Tales Of A Restless Heart 

“Everything seems out of place, even my insights. I cannot forgive myself and be proud of what I have become. I judge myself through a social lens. I look for permanency in a job, but I am dwelling in between. I manage no secure future, and the search for me seems vague. Why do I distance myself from what I wish to achieve? These were the words written in Ram’s diary. The next night he wrote something after his evening class. 

“We look for what we are afraid to see. Maybe a probability exists, and that is the name of life. Some people have desires, and they are robbed of it. Society itself creates a greater void than nothingness. Some ideas are borrowed, but an insight is painful, more painful when we hope to fulfil something."

Another day goes by. Ram wakes up early and prepares his lesson for an MBA class. He had started teaching managerial communication. A job is never secure unless you sell your soul. Ram walks inside his class; he has tackled conceptual understanding, and when he speaks in class, he speaks conceptual English. Maybe a new term: how concepts make you sound philosophical unnecessarily. To be alone is the fate of great minds, but Ram felt that the need of his days was a philosophy that worked. “Action is the greatest achiever,” Ram told one of his students, Kishore, who worked.

“Sir, does it mean that we achieve through our actions?” Kishore asked him. Before Ram could say anything, Shreya said, “All the philosophy books mean nothing if you don’t take up action.” Gita concluded that "only reading books without applying their ideas won’t change our lives. We don’t need to read books; we need to bring our action into work."  

“Yes, we need to do the most immediate task at hand, and we will achieve success." Ram concluded his class and went out into the dark street. His evening class was a wonderful way to end his day, but philosophy was troubling him. 

“Do you think philosophy makes people lonely? Do you think if we talked about philosophy we would be together for life? I am looking for someone who could talk to me about life, poetry, art, and music. To feel the wind in the night, to gaze at the stars, to kindle a campfire and listen to the rustling of leaves, to step on the fallen leaves, and to shoulder someone and hold hands for eternity. How beautiful would it be? How musical would it sound? How poetic will the attraction be? The streets won’t feel deserted; the ways won’t feel the pangs of departure. Departure with longing is not expectation but fulfilment in a feeling.” 

The evening was filled with these kinds of expressions in Ram’s diary. He felt, and he wrote; he desired and thought of fulfilment in desires. He felt the smile bursting in his heart, and the absence of a friend also made him hopeful, but he realised hope is a painful thing—this existential idea was on his mind for a long time.

He took help from social media to kill his anxiety, but he became enslaved by it. He felt it took him down to the bottom of the sea, only to make him habituated to it. He was wandering from pillar to post. It was as if he was negotiating his life for happiness, company and the correct philosophy. To put things in place, he was fighting with the ideas that mattered most in life, but he noticed everyone had different answers to what life is. 

He once taught the chapter “The Company Man". It made him always set on the wrong train. His destination never came. The chapter said something that made Ram defend his weaknesses. The chapter said that no matter how diligently you work for the company, you can always be replaced. He felt that the job was not relevant after reading that chapter. Ram battled digital distractions, thoughts, and raw philosophies, yet he desired social life—is realisation a curse? He wrote in his diary one day. 

Maybe love is the solution to every distraction. He remembered what Plato said. It said, “Love is a serious mental disease.” But it took Ram a long time to realise that overthinking about love is dangerous. But again, there is Bob Dylan saying, “You can never be wise and be in love at the same time.” Ram began to live in the world of ideas. He wrote in his diary: The world of ideas is pulling me all the time like the strongest force of gravity—is it so full of detachment? 

Ram came out of his classroom. He had not prepared anything for the class he lectured to. He was worried if the students got most of it—that is so natural for a teacher. Ram learnt this a bit late, like how he learnt not to overthink while having conversations with girls. Love can be tricky—Ram had been in short relationships that was physical too in a short span of time. University can be a swamp of lies that pulls you close and never lets you know the truth—many great lovers die prematurely. This is the last drag of an existential cigarette that can cause cancer. 

Ram read that love can liberate a person. Like how the poet Rilke became the poet with the touch of love. Angst and introspection make one a thinker. That thinker wanders a lot but does not see what is before him. The quagmire is to swallow you and take you to the steps of hell. Ram sometimes thought he had a tell-tale mind and he had a hush-hush heart—the heart that never dares to open up. The tale-telling mind is always analytical and never shuts down. Some of us carry on and feel too much—there is no bar to drink away all the thoughts. Everything is temporary, and even relief is temporary—maybe that is the most existential idea. 

One day when Ram was teaching in his class, he saw a somewhat familiar person—he approached her, and she greeted him instead. It was Chaya, his college friend—they were really close. Chaya was there for her interview as a lecturer—they chatted for some time at the canteen. Now she was to become a colleague, and they were to work together. Chaya spent a few years at the college. Ram became real close to her because she also taught the same subject, but her area was English literature rather than communications. 

Chaya greeted him with, “Ram, why don’t you share a poem with me?” “Oh, I would love to.”  “Do they make sense?” Ram said this after Chaya had read his poem “Absolutely. Oh, I think they are filled with wonderful feelings.” “That’s a delightful and, I hope, affectionate comment.”  “It feels as if you know about what you write. I have also noticed this in your book reviews. “I dare to do that." “Your words are heavy, and they carry their soul with them.”  “They are just feelings that I wish someone would feel.” “Oh dear, you seem so emotionally charged when you write.”  “You got me!” “Who is the mysterious lover in your poems?” I am curious. “Oh, it is a figment of my imagination,” said Ram. “Maybe not. Come on, you can let me know.” “It is my tale-telling heart and its queen."  "I wish I could read more of your poems, but I wondered if I could read to you,” said Chaya.  “You speak with such depth that I want to reach the base of affection in you,” Chaya further added. 

Ram could feel Chaya’s eyes like a pure blue ocean. “Only if there is affection in me,” Ram said. “I think it is growing like a rose to cast a spell of fragrance,” said Chaya. “You and your caring company are that rose,” Ram replied in a lovely tone. “We are in the same garden, Ram,” Chaya added. “That means we don’t have to wait for the spring,” Ram said. “Oh, you are being clever with your words now. Don’t hit me with your poetic darts,” Chaya added. “I am just being me.” “I have found myself to be liberated in your company.” “It will remain for life,” Chaya concluded.  “Let’s take an evening walk to welcome the new dawn of our life,” Chaya said to Ram.

They walked past the canteen. There was a latticed window, and the evening's yellow sunrays passed through it. The water fountain in the main lawn beside the garden felt as if it was going to touch the glittering stars. Thin air blew the shawl off Chaya, and Ram caught it with his hand. It was like holding onto light and easy things—just like Ram’s life when Chaya came. Ram felt reflection before affection and affection after reflection—everything is an opportunity for the one who introspects. 

(Thapa is an English lecturer in Biratnagar.)