Being able to cry is a luxury.

 Over the past week, I connected with numerous people, both face-to-face and virtually. A common thread woven through these conversations was the poignant notion that shedding tears is a luxury.  In a heartfelt, in-person conversation with a friend just yesterday,  he confided, "I find it impossible to cry." A few days earlier, as I anxiously knocked on a friend's hostel room door, prompted by her request for my psychiatrist's contact, she revealed, "It's been years since I last cried." Even during a late-night conversation this week, another friend bravely shared her struggle with the inability to express tears. Indeed, as Sylvia Plath poignantly captures, "I yearn to weep. Yet, I find myself laughing, and my lipstick marks a crimson stain, resembling a bloodied crescent moon atop the beer can."  The echo of unshed tears resounds, painting a portrait of emotions that words alone may struggle to fully convey.

In 2021, I remember the profound silence within and outside when my father passed away—I didnt cry or I couldn't. And on thirtieth day a wave of panic attack hit me. Attempts to weep were futile; no sound came out. Then, years later, in the midst of the road, a professor's concern when she asked me "What happened? you seem disillusioned" broke my emotional dam. Last week, tears streamed down my face at Aluva metro station as my sister arrived from Banglore to pick me up. Since then, I've found myself shedding tears frequently, making me appear vulnerable and perhaps a bit wiered to others. Watching Daya Bai's act on Eldosulfan Victims, last month, stirred deep emotions within me, leaving me feeling intensely fragile in the midst of the audience. Though I felt a twinge of regret for displaying my emotions so openly, the fragility in those moments unveils strength. I often ponder why reading fiction has the power to evoke such strong feelings within me. It is because you can feel it now and when you feel it, you feel it a little too much. It's as if the delicate threads of emotion weave through me, making me both tender and resilient. I find certain kind of charm and profound beauty in those who earnestly say, "Just cry. Just cry. Just cry as much as you want" It carries a sense of liberation, a precious indulgence.But, I acknowledge that it is indeed a luxury. So, let's entice and encourage people to pour out their emotions freely rather than insisting them not to cry, inviting them to release and find solace in the therapeutic act of shedding tears endlessly.

I hope these conversations are helpful so far

PS: Darwin's theory - The Survival of the fittest - doesnt make much sense now.