It’s thirtieth of November, 2013 and the clock says its 9:50 pm. It’s not that cold for a December to start however, the temperature outside is too low to keep a lazy, little me indoors, wrapped in a bundle of blankets, after quite a long time, left to my thoughts at my own leisure. Its funny how we have so many plans and so much to think about and not have time to even think those things as we are most busy with other things, and how little we have to think about when we have loads of time just to do that. It then feels like everything has stopped when it should have been otherwise. Its funny how I’ve started complaining so much about such little things.
I am on vacation right now. I’m not at home. My friends find that peculiar. I have not had much experience of keeping secrets about myself but somethings, I would rather not advertise.
I have always believed that a good piece of writing never comes with brainstorming or any kind of mental exertion. It just comes. Not from your consciousness but somewhere from the untouched corners of the sub-consciousness, things start pouring out and find their own way of expressions. I think about that man I met today. I met a man in his seventies today. There was nothing remarkable about him except that he was from my home-town and had recently had a heart attack. Lying there in his bed, he asked me to tell him what his reports said and how was he doing. I told him of course, I was just a student. He insisted that I should tell him something good. I figured he must be scared. As I moved closer to his bedside for a little chit-chat to make it clearer that I was just a student and had no idea how he was doing, he didn’t really wait for me to tell him any thing at all. He started telling me story of his life. Where he lived, what he worked, how he lost his job, about his grand-daughters. Literally, in less than a two minute time he bestowed me with all this information. I would be lying if I said I was touched. I would be lying if I said I was glad I got a chance to talk to him. To be honest, I got scared. I got scared to see a man who has lived a full life, a big family with grand-daughters and yet to see him so eager to tell a stranger like me all this stuff, that too when I didn’t ask for it. I have heard its normal. I’m scared of being ‘normal’.
Hardly few days back, I was telling a really good soul how much polite people irritate me. They don’t let you know if they really mean all the good and nice things they are doing and saying or they are just trying to be nice because somehow, they have come to believe that pretending to be nice is nicer than doing as much as you really mean to do. I wonder how they never see it as hypocrisy. I was scared of myself. To watch myself so polite.
Its not all dark and gloomy today though. I’m not sure if its really a good thing at all or not but in a casual conversation some time back, someone said ‘I’d probably never forget your name’. Its one of those things friends say to compliment each other when someone does something really cool. Some times however, a stupid joke, a baseless compliment or just a friendly wink can bring a smile. Its good to have such things stuck in your subconscious. Or so I suppose.