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The Human Heart. One of the most fragile parts of the body, might not be able to handle a bullet shot, gets blocked by oil and can shoot up and down in no time, but has the strength to bear the most traumatic experiences a human can bear and still has the audacity to start all over again. May be it is not the heart, but the brain, but I think we all always end up connecting the emotional turmoils, the emotional crap and the happiness to the heart, so hell not to consider it the most fragile yet the most strong.

I don’t meet a lot of people, honestly, or may be I do, or may be not, I think everyone does meet a lot of people right? But the beauty of meeting them in their vulnerabilities, in the moments they would not want to be met by anyone, yet choose to share that moment with a stranger, the moment that could easily be shrugged off by their loved ones, yet a stranger stands still, in complete understanding of them as a person, as an individual, as though the heart understands the pain, the happiness, the love and the betrayal.

I have been in Bengaluru for a month now, and I did met a couple of people, some with their masks on, and some with heaviness in their hearts so loud, all they could do was just out pour. I met women, strong headed women, women building startups, handling teams, working two jobs a time, and yet at night their hearts bled. Bled of lost lovers, of expectations that they aren’t able to fulfill, the dreams that look too far and yet too close, the misogyny around and the classism around.

On the first day, I met a woman, who if you see from far would believe to have no scar, she loved her life, her smile was beautiful, the eyes sparkled, yet on a night she found herself mourning over her first love. Finding in people, in cities, in places and in work and in whatever that she could, the home she had already built with her lover, and when she found herself without that house, she roamed and roamed in places and people and cities and work, sometimes to blame herself and sometimes to the world around. For when the mask of happiness fades, you could see the eyes that yearned for the love she felt, the one that man could not sustain in front of his world. And yet, her heart and the audacity to choose herself, her mind, her priorities over the man she once called home.

On the third day, I met a woman who ran away from her house. From a marriage which tried to cage her, from parents who could not accept a divorce woman in their house, ran and ran far away from a place she once called her home. She bribed and made excuses and felt guilty for leaving everything she once loved behind, for something she believed in . When I first met her, I thought how could, how could you just be someone who wears that much of makeup, and those flashy clothes in the summer of Bangalore. Why would you do that? Only to find her, at night, with cigarette in her hand, worried about all that has been lost, and anxious about all that has to be built. The fear in her eyes, that could shout out loud and say that she has no grounds to stay and has to find her feet, for the house where she could lay her head, she has thrown it away, and the house that is yet to be built, is still a work in progress.

On the 15th day here, I met a woman, who was so fierce I could feel a bit shaky in my own grounds around her. She was fierce and focused, as though she could cut people in half if they tried coming in between her and work. She had dreams and desires and the burning heat to make things happen in her life. Yet she found herself, surrounded by men who wanted nothing of her brain but all that of her body. I found her lying naked in the dormitory room, crying and yelling after a long day of trying to make her things happen. In that moment if you saw her, if anyone saw her, you could just assume she is worth nothing, not doing anything, but in 2 seconds, when the phone rang of some investor, the fierceness was back, the desire to get things done was back, to be, to be worth something was back.

And today, I met a girl, not a woman, a girl, a 21 year old girl, who has the understanding that she has to leave the country for her PHD, because her father does not earn and she has to be the bread winner for her family, and the heart to come meet her boyfriend in a 20 hour bus journey. Only to be met by blankness from him. To be met by nothing more but words of how he can not meet her, of how it is her fault to have taken that journey, of how everything that she has done is all wrong. When I met this girl, I wondered if I should support her or take support from her. For in a sentence, she could talk about how much she feels betrayed by her boyfriend, and guilty about having to put her mother in this situation for a man like him; fragile enough to still forgive the man, to take the blame on her, to go back and forth in her mind about who is right and who is wrong, ; and yet strong enough to know that may be it is time to leave!

The audacity of the human heart or the mind that is, in all these journeys that people take, that I take, and when I meet them, I am reminded of similar journeys that I have taken, I think most of us have taken, irrespective of the gender. This post is a reminder of the audacious heart that we all have. For it can cry rivers but can also build bridges. For if you find yourself, wondering if all has gone wrong, and all has been lost, I hope you find yourself reading this, reminding yourself, that the heart is way too audacious, it can make you feel like you are in the trenches of dust, and can still make its way to the summits of mountains.

Okay, I gotta go now!

Toodles.

Stay tuned, for more stories 🙂

Amore,

Tanubhrt This Side