Playing Cupid in the Age of Technology (Part 2)
Valentine Stories: Not For Profit
Fuchsia: Now you know why our minds light up with a burst of life when we hear ‘Fushia’,
Please read the early two posts by clicking here and clicking here.
“Time is your most precious gift because you only have a set amount of it. You can make more money, but you can't make more time. When you give someone your time, you are giving them a portion of your life that you'll never get back. Your time is your life. That is why the greatest gift you can give someone is your time.It is not enough to just say relationships are important; we must prove it by investing time in them. Words alone are worthless. "My children, our love should not be just words and talk; it must be true love, which shows itself in action." Relationships take time and effort, and the best way to spell love is "T-I-M-E.”
―Rick Warren,The Purpose Driven Life: What on Earth Am I Here for?
Sales of flowers, cards and chocolates go up during the month of February.
Internet adds another dimension of eliminating distance and fast delivery.
Playing Cupid in The Age of Technology (Valentine’s Day: Not for Profit Stories)
As promised in the last post, here are two stories—related to Valentine’s Day.
One has nothing to do with romantic love. The other, although about romantic love, bypasses commercialization and reveals a bit of ‘heart’.
Story 1: Words Matter
Words, speech, expression, has always been of interest to me.
I know words to link hearts.
Think of the power of words! They are a great force in higher philosophy as well as in common life. Day and night we manipulate this force without thought and without inquiry. —Swami Vivekananda
It was my first Valentine’s Day in the US. Since I lived in a small Pennsylvania town, the craziness was limited to the one street with shops—literally called the ‘Main Street.’
Students were talking about the festival of hearts. Friends were going on special dates etc. Television was full of ads since late January.
But I had no interest, for the day evoked no memories for me.
To celebrate, I decided to call a friend’s mother. I had known the friend from Botswana and visited the family two months prior, at Christmas.
Mamma B, as I called her is a gentle woman with a kind lazy smile. You look at her and instantly know that she can never hurt anyone. She lived by herself in Ohio, since her three children had moved out and lived in other states.
Phone calls were expensive. Especially for students. And particularly for foreign students. I had to ration phone calls.
That February I chose Mamma B.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mamma B!” I introduced myself, because speaking to her on the phone was still a new phenomenon.
“Thanks dear, so kind of you to remember me.”
Feeling the honesty and love from her end, I said “Now, it feels like Valentine’s”
She sighed, “I still have the letter you wrote to me.”
I had written to her for the first time, nearly two years ago, when her daughter who was colleague and a friend was returning to the US after her tenure in Botswana. At the time I had no idea I would ever go to the US. Mamma B was in her fifties when she got divorced. My friend had told me that she never wanted to marry or date again.
Spring Screams through the window. New leaves, new blooms. Snow’s melted and Skies are translucent. Picture taken at a Friend’s house, whose garden I admire every summer. They have several fruit trees in their garden and every year they plant their own veggies.
Once I had overheard my father tell my mother about his recently widowed cousin
“She said the days are fine, but it is in the evening when all is quiet that I miss him the most.”
Ma gently said, “Yes, all her children are grown up and have their own lives.”
If I remember correctly my father’s cousin lived with her married sons and their wives, as was the tradition in joint families. Yet, she mentioned feeling a sense of aloneness in the evening. She had been married for over three decades. And it is true that when the world settles down in the evening one feels a higher need for a family.
Which is why people, when not with family, fill their evenings with TV or a book.
“If my father’s cousin who lived with her married sons could feel aloneness, how much more isolating could it be for Mamma B, who lived alone?” I wondered.
My friend had shared so many wonderful stories about Mamma B, that at some level I knew her, even before meeting her. I wanted to connect with her. And I wrote letters like a maniac (hundreds every year). I knew I had to write to her.
I never felt good at much, but I could write.
Words-- I knew were a salve.
So, in the letter, I introduced myself and went on to say that she should measure her life by having raised three daughters who were now standing on their own feet. She should not measure her contribution to the world by a marriage that ended before a lifetime was over.
“I kept your letter by the bed for many weeks. And I read it often.” She said with a gentleness in her voice.
Suddenly, in a country where aloneness was slowly embedding its teeth in my bones, on a valentine’s day --I felt her words hug me through the phone line.
Suddenly, I mattered.
What strikes me, as I write this is, how young I was when I wrote that letter. And the fact that even then I knew the power of words. How words can lift someone. Those were the years when Swami Vivekananda reigned my mind. He had written about the power words and how we should use them carefully. He often evoked Goddess Saraswati, the goddess of speech and knowledge, when he spoke about the power of words.
Think of the power of words! They are a great force in higher philosophy as well as in common life. Day and night we manipulate this force without thought and without inquiry. —Swami Vivekananda
Mamma B’s words lifted me too.
Often on Valentine’s Day I think of that incident. Her gentle voice still rings in my ears. I feel grateful for the way I chose to celebrate Valentine’s that year.
But, there is another story where I could not play cupid that I am reminded of every valentine’s day.
"A life without love is like a year without spring." Octavian Paler.
Story 2: Thought Matters
This was during my tenure at my alma mater. I had returned to finish my PhD. I would teach during the day, and the evenings were divided into working on my dissertation and preparing for classes.
Checking emails was low on the list. I remember looking out the window a total of four times that year. Every time it was a different season. But that February something happened that was a reminder that amidst all chaos, good, happy, loving, selfless things are happening all the time. I was lucky to a part (sort of) of one.
One evening I found an email from a name I did not recognize.
The subject said, ‘a request’.
All love is expansion, all selfishness is contraction. Love is therefore the only law of life. He who loves lives, he who is selfish is dying. Therefore love for love's sake, because it is the only law of life, just as you breathe to live.—Letters of Swami Vivekananda
“Prof. Uppal,
My name is XXXXXX, my girlfriend is currently taking your class -International Communications. She said that you use PowerPoint for class notes. Would you please help me. I would like to wish my girlfriend a very happy valentine’s day. I can create the slide and mail it to you, and you can slip that in the presentation of that day.”
My hand went straight to my heart. And even though it was late, and I was tired my eyes lit up and I could not stop smiling.
“How sweet.” I thought.
I waited several hours, before I responded. The student must have been a quiet girl because I did not recognize the name. Each semester I had about 150-170 students in three different classes (50+ in each class). Students did not attend every class. But I made it a point to know my students by their first names. By the end of the class, I knew almost everyone by their name.
This girl I did not know.
I thought about it. And decided to not grant the young man his request.
I don’t remember what I wrote to him when I declined his request. But I know what I was thinking. “If I allow this, it will open the door to many other such requests, and I simply cannot do that.”
I think of that story every valentine’s day and the craziness that young love is. It’s a reminder about how important it is to experience the craziness of young love, how it engages us in the world, where the ‘other’ becomes a reason to be your best self.
Imagine if I had done what boy asked? The girl would share that story until she lived, even if the couple did not stay together.
My regret is that even if I did not help the boy, I could have (at least) told the girl what her boyfriend was trying to do for her or simply announced it in the class. But I did not. I thought that would be breaking the rules would be like opening a pandora’s box for similar requests in the future.
Sometimes -- there is a regret at not playing the cupid that I could.
Missed a chance.
Yes, I wonder sometimes if they are together, did they get married?
For me though, it’s a beautiful memory.
Brings me a smile every Valentine’s day.
Notice in both cases technology was used to bridge the distance, or express. But the difference was the heart and the intention. Both acts cost more time than money.
Time is love.
If you have a similar story, even if it is not directly related to you, re-tell it to yourself. Re-tell it to a friend. Or your child.
I believe stories can fly and land just in the right ear, when they are needed.
Love stories of all kinds are an important reminder— that we are always surrounded by delicate moments and kind thoughts. Even though the news focusses only on what is wrong with the world.
And when reasonably possible, play cupid to someone. It’s a sure shot way to feel the aliveness of spring in your body, no matter the season.
Happy Spring!
And that is how you picnic on a snow day!
For all Hearts:
Hi, Charu,
I approach Valentine's Day with caution each year. When we were first married and poor, my husband gave me a single red rose every Valentine's. Sometimes it was a real rose, sometimes a silk rose, and one year a glass rose. Even when we could have afforded more, the tradition remained a single red rose. During the year Ron was on hospice care, three beautiful rose bushes grew by the front windows, an abundance of beauty. He would offer roses to nurses and visitors.
I continue the tose tradition now. Each Valentine's, I lay a single red rose on his grave.