Reflecting... while removed.

He was the best of the best, calm, cool, intelligent, witty. Sorted. That’s the word. Could see clearly through any storm. And was there during one of the toughest times in my life. Frightfully rational, and hence tough to relate to. Unabashed self centeredness is something I always found fascinating… but never quite got down to it myself. And he was one of those. Fascinating yet frightening.

I don’t know anymore. I don’t know how to deal with it. And yet, I’m not crying. Not yet atleast. And I don’t understand that either. Maybe that’s what it’s all been reduced to now. Maybe it’s the way most things will impact us.

Technology aided relationships probably leave their stain on its very fabric. People get reduced to a set of stimuli… its not whole anymore. We ‘hang’ with one bunch… but talk to a different set. Phone conversations are probably for general off loading, or a reach out for that elusive midnight shoulder cry. Chat windows for more introspective stuff. Facebook reduces to photos and links and blogs become our silent witnesses. Someone in a movie once said, ‘we get married cos throughout our various and fractured lives… we need that someone who will turn to you and say… I am here. I am your witness. I witness your life through mine and you do the same for me.’ Or something like that. Blogs are our witnesses of choice… filtered projections of the prettiness that we desperately want others to acknowledge; or our scrap books to turn to when thoughtful. Our partners witness the slightly more fleshy realities. And time suspended conversations with strangers probably witness us at our careless best, or worst. I don’t know.

But… it seems like a bit of a loss to me… that I associate such finite particulars to most of my friendships… that it is probably understandable that I don’t know how to react.

Then again, to me this reeks of euphemism for a greater loss - our individual societies as we have defined them.

Or maybe this is just me. Hopefully.

Making up for inarticulation...

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

250 sq. ft.

I vow to never ever live in a hole ever again. Once I move out of this place that is. Not that its bad. I pay through my nose for it. And frequent trips home only accentuate the smallness of my place. And the bitch is... that it doesn't let you forget how small it is.

Firstly, one can work, cook and use the loo.. in one straight and not so long line. Secondly, its like living inside the kitchen of every damn neighbour of mine. I can smell each and every thing they make... ALL the time. In fact, I suspect the wife of Mr. Enfield Rebello (or so I think he ought to be called) is Tamilian. Whenever she cooks, I get hungry. Thirdly, Enfield himself is a pain in the ass. Waking up to Akon every morning, coming home to Akon every evening... and sometimes Akon WITH the smell of curry leaves and 'kootu' is incredibly distressing. Appa and amma used to make fun of Hip Hop and Rap, and I laughed but never got why. Until yesterday. That guy literally sounds like is he standing outside my 3rd block house asking for alms!!

And lastly, new relationships can be strenuous. My neighbour brought in 4 goats for Id. Not 1 or 2... 4. And they all look the same. Actually... maybe it was just one. Anyway.... all of em tied outside their house... at different places at different points of time. And whenever I walk by, the goat(s) talk to me. Not kidding. They talk to me! They munch on their dust ridden food... and they talk to me. They follow me with their eyes whenever I walk past them. And there is something about the time lag between my movement and their eyes.... this weird staccato-ey following which just creeps me out. Not to mention their impending fate, their ignorance on the matter and well, my knowledge of the same.

Of course, my discomfort didn't last long. :(