What love is, to you?
‘Candy’, a five year old kid replied.
‘Mathematics’, answered a ten year old Maths geek.
‘Dad’, laughed a fifteen year old Daddy’s daughter.
“Uhm, um, I really don’t know”, faltered a fifty year matured soul.
The last one, rather, the best, who falteringly answered knew it all, and yet uncertainly unknown. To expound love certainly is uncertain. For, love is inexplicable. Unfathomable. Abstract. Ubiquitous. Truly, it’s all around.
To say, love varies from one perception to another. Love? it is like those colourful strands of fibre where each twisted strand vies, giving off its own appeal and lure. Love? it is as befuddling as it is to compulsively decide upon just one when all your favourites pose, sissing inside the tablewares. Love? It is to dance until your soul falls as victim to your systematic body. Love? It is to surprisingly surprise your wife with the least-expected tea on her bedside table. Love? It is to talk to your girl late at night, uninterruptedly, until the morning-coos trespass the talkative silence, betwixt the two. Love? It is to find the nook around his chest the softest pillow.
Love is to simply love, no matter who or what the recipient is. Nibble chocolates. Dance on her neck. Pop up the rainbow bubbles. Pig out on milk powder. Help your wife laundry. Hug your crying sister. Hop on muddy puddles. Fondle a street dog’s unkempt fur. All that happens under your heart’s say is pure and selfless. And love is in the purity and selflessness.
Love is really just to love. And nothing less, nothing more.
By Prerna Daga