill of Kolkata, this famous diagnostic centre in one of the liveliest localities seemed a little windswept. The staff had to contend with only four souls; this old Gujrati couple and ‘yours truly’ with her father.

The dearth of patients did not signify better health management in the country but certainly attested the languor associated with a cold December morning. 8.30 AM, when everyone bore a little sluggishness and displeasure to be out of a warm blanket, this old man bottled an overdose of dynamism. His protruding eyes, although lacking the lustre of youth, sashayed a frisson of thrill while introducing his wife to his recent experiences.

While seated opposite, all my senses were magnetized to the oldies as I keenly observed their doings. He spoke and she listened. She questioned and he answered to the best of his knowledge. Neither he knew the extent of accuracy in his words nor did she doubt him one bit. They just conversed nary lending an ear to anybody. More than his animated expressions, it was his wife’s blind faith in his words that fuelled my thoughts.

{If you think this is yet another story of male dominance, a tale of pitiable housewives or a parable of technophobic old generation, you (My Dear) are strolling on a wrong path. This time, I have a little better and a lot lovelier tale to tell.}

I, as in Atrayee Bhattacharya, am prescribed with a fate of garnering unwarranted attention. Be it my association with an unusual disease or my wavy career graph or my adeptness to maintain a Tam-Bong harmony, pages from my life are always served over a cup of tea within my family and peers.

Four years back, when Mr. Iyer was affixed to my family tree, I scripted a storyline never dared of in the history of my conservative bloodline. I rendered quite a few individuals speechless, raised many an eyebrow in doubt, but a few souls smiled secretly as I whetted their appetite to weave fables of love marriages in the family. Gradually and in due course of time, my happy conjugal life became a manual for breeding faith in love and compassion amongst the younger generation, who stood mystified at the crossroads of career, love, lust and infatuation.

Two months ago, I was taken aback when a near and dear person tumbled a bit in her trade with love and she knocked my door to regain her faith. It is always astounding to see people valuing your intellect more than you do. However, was I the right solution for her?

I, a victim of long distance relationship for the better part of five years, pondered whether I was missing him or forgetting him. Destiny scribbled a new phase of life and I was hitched to my love for a lifetime but distance still played the part of a pantomime villain. Additionally, filial responsibilities kept detaching us. Love never expired but more time I spent away from Mr. Iyer, an anonymous whisper kept grating my nerves that love is fragile until genetically connected.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t wholly a lie. Rather, scientifically proven too. There is a genetic connection and genes do play a vital role in moulding the divine emotion, Love and there comes the pining for bloodline. She asked and after being considered a highbrow in the subject of “LOVE”, I had no escape from opining.

I took a shortcut, verbalized the same whisper and emphasized on patience and perseverance to grow in love. My words were palatable for her but mystified myself. Is it so simple to describe the most wanted emotion of human life which has much more to it than mere romance? In the past one month, standing beside my ailing father gained much more magnitude than accompanying my Mr. Iyer in his foreign trips. But did that condense my adoration for Mr. Iyer? Highly unlikely. Love can be monosyllabic but certainly encompasses numerous ineffable intricate appendages to it. And probably those intricacies define and brew the divinity of Love.

Love; a melody to the ears, an honour to the heart and a potion to the soul, is the most exquisite creation in this world. Love is enigmatic; composing the core of every relationship, owning the power of creation, evolution, and restoration as well. A life takes birth because of love and it takes a whole lifetime to comprehend this love. In our human lifespan, none of us is an autodidact. Life itself is always the most crucial teacher. Every episode of life not only embraces different characters but also instills a new doctrine, clears the foggy path of hope and configures a whole new perception. And my newly gained lesson is not about love but about the cardinal supplement of love, “The Soul Connection”.

In a month’s tussle of getting my dad treated, every bit of my time was bestowed towards filial love, morality and responsibility. I discharged my duties diligently and an abundance of love and blessings reached me along with appreciation from every corner. My dad extolled my proficiency, acknowledged my essentiality for getting things done but always needed my mom to be by his side.

My mother,  a housewife who had never shopped alone, never handled even the simplest official issues, completely ignorant towards the ongoing treatment still remained the much-awaited visitor in the hospital. I was confounded. I witnessed my parents discussing every tiny happening of the day; unproductive chats about hospital staff, moulding imaginary effects of medicines, discoursing probable outcomes of the treatment and what not. They would giggle. They would argue. They would fight. However, would always pine for each other. Is this just love? Certainly something more than that. Is this something confined to their old age? Probably not. Because, even I at 31 (probably to be considered young), never bid adieu to my day without detailing the day’s ABCs to Mr. Iyer. Neither my parents are genetically connected nor am I with Mr. Iyer. Then how did an imperishable bond take birth, get nourished over the years and persevere like an immortal?

Love is vibrant yet delicate; much alike those polychromatic dappled wings of butterflies. Love is omnipresent and enlightens every soul like the fireflies in the dark forests. However, love is volatile as well; just like a piece of camphor. Leave it abandoned and it will gradually vaporize in the air. Setting aside the genetically connected love, the love what my dear friend referred to is much more brittle and volatile.

In the past nine years of my bondage with Mr. Iyer, where distance remained an infinite constant, it was never like we did not meet anybody more alluring. Encountering a Greek-God look alike at my workplace or a sensual damsel at his, indeed made some adrenaline rush, forced butterflies in the stomach, let the heart thud in the ears. But, never could either of us think of a life without each other. Watched the beauties around, discussed our ephemeral crushes and then ended up falling in love with each other all over again. Isn’t it hilarious? In this fast-paced life where materialism rules our life, can something like love, so flimsy stay firm? The answer is affirmative. Neither for the patience one exhibits nor for the time one invests. Love remains delicate but no more volatile when one discovers a soul connection.

I do not know about ‘True’ love, but there certainly exists an IMMORTAL LOVE. We adore our bloodline as that love is biologically transferred. However, when an incessant love ripens for an unknown soul, it is called loving a sliver of your own soul what God might have nicked before sending you on earth. And perhaps that is what is called being soul-mates. When every ingredient of a materialistic world can feed your needs and still you adhere to this unconnected soul for no reason, you certainly are blessed with your ‘soul connection’.

Today, as I ponder my perception of love, I find it asinine but at the same time consider myself intellectually capable enough to gratify that dear friend of mine. Neither am I patient nor am I persevering towards Mr. Iyer. But I am just in love with him as I find my own being within him. The question of regaining faith in love arises once one is on the verge of losing it, and loss in love happens when the soul doesn’t connect. Faith in love remains agile and alive till you are in love with the soul sculpted exclusively for you. Probably the same happens to any loving couple. Love lingers eternally with the sliver of your own soul.

And before I conclude; a small footnote to my readers. Any guesses for that old man’s name? Satyavan…. Just a Coincidence or a real Soul Connection?


Readers Comments On “The Soul Connection”

  1. Ma’am i hav seen a lot of movies read a lot of love stories n evn seen a lot of them myself but never in my life did i come across such pleasant n pure description of love. It was lovely to have read your blog. All the time that i was going through your blog i bore a smile on my face. It feels really gud. Ma’am do stay sound n happy. Would b luking forward for a lot more. Loads of love n regards…

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