Empty Reading

Back to the ocean, face to a shiny car window that reflected a beautifully distorted sunset, I sat and thought, that day. There was a lot on my mind and I opened a book a friend was carrying, to sift through randomly. It doesn't help to read when you are thinking too much, because here is how it went:

Book: Next thing we did was t'call in ten of the surviving subjects to the lab and check them all over again. Did brain scans, switched over cognitive systems t'see that the junctions were working right.
Me: My bones are weak. I cant run a hundred meters without feeling like my insides are crying out in pain. I am losing weight. I should quit.

Book: Conducted detailed interviews, asked them whether they had any physical disorders, any auditory or visual hallucinations.
Me: It has been a long time since I gave an interview. I should find some work now. Go meet people. I'm too lazy.

Book: But none of them had any problems t'speak of. All were healthy and kept up a perfectly unremarkable career of shuffling jobs.
Me: I shuffle jobs. I wonder when I will find something worth sticking to. Something that does not run out of charm every few months. Something that I can't ever figure out and remains interesting forever.

Book: We could only conclude that the ones who died had had some a priori glitch in their brain that rendered them unsuitable for shuffling.
Me: This is so beautiful. Defining shuffling jobs as a legitimate career. Giving worth to the choice of freedom to perform what you want to and not become a rotting cog in a laaaaaarge wheel. I know a lot of people with that priori glitch. They call it security. I call it bullshit. I shuffle jobs. Good.

Book: We didn't have any idea what that glitch might be. That was something for further investigation, something t'be solved before attemptin' a second round of shuffling actualization.
Me: Wait. What? I don't get this.

Note to self - Communication

In this world, we are not separated from people by distance. We are separated by the amount of effort it takes to make contact. A phone call, a message, an e-mail, a rickshaw ride to go meet them. I feel far from the people who are closer to me in distance, and closer to those who are far away.

Where I live, the closer distances are harder to get to. Because it takes lesser effort and so, you believe you can do it at your convenience. I don't visit my aunt, who lives a little more than walking distance away from home, as often as I meet friends who live a comfortable rickshaw ride away, because rickshaw doesn't cover the short distances.

Phone calls do, but they only work as well as meeting in person, if you are far away. If you can use them as a viable, rationally explained alternative to meeting people in person. If you cannot travel to them, practically, as often as you call them. Only in this scenario do phone calls work. Only then do they matter, really. They don't work if you are close, and want to use them only to maintain contact. People would much rather see you in person than hear your voice over the line, from a short distance away.

There are some who get this and some who don't. Often those who don't will matter the most to you. And the ones who do will be just like you, not bothering about what mode you choose to keep in touch with. For those who don't, heartfelt missing works. A very very heartfelt and genuine message/e-mail/phone call usually sets things in order. The little magic of saying what you really feel works wonders and mends the gap. And laughter. Make them laugh. Put it on your weekly agenda, and put smiles on those faces.

It all comes down to the effort. Let the little unsettling feeling with someone's face on it burn bit by bit till you cant handle it anymore, and when that happens, put it all together, make that little effort and touch. Make contact. Set things in order. You know it feels good.

On Parting

Parting is sweet

It guarantees you meet

All over again

And there is an "again"

And a "nothing to rhyme"

And a "till another time"

There is a greet

And a rising heartbeat

Sitting at its feet

There is more to say

On a brand new day

Something of a "hold sway"

There is always a song

And a favourite line

And that which could be

A "be mine"

Then there's the unfolding

Of the old and moulding

After much withholding

There is some charm-ing

And some more disarming

Till it gets alarming

And the doors lock down

So that after lackluster

Right beyond mundane

Just another "same old" away

There is another parting

Starting

To guarantee you meet

All over again

(18th September 2012)