He was 84. She was 30. The only thing they had in common was life. Not tied to each other by any known or defined relation, but just life. He claimed with great pride that she was way too young, that he has seen more life than she has. She kept silent and smiled.
A heavyside function, trapped in its definitions, made its way in their lives. For years that it stayed, the man was right and the girl was wrong. The explanation that he always gave was his age and long experience; she was a complete nutter by all his books, decluttered and cluttered.
In one of the discontinuous accord, when the desolated ones needed tea to keep warm, the man thought of reporting them to the authorities for he felt letting them in, hugging them would mean harm. The girl wandered alone, put her kettle on. She bought cups and doubled them up with beautiful quotes and lyrics of songs. The man thought the girl was ‘wrong’, waited to see her fall. His experiences had it engraved in pure ink – ‘every man must fend for himself, at all risks’. The tea went on, the cakes followed, slowly the songs became the anthem of the fellows.
The man watched from a distance and realised that in all these years that he had lived, he never had the chance to love and feel loved but had advised. He had lived a life, through all these years, with experiences galore but somewhere ‘loving’ people for who they are never followed.
Her silences of letting him be right was a mark of respect beyond everything. Someone like her, who could love the masses without blinking, had learnt her ‘being human’ lessons well within.
When ‘life’ is the only chord that holds all of us together, who cares on who gets the strengths and curvature right?! Life, itself, begs to be loved and accepted rather than turning it into a ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ fight.