As youngsters, we heard this a lot. Our parents expounded on love and its all-round benefit to humankind — as against our overly-aggressive tendency to carry a spat between siblings to the bitter end or take up issue with acquaintances and even friends at the drop of a hat.

Up in arms as we were, ready to never have any contact with a cousin we didn’t see eye-to-eye with or a friend who hadn’t been all for us and only for us in an argument with another friend, we had no idea what Mother meant when she said that one day, only the affection would remain and the little slights, the slings and arrows would be long forgotten.

We also didn’t believe Mother when she said that love would find its way back to us — and I remember grieving for days and months when my dearest schoolmate left for another continent. I was absolutely convinced that not only would I never see her again, but I would never find another friend in my life.

But within a decade of her departure, she was back for one visit — and then another and another. And each time, despite the many changes that time and distance had wrought in us, we found ourselves contentedly back in our little space of confidences and affection and quiet happiness in each other’s company.

With my faith in the circle of life restored, I acquired the courage to make new friends just as true and as dear. And when they — or I — left for other adventures, we said our goodbyes without tears because by now Life had taken over. There was no time to be sentimental about the past when the day’s work had to be done and one step had to follow the other.

Then, somehow, as if to close my personal circle, 2014 proved to be the lucky year in which I got to meet friends I had barely heard from in decades. The last time I had seen them I had been young, amenable, not so talkative, ready to go along with the others and not take a stand on what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. Would they recognize the old grouch that I had become? Would they still like me — and vice versa?

But I needn’t have worried. Because it didn’t matter what I looked like to them or what they looked like to me. The solid senior citizens that all of us had become were just the shells. Inside, were the same carefree young people we had been decades ago.

What I saw were the friends I’d played cops and robbers with, pushed and shoved when we wanted a seat in the bus as we returned home from school, shared a quiet twirl with on a makeshift dance floor while our parents and their friends were partying in the next room, gone for long walks with while sharing our dreams and hopes and fears ... The affection we had shared in the past was still there.

Now I know that, as usual, Mother was right all along. Love never dies. It stays alive despite the years and the space that separates us — and it is so easy to rediscover. That should be cause for elation, but when I look around, there is a twinge of regret.

Because, if affection never dies, then why do we harp on the negatives and the disagreements with the ones who are beside us through the years? Why do we forget to look for love and affection right here?

Cheryl Rao is a freelance journalist based in India.