The Pattern

I have often tried to figure out why certain people come into our lives. We have our parents, siblings, spouses, children and friends of course. Most of our friends we gather as we grow from child to adult solely on account of proximity – neighbours, fellow students or co-workers. Yet there are people who sometimes cross our paths briefly who may be neither former acquaintance nor current friend.

I believe that anyone who crosses our path does so for a reason that may or may not be clear eventually. It is hard to see the pattern of our relationships and the intricate crisscrossing of our lives with others and the eventual winding away on the road to fulfillment of destiny while we are right in the middle of the pattern. If we could lift ourselves above our mundane existence, we might be able to discern the meaning behind seemingly random choices or meetings. Since that is nearly impossible we are often left confused when the outcomes of meeting certain people lead us along unexpected paths.

I have the unenviable ability to attract weirdos. It is not a comforting thought. I mean, isn’t like supposed to attract like? Do I actually possess some sort of hitherto hidden weirdness that calls out to these kooks? Maybe, but I do hope fervently that it was to teach me valuable lessons and not a case of birds of a feather flocking together.

In the recent past, I have had a woman I thought was a friend harass me repeatedly with malicious mail and even stalk me. Then there was this ‘friend’ from college who tried to cloak hateful sentiments that she directed at me and displayed on a social networking site, as merely funny. There are more stories from school and college which are rather disheartening on re-examination.

Why was I the one to cross paths with these strange people? I have no idea. The larger pattern is not clear to me. I do know that sometimes when I am pondering a problem or longing for a mind to share a sentiment with, someone does come along and bring in a breath of sea-laden breeze with him/her. I know that when I am looking hardest for a way, someone comes and holds my hand to a point where the choice seems easier. I know that sometimes my most secret yearnings mirror another’s and then life seems that much more liveable. The pattern keeps building like an intricate pookalam where the masterplan is only in the creator’s mind and I, the tiny white thumba flower lost in a crowd of my companions am unable to see or discern the full glory of the design.