The language of love needs no words…

This moving piece, currently in circulation on the Internet, proves that love is a lingua franca which does not need the spoken word

Michael and I did not know when the waiter put the plates on our table. We were sitting in a small restaurant, hidden from the busy Third Street, in New York City. Even the smell of a fresh serving of blintz did not interfere with our conversation. In fact, we let the blintz soak in the sour cream. We just enjoyed the conversation so much that we forgot to eat.

Our conversation was just so delightful, though we did not speak about important things. We were laughing and speaking about the movie which we had just watched the night before and arguing about the meaning of the morning’s literature seminar. He told me about his new-found maturity and step into adulthood, when he only responded if someone called him ‘Michael’ and pretended not to hear if they called him ‘Mikey’. Was that at the age 12 or 14? He did not remember, but he recalled his mother once cried and said that he had become a man too fast.

When we tasted the blueberry blintzes, I told him that my brother and I used to pick wild blueberries when visiting our cousins. I remembered I always finished my share before we went home and my aunt always warned me that I must be careful lest I have a stomach-ache. But, of course, no stomach-ache ever happened.

While our fun conversation continued, my eyes went across the room and stopped at the corner. An elderly couple was sitting there. The woman was wearing a flowery dress, the colour of which had faded over the years.

The top of the man’s head shined just like the boiled egg which he ate very slowly. The woman chewed her oatmeal very slowly too, seemingly with much effort.

But what made my mind think about about them was the silence around the two. The silence was so overpowering that it seemed like melancholy filled the corner completely. When our own conversation became a whisper, the silence of the old couple began to disturb me. How sad, I thought, if there is nothing to talk about at all? Were there any pages in each other’s life that they had not read? What if it happened to us?

Michael and I paid for our food and went on. When we passed the corner where the couple sat, my wallet fell. I stooped to pick it up, and stopped right there. For under the table, the old man was tenderly holding his wife’s hand. They were eating in silence while holding each other’s hand! I stood upright.

A feeling of utter delight filled my heart. Suddenly, I was touched to see the simple, yet very meaningful action reflecting the close relationship of the couple. And I felt special on being allowing to watch it.

The tender caress from the old man’s hand to his wife’s wrinkled and tired fingers, filled, not only what I though was an empty corner, but it filled my heart as well. I then realised that their silence was not the uncomfortable emptiness like what Michael and I used to have after the jokes we cracked on our first date. It was not that.

Their silence was pleasant and relaxing. It was the expression of the tender love which did not always need ‘the right words’ to express it.

They might have spent the hours like these so many times. Maybe this meal was no different from yesterday, but they enjoyed it in peace.

They accepted each other totally, with all their faults and follies. When Michael and I walked out of the restaurant, I thought maybe it was not bad at all if someday we shared something like the old couple. Maybe, it will become an expression of the tender and complete love we hope to share.

www.chakradhar.net