A Tapestry of Conversations

"Wife…divorce…claimed three times… (insert legal jargon)"

My law aspirant friend sent a picture of a case he had been working on, something about a husband and wife and their divorce hurriedly scribbled in his notebook, followed by a short explanation of what I was seeing. Sending random pictures that tell each other about our day has become a habit of ours and it has somehow grown to be one of my favourite parts of the day.

I read his case notes and imagined what it would be like to hear him tell me about these cases he encounters, like stories in a very law-influenced novel. I have only known him by the grace of the virtual world, yet, through the random incohesive messages, deep discourses on socio-political issues, much deeper conversations on personal philosophies and moods, and cute pictures of his very carefully maintained Pooh Bear plushie, his presence has become a kind of comfort to me.

“You know what? Someday, I want to sit with you somewhere, and just listen to you tell me stories of these cases. I wouldn’t care how much time passed.” I casually commented.

I imagine, by his extremely taken aback response, that he was blushing on the other side of my device.

“It's like we’re in a library having a conversation and you stop me mid-sentence just to say this. Do you realise how sweet it is?” He replied.

“I just think it would be nice to listen to you talk about the law.”

On days when something bad happens, I send a cryptic, frustrated message and he would respond with, “Want to elaborate?” and he would listen to all of what I have to say. His and my relationship is dear to me for the reason that it reminds me of slow, safe afternoons of warm breeze and coffee. It's a moment of comfort if not a permanent solution.

Somedays after college gets over, my friend and I walk to the scooter stand that is enveloped by the natural sunroom of tall trees and just talk without the interruptions of the class bell, the mindless jokes or the chaos of needing to do one thing or another, and feel time pass by without bothering us. But the truth is, we don’t need the scooter stand to talk. We need each other. Sometimes I get to hold her hand in reassurance and see a side of her I wouldn’t get to see without the privacy or comfort of talking one on one.

One day, as I walked back from class, I noticed my teacher’s saree.(I love interesting saree designs for reasons I cannot explain.)

“It’s a lovely saree you are wearing ma’am”, I said and she smiled.

“Thank you. It was my mother’s gift to me. I have had it safe all these years”

At that moment, she was not just a teacher anymore, but a person with wonderful stories to tell. Conversations with her about Birdseye chillies and banana varieties make me think of how nice it would be just to sit and listen to all that she has seen and known, realising once again, the beauty of a part of someone being shared with you.

I have seen my mother’s face light up as she talks of the benefits of ancient south Indian foods, I have marvelled at the beauty of an author’s thoughts reflecting on the pages of a novel, I have had people leap into my arms overjoyed at seeing a long-distance friend, I have cradled sobbing friends coping with the weight of grief. I have held my little cousin in my hands humming till he fell asleep, and I have felt gentle strokes on my head when I lay my head down on the bench because I once said I love it. Humanity is inherently gentle, I think, despite what the modernists say.

I have learnt of a world beyond where people venture not from just the books I have sunk into or the classes that I have sat in, but from the stories I have heard people tell, from the conversations people are happy to have. And these conversations start with something as simple as only a question about them.

People do not ask enough questions. Neither are many curious to listen.

Why most people think what they think, believe what they believe, do what they do, and know what they know reveals a path to seeing a side of people, if missed, we might never be able to see again. Once you charter those territories, you’ll discover a beauty you never knew existed. The beauty of perspectives. The key to those territories are questions of “why?” and “how?”

When you ask these questions to people, you are let into a part of who they are that is very personal. Not because it is hidden or restricted, but because nobody cares to ask.

“Why is it that you don’t believe in religion?” I once asked a friend.

“From seeing the social implications of religion, I can’t help but think that religion is a social construct made to benefit a group. But when times get difficult, while most turn to religion, I turn to people and art that I love. They are my religion.” she replied. She was a more beautiful person at that very moment than she had ever been to me.

I think religion exists. I don’t know if it does in the way we know it, but I do know that God resides in kindness, in thoughtfulness, in the stories people tell, and in the things people make with love and care. God perhaps, does reside in that little space between two people, as Celine rightly says,

“If there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something.”

In a world often filled with distractions and superficial interactions, it is the power of genuine connection that truly resonates. The beauty lies in the conversations shared, the stories exchanged, and the questions asked. It is within these moments, that the little space emerges—a space where magic dwells. And perhaps, the simple hope to create this magic, could in turn create a more compassionate world, bereft of meaningless living.