Call it a coincidence or some twisted kind of deja vu, for the past couple of days I was thinking of conversations – and today I came across this post from my favourite anonymous blogger.
There is so much talk in these times. More so, because it is so convenient. Pick up the phone, text, buzz on an instant messenger or even email. All too easy.
As days go by, I am becoming more and more averse to this mostly meaningless babble. Over the past couple of years, there have been several occasions, where I have seen the phone ring on the table next to me, and not picked it up. Not because I bear any ill for the person’s name flashing on the screen – but because I know that most of the next ten minutes or one hour will be a pretence. I’ve even dodged people at the department stores, hiding behind the cereal boxes to avoid a dialogue and had very narrow escapes.
Ridiculous? Yes, I know.
They will ask how I am.
Even though I’m quite sure that my answer will make no difference to them.
I will put on a listening act.
Probably something else will be running through my mind.
There will be the prolonged periods of talking about other people and their lives.
Doesn’t concern me, again.
And of course, the formidable ‘Aur batao’.
The post also prodded me to think about what was the last time that I had been completely honest in a conversation? Been able to pour out my heart without having to worry about what they would think, whether they would judge me, would they immediately talk to our other common friend and tell them that craziness has taken over. I cannot remember. Can you?
Yet, I often find myself saying things that people would like to hear. Most of the time, words of kindness and reassurance, polite small talk or mindless listening. Not to say that there aren’t a few moments of genuine in some of them, but I’m referring to the masses.
What is the point of these conversations?
I’d rather sit in a quiet room, playing the glare game with the Sun through the blinds.