It seems to be the season of moving on. The season of consigning the present into a dustbin labelled 'past' and walking into the embrace of the future, the prospective, the would-be. Overnight the route that people had taken to reach their destination is being reworked: just like security agencies would rework a VIP's route in the event of a bomb threat. The idea is to prevent casualties in case of an explosion.
But it is not just the fear of explosion which makes two people part ways. Very often, it also happens when the promise of an explosion turns out to be a damp squib. Whatever it maybe, people break up. They move on. Someone moved on yesterday, someone else is moving on tonight, and tomorrow morning, a few more people will change the status of their lovers from 'is' to 'was'. It is the season of moving on.
The sad part is that the process of moving on always leaves behind a residue in the form of a broken heart. Only one heart. The other heart is intact, ready to be given away to someone else. The broken heart takes a while before it mends itself and hesitantly offers itself to someone hopefully more considerate. But the fear of breaking again always lurks.
Even sadder is the fact that only till the other day, the two hearts beat together. They knew it beat together because they felt it -- she, when resting her head on his chest while watching TV; he, when resting his head on her bosom while reading a book. "My back is hurting... after we get married, will you press my back every day?" "Yes my puppy." Or: "You know, after we get married, I'll make the dinner and you will make the breakfast. Lunch we will have out." "Ok, you cook the dinner, but I will help you. I will chop the vegetables."
Somewhere down the line, love gets chopped off. She has probably found someone who has told her: "Darling, you deserve a Thai massage. We will fly down to Bangkok every weekend." Or he has probably found someone who tells him: "No way my baby, you are a man, you are not going to cook. I will cook for you -- breakfast, lunch and dinner. Okay?"
But this change of heart does not happen simultaneously, and that is the saddest part about a break-up, about moving on. Because usually it is only one heart that wants to move on, the other clings on. It clings on till it has been kicked, trampled upon, spit at -- but it still clings on, hoping for a reversal in the change of heart. But it never happens, and people move on.
At times, it is the desperate willingess to be kicked at, trampled upon and spat at that quickens a break-up. Ask the other person to fuck off and chances are he and she will tamely come around, but then, it is only the brain that can be so manipulative and not the heart. The heart forces you to make last-ditch attempts -- to say all the right things, to cook all the right things, to buy him/her all the right things. But those right things, by now, irritate him/her. So people break up. And they move on.
But, like a coin, break-ups have their funny side too: him absent-mindedly calling her "Sweetie", the nickname for his old girlfriend, even though he calls the new one "Baby"; her calling him "Ashok" instead of "Vikaas" just when she is approaching orgasm.
The funnier part is the lines people give to their lovers while moving on. Some do it in a fit of rage, some break the news pleasantly over coffee, and some just stop communicating. In the end, the language they convey it in is the same: "Well, er, umm, well, you see, well, now how do I say it, but you see, it is just not working. It was good as long as it lasted. Come on, we have sweet memories of each other. But we need to move on."
Part of the lines which he or she dishes out while explaining the 'moving on' is also likely to be hired from the prospective lover. Where else can you draw courage to end a relationship that was supposed to have lasted your lifetime? What a sham! If I were someone watching all this from heaven, I would have warned the victim beforehand: "Dump him/her before you are subjected to those we-must-move-on lines."
But then, I am not up there. Am down here, as part of the people who break up and who move on. And from here, that is Loveland, you witness the funniest. I know someone who unceremoniously dumped his long-standing but subsequently long-distance girlfriend, telling her, "I still love you, and you know that. But you know what, things aren't the same. You are no longer the same when I first knew you, and you know that. So why can't we move on and just be friends."
He had the courage to say this because he was hoping to run into the embrace of a new woman who he thought to be the true love of his life. They went around for some time before the so-called true love decided to run off to a long, long distance. And before crossing the ocean, she gave him almost the same lines he had given to his old flame, but in a refined manner: "... It is up to us to see the best in people and make our way. Some affect us positively and some not. But when we see something that beguiles/delights us, I think we push ourselves a little more. See the world thru brighter colors maybe or at least cherish the moments we share with them. As all things pass, so do people. They too move on and so do we."
Someone, certainly, is up there. And I am glad He is there.
But no matter who causes it or what causes it, 'moving on' is a painful process. If I were in charge of affairs (pun intended), I would declare it as a medical emergency which requires general anaesthesia. When you are put to sleep, you are with someone, and when you wake up, you are with someone else. You are spared the pain of the transformation.
There are, however, certain relationships which are beyond 'moving on'. Simple because those relationships are forged only after the people concerned have 'moved on' several times in their lives before bumping into a kindred spirit. And that's a relationship I raise a toast to. For there are no complicated lines to give here. A simple one would do: "You and me. Me and you. By the Ganges. Forever." Bliss.