I am speaking (and chatting on messenger apps), at the exact same time, to a woman friend who has escaped an abusive relationship and is fighting PTSD, and to a male friend whose wife kidnapped their child and left him high & dry, and is using the law to harass him, with her possession of the (girl) child as leverage so she can get a huge part of his wealth.
I am hearing, ‘all men are assholes; I loved him once‘ from one end and ‘she used me, man; I used to love her‘ at the same time from the other. And I am nodding and agreeing with them both, making conciliatory sounds, and telling them that I am there to hold their hands and be available in case they need a shoulder. I know that if they wish, I’ll jump on my bike in a jiffy and be there for them. Rain or shine. As will they if I need them ever.
And while I speak to them, I wonder why we tend to generalise and universalise suffering when we should be, if at all compartmentalising it and seeing each instance of pain as a unique one, requiring a balm of patience, silence, and presence from a friend.
Also, I realise that even as I counsel and comfort them separately, and try to keep my own emotions away from the situation, I keep thinking of my own grief and relate each of their agonies to the torments I have suffered in my own life. It isn’t that I am making it out to be about me, but in my mind, the only way I can relate is if I find a way to make it about me, even if subconsciously. I wonder if I am being selfish. Or empathetic.
The truth is that at the end of the day, each of us is so overwhelmed with our own lives that the only way to touch another human is to use our own pain to understand theirs.
कौन रोता है किसी और की ख़ातिर ऐ दोस्त
सबको अपनी ही किसी बात पे रोना आया
