In my college days, as I left my home for the first time into the wilderness of the real world, I felt a huge void in the corridors of my heart. It wasn’t that I wasn’t excited with the amazing possibilities which lied in front of me. Indeed I was really thankful for them and I did engage with them to the best of my abilities. Still, I was away from home and there’s something about home which just is far too incomprehensible.
The first semester was well under way. Tests, assignments and extra-curricular activities were lining up. I was immensely immersed in them. Hardly a moment to take a breather when I glanced at the calendar and found that my matashri’s birthday was just a couples of day away.
Memories rushed within the contours of my head. Or was it my heart? I soon found myself on a train going back home, if only for just a day. I reached back home much to everyone’s surprise and yet not so for somehow it felt as if they knew. As if it was a foregone conclusion that I wouldn’t miss the occasion for the world. It felt, well for the lack of a better word, heartening. My father was introducing his staff to someone and then seeing me, with a smile on his face, he said, “And here’s my elder son. He just arrived a minute ago.” All chuckled.
Later in the evening, we had perhaps one of the best dinners I’ve ever had in my life. It wasn’t just that the menu was par excellence, although it was. It wasn’t just that the occasion was special, although it was. It was something else. Something more. Something magical. I guess that’s the only way I can describe it.
On my return journey my train, with my berth RACed, was horribly delayed. Most of my fellow passengers were not, let’s just say, in the greatest of moods. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but be beaming with smile. I still am smiling as I write this thinking about that evening.
In his book ‘The Prophet’, Kahlil Gibran writes, “Love is sufficient unto itself”. I further believe that love is a dimension unto itself. The way it works sometimes it does things beyond the natural grasp and senses of our human four dimensions; and our understanding of them. Perhaps that’s what magic is. This inexplicable happening around us which we can feel, yet somehow cannot. Maybe it’s the events of a mysterious force working in dimensions we just cannot fathom with our logically rooted brains. Maybe we still can get a faint feeling of it for our hearts register something as they can register love. Maybe; just maybe: love is the root cause of all real magic.