Why are we nicer to strangers?

The answer to most of the questions about human conflict lies in one word – HISTORY! The history of unkind (intended / unintended) words or glances can sometimes make one not-so-nice to people one loves. With strangers, there’s no past & perhaps no future, resultantly no conflict. I am fascinated by the concept of taking someone for granted. My younger sister yesterday evening pouted and scolded me in her cute endearing manner. I was feeling a bit out of sorts and wasn’t my usual self. She had just come back from the market after putting a not-so-big hole in Papa’s pocket and I wasn’t asking her questions with quick rapidity. She asked me vehemently if I was taking her for granted. I told her I was. It’s a soul-binding thing to be taken for granted. With strangers there’s no such compulsion or need or concession for that matter. Thus I think it’s essential that we use a simple technique, while judging a person – Give him/her the benefit of doubt. It will ensure that we constantly re-assess our interpretation of the situation. This will also ensure that we love the people we should truly love. Without the "history" of care & strife we haven’t really shared our lives – deeply and emotionally. But this does not obliterate the moments of anguish, there would be some, the idea is to ultimately go back home happy. Not only physically & literally, but spiritually & metaphorically.

May God grant us all good sense to check our irrational reactions before it is too late. Amen!

"Dover Beach" by Mathew Arnold

These are only the last two stanzas from the poem. Most beautiful too I think ...

"...Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.'

"When We Two Parted" by George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron

Since college this poem has been one of my many favourites. Oooh i remember a beautiful & poignant poem by Mathew Arnold, which most certainly will be my next post.

When We Two Parted

WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met—

In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

An ode to AIDS

I feel old
Really old
The mirror has begun to irritate me
And gobsmack my whims.
I wish to resemble my past self
Though I feel young inside
But the life to come scares me
He told me I am dying
Half believing I held the paper
Thinking he is mad
But running through the contents
I know that I am too old to survive
My dying breath would
Think God unkind
I had so much life,
So many dreams
So many struggles
Yet unknown
I was a theist still
Till I visited you
Okay I resign
My unthroned reign
Will come to an end
Tomorrow
Next month
Or perhaps
I am already dead
In spirit
May be
But I wish they had
Discovered a cure sooner
For my sake
This time.

--- Nemo Amleth

"The Bowerbirds" by Dana Goodyear

I love the newyorker site, so i visit it quite often. One who even remotely likes to read serious Fiction & Poetry must, must go to this site!!!
I think this poem beautifully and succinctly captures that vague surety of parting-ways. And what comes after...

The Bowerbirds

As if we were leaving
the small forest tower that we built,
with a moss carpet and mosquito chandeliers.
and laughing at it.
I can’t believe you used that word –
in an argument, no less.
But we would never break this way,
loose, affectionate, wry.
You straighten,
add an ornament.
This is somehow part of staying.
If you left, a black cape would flap
like a crow winging,
and I would make a hundred harried calls.

-- Dana Goodyear

Thanks to 'T'

I m a bit big on alliteration today! How... sample this... meandering musings, thanks to 'T'. This is the first ever post on my new blog. And I wish to give a lot of credit to a new friend in my new office. If it wasn't for 'T' I would still be wasting a lot of paper! So thank you 'T' for inspiring me:)
C ya on the blog-space!