“I like You, & I don’t want anything from You.​”

The inevitable quest of encountering unknown faces today is effortless work. Running into new people is a throw of a die away. It is only a matter of time and choice before we walk into a meeting of a joint interest accessible to all. Like an open mic. A poetry slam. Alcoholics Anonymous. A recitation. Or a theatre fest. We are spoilt for options when it comes to meeting new people. Yet, more often than not, we chance upon their presence, and the story ends there. Not everyone whom we meet with today becomes our friend. B(/R)arely, there surfaces an instance that elevates this phase of acquainting with someone new to befriending them. Even if one does overcome this hurdle, a table materialises in the middle. It has to, by default. That counter-top bearing cups of coffee, beers, starter platters, lunch or dinner salvers is a mandatory qualification, for it signifies the level of friendship one has unlocked with the other.

I have to admit here I find the role of the table befuddling because I am unclear of the purpose it serves. Not superficially, or by means of testing individual testaments of hunger or cravings, but intellectually. From the standpoint of mind play. Every lock unbolted in friendship levels today either results in a limited-time-only tête-à-tête or an extended slice of it over a prime meal of the day. Like, a coffee signifies unfastening a person’s rock-bottom individuality. A meal identifies the privilege of upping the friendliness scale to the next step. Which leads me to assume and believe that dearness in close associations is signified by taking a trip together. May be, for a couple of nights. Friendship today is all about establishing a zone of comfort that correlates with one’s time and spaceA concept rather contradictory to the one we grew up with a couple of decades ago.

For one, everyone we played with at the playground was our friend then. For two, the notion of catching up had yet to witness the dawn of the day.

Friendships These Days
Source: Internet

As far as I understand the idea of friendship, the meeting place must be of no concern. Except, the spot must be mutually accessible. The agenda of needing a table to rest between people – if they are friends – is limboing. It is like sending out mixed signals on a first date. The wood base resembles that cosy corner earmarked in most homes, somehow resonating with the occupier’s cognitions of comfort, whenever they feel like leaning or resting their elbows upon it. Or, there are parts of you that you aren’t comfortable exposing to your opposite number yet, thus analogously resting your legs in a spot beyond your eyesight’s reach – underneath the table’s stands. After all, the shallow counter-top only lets your torso in the open, but not the set of limbs you stand on. Or, the furniture top helps you cake awkward moments, silences, or bouts of split-second thinking with a timely slurp of your drink or morsel you forked inside a second ago. Such self-conceived perceptions about the ‘table culture’ only drives me to wonder if the conversationalists separated by a table in their midst are (un)mindfully inspecting each other with politically correct interactions. After all, when one has little conversation to make or add to, it is instinctive to reach out for the cutlery or that caffeinated cup placed in front. Take a sip. Grab a bite. Cover it up. Quick-think it over.

The Right to Privacy set aside, friendship in today’s generation is about social engineering. Social climbs. It is the way we are wired. Because on second thoughts, it does sound fashionable when one utters they are headed for a catch-up with a friend over coffee. My question being, why not pitchers of caffeine at home if it is the catching-up that matters? If a home is a discomfiting zone to be invited into, how do you refer to that someone as a friend in the first instance?

Are you a Friend?
Source: Pixabay

To be fair to the other side of the coin, there are circumstances when one is heedful of having their coffee while it is warm, or devours mouthfuls because they are hungry. There are also instances when one finds themselves pressed for priorities. At such times, catching up over a meal or a drink en route is workable and reasonable. Ordering for food and beverage makes sense because the feed time clashes and one does need fodder for their bellies. However, the plates, cutlery and possibly even the table long fade away from the spotlight and sometimes dissolve. Aka abandoned midway. Because conversations between these friends go on without the threatening prospect of seeing sundown shortly. Until they are jolted out of their provisional reverie a couple of hours later, pinned for priories once more. Causing them to throw in their towel.

Throw in their Towel
Source: Pixabay

Figuratively.

I am uncomfortable calling most whom I meet today as my friends. Our equation may progress on to the point of recurrent catch-ups, and yet I will only accept that I know them. For as long time as it takes. You cannot land up in someone’s friends’ list like that. Unless it is your Facebook profile. And also, because friendship to me means to let go.

It means of times when we met a bunch of people in the playground or the society’s by lanes to romp for hours together. When we knocked on our friends’ doors to call them for a bout of play outside or sat for video games until the mothers threateningly beckoned every one of us home; summer vacation or not. Friendship means of times when we have moved away and lost touch, only to pick up conversation threads years later as if we had last spoken yesterday. When we have asked our roommate to make coffee well past sleeping time as an excuse to get drugged and indulge in mindless gossip. Only because we felt like it.

The idea of friendship works despite you calling only to whine about the cake you haven’t received from months ago and have quit the phone. It works when you make plans that have failed to see the daylight and have yet gone back to the drawing board to continue to make more of them. Even when you choose to be politically correct and polite, friendship survives the rounds of titbits that reaches the perpetrator by the backbiter, without any one getting hurt in the process. It even endures times when you call the other person stupid or ordain a pissed-off sentiment right at their face, and continue to talk as if nothing happened. Because the defeatist emotion in the other has passed the same hour, it affected them.

Friendship means when succouring is only a call away. And so is a pat on the back while shifting from one stage of life to another.

One does not bother measuring their words. They need not choose between silence or political correctness. Friendship does not demand to incorporate a filter on one’s state of being. More specifically, their tongue.

Friendship to me means people with whom I can just be.

(Un)fortunately, they make them seldom these days. Or, may be I am holding onto an expression conjured from an undiscerning La La Land.

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Why I do What I do?

A few could have anticipated the prominence, dominance and control of the internet in our lives today. Fundamental reasons have always underlined human desires. The concept of nights introduced artificial lighting. The need for entertainment presented the radio. The lack of visual leisure brought on the television. Portability introduced Walkman. Likewise, the need for internet too began with the quintessential lure of communicating faster with near-and-dear ones. Emails paved the way to shed the fear of the unknown by attempting to embrace globalisation. And chat rooms followed suit. The internet also introduced accessibility at our fingertips incorporating in us another lesson that achieving anything is possible with the right set of mind (in this case, keywords). At first, the desired results were posters of our favourite media persons. Today, it is information. When it comes to the human race, everything materialistic begins with a basic want, evolving into a cannot-do-without need. Sometimes, we lose sight in the process, much so that we no longer identify the point we are heading to or why we are doing so despite setting a goal, maintaining a calendar and rain checking on the milestones that are at times, abetted with a carrot-and-stick approach.

Although a pioneer, the internet had a purpose behind crawling into our already confused sentience. Search engines, keywords and social media were stages of jargons that knotted our lifestyles with a psychological obligation; yet, they were all done so with a reason – to regale our constitutional birthright of the freedom of speech. Profit-sucking enterprises saw a booming venture of providing the means through swifter shores, thereby introducing to us quicker modes ‘to enable’ faster communication. Another reason discovered here, the result of which was the nimble modems. Thereby, wireless internet. If we hadn’t purchased a Wi-fi connection by the early millennial years, the society might have shunned us out for good. And today, the Wi-fi is as basic a need as electricity, plumbing lines, kitchen and food; a bare essential in a house.

Must we tip our hats to those who envisioned wooing people to fall into the pit of live ‘faster’ and ‘smarter’? Or, was it our need to keep up with that friend in school who had the internet while we did not? The mindful coercion of societal and social obligations?

Doodle Bull
Via: Doodle Happy

Over time, the global computer network has curated counselling, guidances, therapies, personality tests, doctor consultations and what not, all through a stream of web pages. Had food and air been served to us by some online means, we could live off virtually. The spell is fulsome, browsing page after page, devouring their contents, accumulating the data, and yet it doesn’t feel enough. No amount of knowledge is. It’s bamboozling. Blogs, discussion centres, dedicated forums, research materials, reports, psychological backups, health expert analysis and bam! a keyword later, it’s there. As if this weren’t enough, articles talking about the behavioural traits that define one as a genius, an introvert/ambivert/extrovert, a bibliophile, or an alcoholic add to the swagger. Memes of particular lifestyle(s) we’re so innately proud of, flaunt the headlines. It is nothing short of ‘cool’ to belong to one generation. We consider it hip that we are the sensibly careful, yet the vivaciously don’t-care kinds. We have a view on marriages, kids, feminism and gender neutrality. We fight for the cause of every individual’s individuality through a string of words on an online profile. For every person privy to the internet has access to a self-fabricated account. A space that allows them to concoct whatever they like and however they do. So many people have so much to say, sometimes clipped with pictures, that there is only a chunk rallying out in the heat. The means of fighting the freedom movement have evidently evolved.

Is the internet still serving its means of ‘living faster and smarter’? Or, am I missing something here?

hotline-1331313_960_720
Via: Pixabay

Tips, courses, workshops and everything under the sun is offered online these days. With subgenres. For instance, a writing workshop explores creative writing, literary writing, book writing, report writing, categorical writing, short story writing – the list goes on. A couple of days ago, I came across a few articles on WordPress Discover, one of which talked about why they will never let go of their blog space on WordPress. Another highlighted the five discoveries they had made in their journey of transitioning fromView atop Arc de Triomphe, Paris writing blogs to a book. And I am sitting here thinking when I should time my next cup of coffee so that I refrain from going back staring into space. Let alone having a clue about why I am doing what I am doing.

The focus people own, the clarity they bring to their thought-process, and their presence of mind to make notes of the means they follow only to give them away to those who are unsure of treading on such paths is admirable. I also feel that planning and organising a mission to Mars is more methodical. Because after the internet, the social media, the online reading, and the internal processing at the end of it, I am lost. So lost, that I cannot comprehend the whys for what I do. For instance, I do not know the reason I write. Because I have a story to tell? I do not know why I want the tag of an author someday. Because I want to see my name published in my creation? I have no reason to sing. Except, I derive a peace of mind? I do not know why I am inclined towards creative vocations. They lure me?

Do these justifications sound sane? More so, are they acceptable?

I do not know if widening my horizons, meeting new people and finding like-mindedness around are reasons for me to choose an imaginative profession. For, they are the by-products of the process. But I do know that this is all I have, to cling onto. And that, this is what I want. To write and sing. I have no other go than to practice the two crafts. And because I have them, I do not want to let them go. If I do not exercise either daily, my day is incomplete. My sense of purpose hangs in the air to the point of questioning my existence. It’s hard to widen my horizons beyond getting the technicalities in a specific song, or the lyrical aesthetics of a write-up right. So, how about, I find it complicated to focus on anything beyond the details of the craft? At any moment? How about, I sing because I like it? How about, I write because I enjoy the process?

To be honest, I have no other explanation. Be that as it may, articulation isn’t my forte. Especially when it’s about the fine arts.

Source: Pixabay
Via: Pixabay

The internet either talks about the paradigm shifts of enterprises that are changing the industrial landscape or of discovering reasons for/of doing something. The ten traits, the five habits, the three dos, the thirty don’ts, and the nine must-haves give me a reason to move on. Because I am unsure of the conviction, each article brings. Maybe, I belong in the wrong era. For, I do not know after the internet, how much of it all holds good? Where must I draw the line to read no further, to research no further, and to believe no further?

Eh, what do I know? For, I am only a writer – and another hypocrite humanironically using the internet to slate my views across.

The Eiffel Tower, Paris
The Eiffel Tower, Paris