Is love a primordial element of life? It depends on the lover, of course! Yet, there are few who have not smouldered in these flames. Indeed, many have turned to cinders. For it is the nature’s trump card to ensure both succession and sanity in the maelstrom of life. Just as it is nature’s trump card to check destruction and wildness in the tranquility of life.
The Lance in My Heart is a tale of love that flowered over four thousand kilometers, as the crow flies. It is the tale of a man who went to the erstwhile Soviet republic as a devil-may-care youth. He stayed put through the turmoil of the republics as they tumbled like ninepins from the iron clasp of the USSR. Somewhere in the middle of the dust and debris of the apocalypse and the natural treasures of Donetsk, he chanced upon a rare rose. Lady luck held a beatific smile for him as she was also drawn to his candour and directness. Their paths merged despite their shockingly different languages, cultures and parents. One day, when he proposed to her under a Ukranian moon hanging in a violet evening sky, she nodded her head in ‘yes’. Wallowing in her love, he ignored lucrative employment offers in Singapore and Europe. Having scored over the heart of the ravishing beauty rooted to the soil of her land, he set out to scale the hurdles of his own emergent country, India. But just as they say, it never rains but pours, his story held a couple of blizzards in its folds, waiting to pummel and spread layers of gray over the rose beds.
The writer of his story is stung by the pain of the flutist who sits on the bank of a rippling stream, watching the leafy trees flutter in the transparent wind. He is at his wits end trying to meld the joy of clouds dancing in the azure sky with the poignant notes of the sparrow that has lost its mate. If he has to be the wind and the sky and the clouds and the river, he has to be the bird in mourning too. He notes the inflections of his notes, pauses and begins anew. He strives to store the lightness of the wind, the mirth of the clouds, the serenity of the sky and the jiggle of the trees in the melody. At the same time, he yearns to lace the tune with the melancholy of the forlorn bird. So that, when he moves back to the sea of life he would forever remember the unbearable beauty of love as it can be and he would forever remain pierced by the pain of a grieving heart whose loss is compounded by the joy of the world. And so will be others who listen to his tune.