The noon light turned in to twilight. The translucent window of her house let in the change but the curtains that were spread over hardly showed me the difference, the change in light. But the darkness was felt as it got a few shades darker.
She sat before me, her hair open, curly and wild. She made no effort to change it. She cleaned the rim of her spectacles and pushed aside the books that lay on her lap. She sat now, legs folded, Buddha like, as though about to give us a sermon. She pulled out her phantom cigarette and placed it between her lips. She, then, pulled the lighter out and acted as though she lit the cigarette. The flicker of fire gave away her expression which was eternal. She looked at me and the girl besides me. She puffed out the invisible smoke. The intensity of her gaze gave me goose bumps.
Then she let out a sly smile. Her eyes mischievous. She took a deep breathe and spoke,
“So. Ahem. It is like a free fall. You know you will get hurt. You know it will end. You fear it. Imagine jumping off a cliff. And then time stops. It stops and you keep on falling. You fall and there is no going back. You are stuck. Sometimes you will feel that this is the worst part-being stuck-being committed. How can it last for ever? Even for a month? How can someone not get bored of things, of people, of falling? ”
Her soliloquy came to a halt. I was dumbfounded, I kept on wondering whether it was a question to be answered. Before I could answer she continued,
” You don’t. If you really like the fall. And when it is pure, you know as pure as a child, you can never feel bored. Then, even the feel of it is enough. Imagine, if only the feel of falling can be great then how magnificent can the fall be?”
She pauses again, on a question. What, do I answer that? Or I do not?
“So fall. And feel it. It is Beauty and it is True. Well, it is one of the Truths. A truth that is beautiful; so much so that it can color your chaos. It can make your craziness profound. It takes you to Paradise.”
At this pause I knew, she was done and she has jumped into the ocean of her beautiful memories.
I knew I was disturbing, but I had to ask, ” What is this ‘it’, Baba?”
She took a while to respond but I knew she heard. That was the longest wait for wisdom, I had ever waited.
” ‘It’ can be anything.” She replied, her answer made me perplexed, such mysteries she created!
After a while, she spoke, when her cigarette was consumed,
” For me, ‘it’ was Love.”