It is not for one to doggedly argue that there is a universal truth as there isn't any. People bask in their own versions of truth. Let me visit a conversation between two people on a Delhi Metro.
A middle-aged burly man with the travails of life clearly visible on his waistline to another slightly younger man with the skin colour of a yak and nose carved out from the remains of the dome of the Babri masjid. "Why would you pay for the medical expenses of my father, he is not yours."
The slightly younger man, clearly hurt replies, "It was out of concern and compassion towards him that I was asking about his health, that was so crude and blunt."
A situation of an exchange of truth, the version that stated a fact, 'he is not your father', and the interpretation of which caused an unintended pain. It's the truth that one holds in his mind that translates through the mind of another. One's own truth can only be understood by the person who lives it and can feel every little aspect of it, it stays in the bones of the soul!
The monstrosity of honesty can shatter one's composure. So one makes it wear a face, a face that conceals the viciousness and makes it "pleasant". We keep slipping into this monster and once it overpowers us, a realisation that we need to keep it in our heads makes us sane and bearable. We should keep this brutality within us to protect those who matter!
Truth be told and truth be never told.
A middle-aged burly man with the travails of life clearly visible on his waistline to another slightly younger man with the skin colour of a yak and nose carved out from the remains of the dome of the Babri masjid. "Why would you pay for the medical expenses of my father, he is not yours."
The slightly younger man, clearly hurt replies, "It was out of concern and compassion towards him that I was asking about his health, that was so crude and blunt."
A situation of an exchange of truth, the version that stated a fact, 'he is not your father', and the interpretation of which caused an unintended pain. It's the truth that one holds in his mind that translates through the mind of another. One's own truth can only be understood by the person who lives it and can feel every little aspect of it, it stays in the bones of the soul!
The monstrosity of honesty can shatter one's composure. So one makes it wear a face, a face that conceals the viciousness and makes it "pleasant". We keep slipping into this monster and once it overpowers us, a realisation that we need to keep it in our heads makes us sane and bearable. We should keep this brutality within us to protect those who matter!
Truth be told and truth be never told.
