How could I never touch you? Feel
you? See you? Before… How could I miss you? I cannot believe I have never known
you. You said it. At last. And you said it so easily. With such grace. Without élan.
How could you Kundera? Is it so light? Really? Removing clothes? Untagging? Unlabelling?
Feeling…simply feeling. The body enmeshed in soul. The skin soaked in delight. The
eyes choked with radiance. Without burden? Without load? Of morality? Righteousness?
Discrimination? Was it simple? Undemanding? Painless? I can imagine it would
have hurt a lot. You must have died many a times. Scorched. Cursed and stoned to
death. But you finally resurrected. Transformed. Your wounds. Your pains. And nailed
it. I too always thought so. But was also afraid to lead. Life is light. You said
it. And your reference has given me the weight. To admit it. Say it. Do it. It’s
unbearable. I know. The weight of lightness. Especially in the beginning when
you are naked. For the first time. Before the entire world draped in layers and
layers of conflicts. Battles. Wars. Without conclusion. Without liberation. It’s
difficult to meet. Initially. Connect. With others. Without relation. Familiarity.
Future. And gender too. But it’s beautiful. Indeed. How could we never
construct? A world in a world in a world. Millions of them. Merging and losing in
each other. But still remaining intact. Free. Legal. You were so fucking right,
Kundera. Let me tell you that I loved the whole of it. And I loved the aftermath
too. The woods. The rural way. And simple labor. You even made me cry in the
end. When Karenina dies a merciful death. When Tereza dances in the bar. With a
glow in her eyes. Without fears. Without strings. When Tomas says I m happy. And
everything vanishes forever. Into lightness. The unbearable one. Of being. Thank
you Kundera for enriching me. Enlightening me. Supporting me. I shall always be
grateful. Love you.
