Wednesday, 6 April 2016


Heart That Needs Heart
“My heart listens only to the music of heart. The language of mind just forms vague images and figures which I can’t get myself associated with. And for me establishing connection from my inside is very important”, explained he.
 He was in the business of selling hearts. Robust and man of sugar coated words has won many hearts because of his occupation. Like any other renowned man of caliber he too was treasuring gems of name, fame and recognition. That’s what he had longed for fifteen years of low profiled, low ebbed and undignified life. He was a laborer then. What he used to earn he used to consume the same day in eating and getting drunk and used to get mingled in slumber of carefree  life and never had any expectations from it. He had no liability but he was a burden on himself.
On the onset of every new morning he used to wake up with guilt, the biggest self invited ailment man feeds for himself. He with his closed eyes used to find himself in the crowd of world’s second largetst population. “What I am? I am sheer waste in the world full of best human resources. I must gather all my capabilities to be what I am.” He started excavating his real him. He was good in winning hearts, so he started selling hearts.
One came with eyes filled with tears, begging to save him from cruelty of his own people, relation of blood. They had all discarded him as he was not as rich as they were. But they were very poor in feelings and emotions. He was shattered when he came to the seller of hearts, who resolved his problem by making his own family bestowing all her love on him and for him. There was another one who came crippled, left rolling in the tides of time and circumstances. This seller of heart solved his problem by connecting him to a charitable organization and let his heart feel light and joyous.
There was one couple who came with heart rendering cries as they lost their nine year old only son to the most deadly disease cancer, and had no hope to have other child of their own. He melted and took them to an orphanage, where many parent less and homeless small and innocent children welcomed them with their willing hearts, and they left with smiles in their lap by adopting three year old girl.
That was not all. A wife lost her husband in war at border; he helped her to be self reliant for the smiles of her three kids and forgetting her pain of losing her brave husband. He sold her the heart which she had buried with the corpse of her husband. He only could do it in very subtle and quiet manner. He had the magical heart which listened to the untold stories of hearts only and to give these hearts the beats he used to sell hearts.
The buying currency for him was his soft words and ability to win the trust of others. People readily used to agree to sell him feelings, emotions, sentiments at the cost of his humanitarian bent of heart. He was not a preacher. He was not a messiah. He was not any guru. He was not a saint. He was not any leader. He was not a priest. He had no sect. He had no religion. He did not belong to any school of thought. All he was was just his own self: the listener of heart and seller of heart.
People invest in movable and immovable properties but he used to invest in making hearts, spreading smiling hearts and creating loving hearts. He was an illiterate but he started writing a new language: The language of heart whose alphabets were pity, compassion, empathy, sympathy, care and concern. The grammar of this language was connection and formation of relations only. He was so very happy to reside in the hearts of people.
Today he lies on the bed in a small hospital fighting his life because his own heart has failed. The machine is gradually forming a straight line but in between goes up and then down. He is in unconscious slumber, but this time it is not guilt that is taking birth. It is now the prideful heart: ailing but satisfied. It is going to die yet alive in millions of hearts.
He now knows the answer to his question of who he was. He is none other than our hearts which we have shut on the world seeing its brutality and coarseness. We have imprisoned it behind the bars of materialism and self absorption.
The present scenario of setting territories on the basis of religions and prejudices is failing every effort of this bleeding heart. Its business is now at loss.  The irony is it has solution for every painful heart but for its own disease it has no medicine.
Will there be any other seller of hearts born to render its self less care to heart in trouble? The blood is oozing out profusely.
Sangeeta Sharma