The state of being solitary. It scares some, and is heaven to many others. And what with man supposed to be a "social animal" and all, it is not surprising to find relatively few takers for the going solo option. "But what do you do when you are all alone?" questions an acquaintance. "Isn't it kind of eerie? Scares me." Eerie. Not really, not when you really think about it. But it is easy to think so. I can understand that. After all, I once thought so myself. Eerie, scary whatever because the "sense of aloneness" reveals your naked, true self. Which is too close to life, hits too hard. And yet - in searching for crowds to keep us company - we forget that we are all solitaires, even when surrounded by people.A fact that was brought home one day as a cousin spouted Gi-bran. Wanting to dismiss it all as utter gibberish, I started to listen as she read aloud. "You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts. And then there are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone." This was interesting, I th-ought. Talking for the sake of talking, not because you had anything to say. Seeking others just because you were scared of being on your own. How many times had I sought someone out to be with, just because I didn't want to be alone. I said it was because I had nothing to do then. Or was it because I just could not bear to be with my own self?I mulled over it. Alone. Things, however, were finally put into some kind of perspective by my grandmother.A woman who is at peace with herself, and alone for a major part of the day. Sometimes owing to circumstances, at other times of her own choice. Solitude, she quoted, helps bring out the God in each one of us. It can be a way of life full of warmth, happiness and tranquility. Being alone is the only way you can come to terms with yourself and, unless you do that, how will you ever come to grips with the world?I remembered all those "wasted" times alone. Times that I had thought amounted to nothing. Standing in the cantilevered balcony suspended between the sky and earth and watching all the cars below whizz by. Watching the sunset and recalling some favourite lines of poetry. Thinking about all the things that I would do, all the places I would visit. Someday. Waste of time, I had thought. Time not wasted when I think of it now. It was a process of maturing, growing. Being with your own self. Looking into the well of memories and reaching back to the good times, bad times. This was life's schoolroom, where the mind really started thought processing. One of life's learning experiences, which taught me to think clearly and without any trappings. To remember all that I did, all I didn't and all that I should have. To reflect without bias and prejudice, which was easy since I had my thoughts, my feelings only to myself.It is a little difficult perhaps to adjust to being alone. But after those scary demons, which lead you to think things you never would otherwise and attack each time you are alone, were vanqu-ished, I found it smooth sailing. Being with myself was no longer a burden. Clearly granny knew what she was talking about. This was a learning process. Painful sometimes. Not peaceful, not calm. And never boring. Your thoughts fly and the process leaves its mark on you. After all, nobody can reveal to you all that lies buried deep inside. Unawakened, as yet. But there when you seek it out for yourself. "For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of birds may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly." That was my cousin's Gibran again.This time it made sense. I had come to realise that being lonesome and on my ownsome was not a dreaded proposition. It was a part of life. To be savoured. All by yourself.
