I am in the presence of attention.
It is that soul-moving experience of listening to someone intently, of letting them be who they are, and then, somehow you allow yourself to be who you are.
He talks a lot. It is the nonchalant constancy of thoughts that emerge in his mind and find a way out in words-a language foreign but a language that has grown on in him. It is the only language common between us. The language that connects us to the expression of what we have to say. There is a tug of war. I have more vocabulary, I have always surrounded myself with words-small and big. He is more into the simple-words nonetheless they are.
We carry the distinctness of two separate cultures, traditions, views of the world, the needs and wants vary. There are moments between us where Putin becomes a figure of admiration. There are times when the unavailability of ice cream in his hometown becomes a cause of worry. There is that specific moment when we stand on the sidewalk and point towards Mars-the traffic whizzing us past.
Language. The common language between us is English. The language that the British left us with, the language which we have burrowed inside the sub-tropic earth and let it take shape. The language has gathered within us both and encircled our ideas, shaped our thoughts, and allowed us to love each other.
And, then there are moments of silence.
A language of the loved. A language of attention. A language of resistance. A language of discord. A language of acquiescence. A language of wordlessness. A language of stillness.
Silence between us rests in moments.
Like the presence of silence when you can hear the birds sing.
Like the presence of silence when all noises cease.
Like the presence of silence when you lie down to sleep.
Like the presence of silence in love.