Ishq and Mushq

I spoke to a friend on the phone. We had agreed ealier to go to the mountains that day. He said he would be a bit late, when I had been waiting all morning for the crystallisation of a time, having asked for that the evening before, but not having been granted a time-appointment. Having learnt to be more patient with people’s troubles and lives, I did not get angry, just a little anxious. I said ‘what is a bit?’ (I should have said, what does it mean for you, ‘a bit’…). He said, well ‘a bit’, using a synonym. He thought my problem was the word. It wasn’t, as you might have guessed. I merely wanted to stabilise all this flexibility. He then got it, and said, well a bit, between 10 minutes and an hour. How much this collates with reality, I have not found out yet. However, I thought this was an answer that presupposed some knowledge of how I work. But consider long-term relationships (like family relationships and friendships and romantic relationships) and all the misunderstandings that go along with time. I have another reading for you that brilliantly conveys this, and a lot more. A story about a twice-migrant family (India to Kenya/Uganda to Britain) who, like any family, have a lot of things covered up in silence, and make a fuss about details, and refuse to forgive, and keep those grudges under rattling pressured lids. The opening sentence is: ‘remember there are only two things in the world you cannot hide: ishq and mushq’ (smell and love). Further to that Binsenweisheit, it is about ordinary sorrows and the emotionality of cooking. The author manages to build sentences that are at the same time beautiful, true and funny. I was surprised by the fact that this author is only three years older than me. I think, with me, it is the old problem that Danielito pointed out: too much information, not enough wisdom. But then again, wisdom may be overrated, too. I would ask for complete and permanent empathy if I had the wish granted. On the risk of being looked upon as a weirdo… ;-)