The Magic Of Listening

Dear One,

I prefer to listen more than I like to talk and that sometimes, become my undoing. Yet, in my opinion, listening is the finest aspect of effective communication. It's the magic key to open to locked doors of life long relationships.

We all know the power of words, and the effect it has on our inter-personal relationships. However in recent times, we have become impervious to the benefits of soulful listening. In terms of communication many are excellent when it comes to writing. Others are highly effective when it comes to speaking. But the third key communication skill is still lacking in most of us - Listening. Many struggle when it comes to listening. Why? Well, often the reason is that unlike speaking or writing, we are never taught the fine art of listening, and more so ever we just like listening to our own voices and opinions, let alone anyone else's.

I recollect an incident that has left a powerful impression on me and embossed deeply the life-transforming effects of genuine listening. I had long gone on a recreational tour to a distant state, and while traveling in train, I happened to befriend an old couple. They had a sad, forlorn look on their wrinkled faces and they were too engrossed in pondering about their own pitiable existence, than talking to anyone else. Most part of my day was spent in staring at the beautiful ever-changing sceneries or perhaps in reading a book to kill time. Suddenly, the old man caught fancy to the book I was reading and struck the first note of unexpected conversation.

'What book are you reading, son?'

'Oh! This one'. I said, with a slight smile, 'is a book about following your dreams.' He was quizzical about the answer and reconfirmed once again, 'About following your dreams, is it?'

'Yes sir!' I said playfully. It teaches you how to decipher, learn and live your dreams. His face eased up after hearing my clarifying response. He moved in closer to his seat and almost whispered ruefully, lest people might hear him say, "Will you help me read my dreams?"

I laughed it off saying that, I was not a professional dream reader or anything of that sorts, it was just a passing fad of mine to kill time in the moving train. But he was insistent on me listening to his untold dreams and help him make sense of them. I humbly relented to his sincere plea and accepted to hear his story.

His story was one of love and deceit, loss and pain, life and death. He was a successful trader in his prime, with his wife being his constant companion in good times and in bad. He had three children, who he said with an unshed tear in his eyes, were all settled abroad with their families. He now stays all alone and secluded with his wife in a remote part of the city suburb, doing nothing worthwhile, waiting eagerly for Brother Death to make it's timely presence. I was listening with rapt attention to every word the old man was saying, as if my very life hung on them for some queer reason.

The old lady seemed not much interested in talking, as much as she was in looking outside blankly with shallow, tear-filled eyes. The elderly man on the other hand, donned on his best oratory cap and was belting out incidents from his tragic life one after the other, silently acknowledging my intent listening with a faint smile. I listened to him ever so patiently, with a sense of respect for his ripened age.

I truly lost the touch of time, listening intently to the tales of old as the night passed away to welcome a brand new morning. I saw the old man awake with a smile on his face and the old lady too was up and reading a magazine; but something I knew was not the same. As I took my seat, the old man ordered coffee for the three of us, with me courteously insisting to pay the bill. He ignored my repeated pleas with a flick of his hands and gently took out an worn out note from his pocket and handed it over to the coffee vendor.

As we neared our destination, he turned to me and said with a grateful smile that I can never forget, 'Thank you son, for talking to me. This was the most memorable train journey of my life.' I openly wondered as to what he was talking about and just continued smiling at him with a quizzical look. As he took his baggage, ready to disembark, he glanced at me with filial affection and said, "If you hadn't spoken to me, I wouldn't have seen the light of the day. I, along with my wife were planning to put an end to our miserable lives. But now, I have gained new strength to carry on and a ray of hope to cling on to.'

Bewildered at the unexpected answer, I kept looking at the fading silhouette of the elderly couple now walking with a sense of purpose. It was then the old lady slightly turned back for a second and smiled at me as if to say, "Thank you son!". A tear of unsaid fulfillment rolled down my eyes.

I never spoke much on that fateful day, but much was heard to unknowingly salvage a lost life. What words couldn't do, soulful listening did. We often get irritated with people who speak much, or write them off as talkative show-grabbers. But sometimes, all they need is a listening ear to mend their broken hearts and hope to rebuild their unfulfilled dreams. True communication is to know when to talk and when to keep quiet and just listen.

 Talk less. Listen more.

Peace in oneself. Peace in the world.