The luxury of true love
So the story goes like: One day Majnu, lost in his thoughts, walked past a man offering Namaz. The act in itself a blasphemy, irked the man deeply. He got up from his prayers in order to confront Majnu said, “How could you not see that I am praying?” To which Majnu replied, “I was so consumed in my sacred love for Laila that I did not see you. If you were absorbed equally in your prayers to Allah, you wouldn’t have noticed me either.”
56 years old Abdul Rahman Sheikh, a self-taught mechanic and blacksmith, a grassroot innovator, recounted this story as I nibbled on a spread of snacks and salty tea served at his home. There are many things I love about Kashmir, but nothing quite like sitting across a man who has invented the finest iron cutting machine despite of never going to school, applauded by President of India, yet prefers to narrate the Majnu story to emphasize the love he holds for his wife. Although we met to capture his gleaming achievements and shelves decked with numerous awards, it was his relationship with his late wife that took centre stage very quickly.
She passed away 10 years ago and still, every time he took her name, he would tear up overwhelmed with how much he missed her. He wouldn’t even sit with his back facing the picture of his beloved. “She can still see me”, he would say if one asked to exchange places. “Love”, he said, “was the chinar leaf that helps Jhelum forget all the pain it carries.”
His deepest desire was to build an aeroplane from scratch. A simple two-seater that would allow him to take his wife up in the clouds and show the Kashmir valley from a bird eye view. He had promised her that he would someday and she believed, undoubtedly, he could. Unfortunately, before his efforts could see the light of the day, she passed away, shortly after his work received national attention. As a result, a heartbroken Sheikh, laced in grief, decided to quit the project. “Even if I build it” his voice cracked, “I wouldn’t have her by my side.”
It is no revelatory insight that the weave of love, in any relationship of the world, is complex. There is no map or handbook on how to unravel trust, to understand inner mysteries of the other and to celebrate your own self through someone else. God forbid, if a thread unties itself off the pattern, there is no clear formula on how to stitch it back without any knots and knurls. And still, our heart hopes for a certain finesse at the mercy of an unskilled hand. Mr. Sheikh, wasn’t apologetic about giving up on his Aeroplane idea rather assured that it was the right thing to do. His promise like life was evolving and therefore had room to morph into other vows.
Ever since, I never forgot that the greatest luxury of true love is the freedom to change your mind. To not be pinned down to what you thought was best previously even when you have replaced its notion with another belief system. The solace of companionship of any kind is to be able to say, “You know what I told you last week with absolute certainty, well I don’t endorse that anymore.” And not feel ashamed or reduced with this amend. To not fear that the alteration of your thoughts threatens how much you are accepted and appreciated. Abdul ji taught me that bonafide love allows for our updates to be installed with intention and immediacy even after long, unaccounted reboots.