Haven't written in a long while now. Why, I ask myself and find the other part of
me scratching its head in an unabashed display of denial and sham.
Here I was, in the gambling-void Las Vegas of Middle east, killing
time browsing, having already eaten my fabulously delicious and unhealthy ready-to-eat
dinner, when in a sudden burst of nostalgia, decided to check out Orkut as I
vaguely remembered a news article mentioning that the service is being
discontinued.
As much as I hate to admit it, it was simultaneously a
feeling of joy and depression, not unlike a dark comedy from the Coen brothers.
And why do I hate to admit it? Because I didn't think Orkut of all things can
evoke such strong emotions. The voice inside my head went
"duh..really?".
It is so because it made me realize that the old life, the
college days, the feeling of innocence and arrogance and self righteousness
that lend itself only to youth, the age of camaraderie, the joy of friendships unadulterated with any kind
of anxiety and the gut wrenching laughter are things of the past. It made all of it seem distant and surreal, like
the pictures found on a long lost photo album, like the memory of a mostly forgotten
story that we made our mom tell us when we were 5 years old, like the vague remembrance
of our childhood house and....like Orkut.
yeah. I used "youth" in the past tense. Well I
feel old and those days seem long gone.
Going through the photos and "scraps" and
"testimonials" was actually a very poignant experience. . I saved the
archive in fear of losing this. I
suggest you do it as well. (Well, if you are actually reading this, you are
probably a good friend of mine and that is probably the only reason you are
reading this. So consider this my request).
In fact, once I finish writing this, I will put this in
Facebook. And that's what Facebook has become - a news feed. I actually miss
Orkut or rather the age it symbolises for me. The countless arguments and
discussions and long chats and longer mails that I have had with some of the
most wonderful people seem like exorbitant luxuries considering the dearth of
fun, carefree moments where I am myself and there is no more agenda other than
the simple enjoyment of conversation, in the last few years. I have grown up
and so have my friends. Each mired in what we call our lives.
But I also recognize that the warmth and bond is pretty much
undiminished when I get to meet or talk to these people on these rare celestial
events. That is very heartening to realise though. The wit, the banter and the
jokes flow freely when amongst them. It's almost like that part of me is still
alive. Probably within all of us. And it feels good to revisit that self.
and why didn't I write? Why haven't I been able to keep in touch with the people I
would want to? why I talk to my best friends on freaking Whatsap once in a blue
moon? Why don't I write a beautiful
handwritten letter to my loved ones? Why don't I do the things that I really
like? I guess it's partly because I meekly accept defeat to what I make up to
be my life, partly because I assume everyone is very busy including myself, partly because of the
feeling that everybody has their own lives now and partly because all of these
reasons are actually true.
Then why am I suddenly writing now? I guess it's that optimistic
rebellious part of me expressing itself -reaching out to the unreachable past,
attempting to relish this life, feeling joy for what has been good, showing
respect to what has been tough, vowing to live in my terms and being thankful
for all the people & memories that I have known & made and doing what I
like, in spite of knowing full well that
this part of me will smother itself to death by probably tomorrow morning in a
glorious display of shortsightedness, fallacious setting of priorities and a
spectacular inability to distinguish between what is important and what seems
important,
Well, what can I
say..it still feels good, while momentary and ethereal it may be.
But then, what is not?
