I saw the movie Rangoon. The backdrop was the Second World War, the time frame 1940s and the places India and Burma. It had a central female character and two strong male characters that influence her. Then there are other characters who implore you to think about the context from their point of view. The supporters of INA, the Britishers, the Japanese, the group of Indian artists all into their own lives and livelihood, goals and missions.
I dwell on the characters, what they portray and what they define. The decisions they take, considering the person they are, what excites them, the philosophy which drives them, how the philosophy changes if it does and how they adhere to the philosophy if they do. Amidst these questions a dominant question emerged on what love really means. Love as a question never dies and survives everywhere and amidst everything. It finds an overlap with the person I am within and the persons around in real life and urges me to think and conceptualise.
The first person a girl meets who cares and does beyond her expectation, gets her respect and love. He sees a talent worth mentoring and develops possessiveness for all that comes forth from the protection and sustenance. Love can find a way. It is an unequal equation between the unequal stands. It serves the purpose for both, survival, work and togetherness.
Being in no formal obligation, understanding a person in rough or challenging time and falling in love, unadulterated with anything else is perhaps true love to begin with. But love perhaps is a process and not an event. Love perhaps is an insight and love perhaps seeks creativity in constancy. It needs new reasons to sustain love. Love needs freedom to not turn stale. Love is a turn around a corner and not a straight road. A new awakening, new concern, a new concept, a new philosophy can be love. Encouragement to self exploration can be love.
Finding love is perhaps not the meaning of life. Finding meaning of life can be finding love. Finding that there is no meaning in life can leave room for love. That love be there and add no joy, that love not be there and take away no joy is perhaps life.
Bloody Hell! The woman finally says, for she had seen love in both ways, both neither an end nor means to an end.
