Conversations

<!– /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:”Cambria Math”; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:”"; margin-top:0cm; margin-right:0cm; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:”Calibri”,”sans-serif”; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:”Times New Roman”; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:”Times New Roman”; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} .MsoPapDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; margin-bottom:10.0pt; line-height:115%;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} –>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:”";
mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0cm;
mso-para-margin-right:0cm;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0cm;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:”Calibri”,”sans-serif”;
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:”Times New Roman”;
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}

Some conversations remain with you for years, some for few hours. I wonder how long I will remember this conversation. Or set of conversations. The debate about moral and ethical grounds of seeing someone because you want to see them. The tradition versus modernism debate. The upbringing versus education.

I wonder how much of my own being consists of traditions and how much I have learned through modernism. How religious and political believes of people I love had shaped my own sets of stereotypes I had fought all of my own life to get rid of.

How much I am thankful to a single person for engraving the sense of GOD,Spirit and redemption in me. How much I still wander between so many worlds at the same time.

I was talking to my own self rather than talking to him. I was talking to the past rather than talking to the present. Future is about expectations. And for some obvious reasons I do not expect. I infringe my own feelings in my own cocoon. In my own soul. In my own self.

So do you remember when we were growing up? Ah 90’s….Yes I remember coming from school and going to sleep after a single shower. Yes I remember, doing homework at 4 and then evening teas with samosas and biscuits. I remember playing cricket with my brothers. And I remember the Atari we got from England which remained a very pleasant treasure for 3 of us.

The hour cartoons at stn, the 8 prime time drama. Novels got from old book shops and friends. Small things..small pleasures…clear sky and starry nights.

I remember so much and I don’t remember much.

I remember that I was so rightist in early teens…hating half sleeves. And thinking that covering faces and bodies is one door to heaven. And then being a leftist with old doctrines and new slogans. then being politically aware but indifferent. Giving moral justifications to acts of emotional stupidity.

Stages I had crossed, looking back with agony and pain.

And then he talked about love..was he suppose to?

Wasn’t he?

And yes I blurted it out that I don’t believes in it. I don’t…not any more..

And yet….the conversation is still with me, like a light that helps you to find way.

5:10

Another Ottawa morning.

§ 2 Responses to Conversations

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.