Skip to main content

Conversations : Part III

Silence is awkward. Or so it seems everytime a couple of people, or even a group, cannot conjure a single sentence to say next. The mind races to think of something, but it is a dead end. An unease germinates inside the mind and doubts of disconnect plagues the thoughts. What next? Maybe check for message on my smartphone? Everyone seem about to take out theirs. Then he says something. Phew! What a relief!

Conversations seem to get harder with the day. After a point, one seem to run out of things to ask. I remember during my exchange, I was always armed with a set of questions or comments for every new person I met.

What do you study? 
Where do you stay (this question was rather pointless)? 
The winter's been rather very cold. Is it the same in your country?
What do you plan to do once you finish studying?

If the reply was interesting, you built upon it. You get the idea. But sooner or later one would always run out of things to ask, especially if the other person was more interested in answering than asking back. I remember one party back in Stockholm when I jumped from person to person the whole night, pretty much asking the same questions, until I retired to my room, bored to death.

But perhaps it was because it was a party, where the music and the alcohol deprived the atmosphere of a certain intimacy I prefer in my conversations (because I did fare much better under calmer circumstances). Though one thing I do admit is that holding a conversation is nowhere as easy, at least of late. Given the desk nature of most jobs, most people are becoming more comfortable to be speaking to the computer than to other humans. For kids, a lot of conversational skills in picked up at the family dinner table, and sadly even that is disappearing.

And all that are left are awkward silences.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Fool's Pride

I was rolling up the sleeve of my uniform, preparing for a call up that might never come, when I realised that somehow I was overcome by a strange sense of pride, a pride that wanted the length of my sleeve to be precise as I have always pictured in my mind. Any longer, I would look shabby. Any shorter, I would look amateur. Then I donned the green, tightened the velcro around my waist and looked in the mirror. It was just like before and the memories started flooding me. I never really liked it when I donned it for 2 years in a row. Then I was in a place where I detested the culture, the harsh discipline, the unreasonable demands and the lack of purpose in everything I did. But now that it was over, when I look back, it was perhaps the greatest time of my life. The suffering, the digging, the starving, the cold, the banter, the rowdiness, the jungle, the marches,the mountains, the food, the stories, the friendships, it was all worth the 2 years. A girl friend of mine once asked...

Clubbing

Somebody up there do not want me to club. It has been one experience that has eluded me despite my multiple visits, that has brought as much excitement as me sitting in a meditative pose.  This is all the more interesting because my intention was simply to get a feel of it, and not kickstart a career as a party animal, that would either way not work for a person who dared not even to dance in the shower. Perhaps  though, it is not the circumstances, but the person to blame. I should have known I was not the party kind the very first time I set off. As I was tying my shoe laces, my father would politely enquire where I was going to. “Going to club”, I responded. “What? Like a community club?”, he carried on. I am not the most superstitious of persons, but when you are about to do something, it has to start off on the right tone. There and then, my father set the expectations of me, and all the stamps I received on my waist before entering the club became but so...

Marriage and All That : Part 2

"How about I get married?" "Are you serious?" "Yea" "No really. If you are serious, I can start looking for one" "Uhh....Nah. I was just kidding" After a while, she stopped asking me if I were serious. Instead, she would laugh it off every time I suggested it, which was the original intention of my question. For me it was just comic relief, this idea of marriage that parents back in India would pester their children with once they reached just about where I was right now; young, working with a steady income and of totally no use at home. Though when she did ask me if I was serious, I do remember feeling a palpitation in my heart, the kind one gets when having to make a yuge decision (#trump2016 #makeamericagreatagain), knowing very well that she, along with an army of aunts, waited for my green light to start searching for a bride for the most promising of their nephews. A NRI (non residential Indian used to refer to the ...