Pritam's Blog
Dear Maa, I Haven’t Moved On
Dear Maa,
No,I haven’t moved on. Nor do I want to. And even though I never tell you this, there is no denying the fact that I love you. But I love you not because I am obligated to love you. I love you for all the things you taught me, even though you knew some of your teachings might be used against you in future. I love and respect you because of the one-to-one relationship we share, the relationship between an objective mother and a learning son, between a teacher and a student, between friends in the truest sense of the word.
And I hate you when you let the mass, the society come in between us. Like when you tell me to give up my extremist beliefs, my noncorformist attitude, when you tell me to accept you the way you are.
Does it hurt you, my honesty? You know I have always been honest with you. I tell you if I plan to fight against something or someone. I tell you when I go to a whorehouse. I tell you even if I booze.
Why do I booze? No, it’s not to feel uncontrolled. I booze because of my thirst for something I don’t have or I can’t feel, or to imagine… And I want to imagine things not because I want to be a writer, but because everybody needs to have imaginations to endure the reality. And alcohol has always been a catalyst for my eyes, for my mind.
But trust me, I never lose control over myself when I am drunk. I am not gonna jump off the terrace, don’t worry :) Not even when I am sad, for grief is something, I believe, that teaches you a lot of things. Happiness, on the other hand, is superficial, even though it is good for health.
You know, Maa, this attitude of mine isn’t just restricted to you; so don’t think that I take you for granted. I feel awkward in any crowd; I hate PEOPLE. But when it comes to any one-to-one relationship, I am OK with it. I don’t judge them. And I hate the same person when they are in a crowd, for they become superficial. And I completely understand that being social demands superficiality. It’s just that I can’t stand it, this superficiality.
And you know what? This dislike for superficiality never invoked any sense of regret or guilt. Not even when Ruksar, my regular whore, the old woman I loved, died. I had always been rude to her.
But I must tell you that even though there is no guilt or regret, it’s because of all the imperfect moments we shared, I still remember her; I still feel she is there, somewhere, bathed in an aura of life, loving me.
And I believe that’s where the beauty of life lies- possessing something makes it insignificant, unimportant; the desire to have it makes it beautiful.
And it is probably this desire to see you right now that makes me feel ours is a beautiful relationship; it has been quite some time since I saw you, except in the photos you upload on Facebook.
How are you, Maa?
-Murphy Salvado Letters From A Paper Tiger