Communication with a fellow human is the basis of life. I have long felt this. Whether it is the old man in the train who sends a reciprocal wave to the child hopping in excitement at the railway crossing, or the serious faced student who quietly hands an irreverent note to her classmate or even the much maligned housewife who passes a few words along with the tea to the silent husband, aren’t we all just looking for a chance to communicate?
Recently I heard of a book chain, an admirable concept that involves sending a book to a stranger and receiving one, too. I couldn’t help feeling that this chain succeeds more because of the need to communicate, than just because of a love for books.
We are a country of talkers. In trains buses schools fairs religious gatherings . We talk talk talk . On phones , commenting and chatting is almost compulsory. Then why is it that we often fail to communicate?
The father who loves his child, the son who cares for his parents, siblings who grew up together, neighbours who spend years living next door – why do we not communicate the love within our hearts?