Yes,
that is what I genuinely feel. There was a time when even a short story
published in a magazine talked to me. It tried to tell me honestly about its
feelings after a happening, a sight, a touch or a smell; sometimes even without
uttering a word. I recall having read historical novels where the author had tried
to narrate his experience about how the earth trembled when elephants and
horses ran helter-skelter during a fierce battle that was actually fought years
ago.
I knew then, that the authors that talked to me through their
stories, novels, poems and, plays, etc. acted as lively bridges between the
lives of others or maybe their own with their foundations firmly grouted deep
into their hearts, constantly sucking from the softness of their hearts for
their existence that could be felt, but not touched, seen, heard or smelt.
I am neither overwhelmed by, nor apologetic about the
nostalgia of having lived in an era when the agony, sereneness or ecstasy of
first hand emotions influenced my life and made me a man living with my own
aloneness like any other man and, not an individual, perhaps a little lonely
like any other individual.
I am not complaining, but sometimes, I do feel that no one is
interested in talking to me.
PROMOD KUMAR SHARMA
[The writer of this blog is also the author of “Mahatma A
Scientist of the Intuitively Obvious” and “In Search of Our Wonderful Words”.]
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Hello Promod,
ReplyDeleteTo be isolated and alone aren't always the same experience. If you seek interest from others you must become interested in their truths and life stories equally. Then a new circle of friends will play out in your life that become interested upon you once more. In a metaphor you must siphon on the hose leading to the gas bucket in order to create the momentum needed to fill your gas tank in time.
Namaste Soul Brother.