Chats-The One with myself

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She was cosily asleep in her bed, wrapped in her blanket. She had a peaceful look on her face, a sleep uninterrupted by frequent alarm sneezes or the need for water or the washroom.
It was eight forty five, fifteen minutes till her alarm went off and she woke up. Her room was silent, no sound to disturb her. All the lights were switched off, only the ambient light illuminated her room. The room had a picturesque and quaint feel to itself, like out of a movie.
Another ten minute passed before a voice rose in her room. “She should wake up any second now”. There was no reaction or movement by the girl. The voice didn’t even faze her. The next five minutes till nine went the same as all the other minutes. The odd voice either had its watch set to the wrong time, or was in the wrong room.
It turned nine in her phone and it started ringing and woke the girl up. She woke up with a sudden jolt. She picked up her phone and turned it off. Her face betrayed her long, deep sleep. She looked shocked and lost; obviously troubled by the loud screeching noise. She shook her head and then readied herself to let go of the momentary shock and start the day.
“You’re getting sloppy”, the odd voice rose again. “You used to beat your alarm and turn it off before it even had a chance.”
“I know. I’m getting tired,” the girl replied nonchalantly, stretching her legs. A second passed, and all of a sudden she became shocked. “Whose voice is that?” She had gotten to the side of the bed, eyeing her room cautiously.
“Mine,” the voice responded without any sarcasm or comedy. It was straightforward.
“Oh ha ha,” the girl said. Her voice was sarcastic but worried underneath. “How funny. That’s a convenient answer, isn’t it? Isn’t our voice always our own.”
“Yes, yes it is,” the voice responded like before. “Aren’t all our voices our own?”
“Great. Now if you could tell me who you are, in proper terms.” She was eyeing her room for any weapon she could find.
“I am you,” the voice rose again.
“Oh hi me,” the girl answered sweetly. “Could you tell me just one thing,” her voice rose till she thundered. “Why are you troubling me?”
“Because you need to get out of the rut you continuously put yourself into. Where you lose all energy and excitement to beat your alarm clock. Where you wake up happily, not shocked out of your wits,” the voice thundered.
The girl was caught off guard. The outburst was the last thing she expected from the voice. She looked blankly ahead and stopped her search for a weapon.
“I’ve already answered that. “There was silence between the two. The voice was waiting for the girl to speak. The girl searching for the answer.
“Where are you?” The girl eventually broke the silence. She got up.
“Follow my voice. I’ll let out a little hum. Reach there,” the voice responded and then started emitting a light hum. The girl followed the hum to its source and reached it; her standing mirror. “Take a seat,” the voice said.”
“My mirror?” She put her hands on the mirror and moved it along.
“No, you,” the voice spoke again. “Have a seat.”
She turned around and pulled a chair. “Me, as in, my reflection?”
“No, you as in your mirror. What, do you think your reflection is you in a different world?” The mirror chuckled.
She let out a little chuckle. “So, you can also be funny. That’s good to know.” She made herself comfortable in her chair. “But what’s this whole thing, you know. You my mirror being me and all that.”
“I’ve never questioned it. It’s become a long standing tradition of ours; and I’ve become too comfortable to actually put an effort and know about it. I’ve always been looking over you; trying to help you through everything I can. I look at you going to bed and waking up every day five minutes before the alarm. And sometimes going back to sleep after shutting it off in the sanctuary of your bed; away from the world. I’ve seen you excited at wearing new clothes. And all the times when you’ve stood lost, with that look of sadness and despair, staring into the mirror while grooming yourself, before you’re suddenly jolted back into reality by some unseen stimuli. All those hours fretting, not feeling good enough, all the phone calls which make you feel happy, feel good, as well as those which steal away your peace of mind. I’ve been through all of this with you. It’s been my sole love to do, from your birth to your inevitable death. I’m always looking over you.”
“What about after when I die?”
“Like I said, I’m you. When you die, I go along with you.”
There was another long silence between the two. The girl hunched over her chairs, fists forming by her sides. She was breathing hard, straining her mind to move towards something.
“Why are you here all of a sudden? Talking to me like this, when you’ve never done it before. What changed all of a sudden?”
“I think I reached my limit. Looking at you go through all this; again and again, with no end to this loop till you are pulled out of it.”
She closed her eyes and thought. She took in a few deep breaths and sighed. Realising all that the mirror was talking about. Day after day of constant poison, the people whom she was with every day. Who put her down, didn’t appreciate her, made jokes about her, shouted at her; drained her energy.
“Why do you let them do that to you? Why do you let them bring you down, tell you you are a mess-up for the littlest of things? They laugh at you when you tell them about your dreams and aims. They poke fun at you, make jokes about you. Try to pull you down to where they crawl and leech. Them and all their incessant alcohol and smoke vapours, their mind numbing and boring conversation which couldn’t even stimulate a rock. Their pathetic waste of time. All you do is go along with it, hiding behind a fake smile, trying to be fine with all this. Why do you let them do that?” The voice thundered its words, except the last sentence it was about to say, which it said gently. “Most importantly, why do you stay?”
She stayed motionless throughout. She heard every word with her eyes closed, and the words played themselves out in front of her. A few seconds later, she spoke. “Maybe it’s because I feel there is good in them. That this is just a phase and they will snap out of it someday.”
“And for that you let yourself get thrown around like a ragdoll?” The mirror thundered again.
“You could be nicer you know,” the girl thundered back. “Screaming at me isn’t going to help.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought maybe the screening would get some sense into you,” the mirror apologized.
“I feel bad too. But it’s the hope that they will see the light. That’s why at times I feel it’s okay to be with them.”
“How’s that worked out for you?”
The girl chuckled. “Not too well.” There was more silence between the two, then the girl spoke again. “But it could have been worse.”
“Yes, surely could have been,” the mirror joked.
The girl laughed. “Imagine me, walking around like a zombie, navigating through bars with more zombies like me.”
“That would surely be horrible,” the mirror said unenthusiastically.
“Yeah. But I won’t let that happen. I won’t become a zombie, or what you fear I’m becoming.”
“I know. But it still worries me.”
“Would the worrying help?”
“In ways. It catalyses me into action for you. But not too much worrying. That leads me to anger and losing control.”
“Everyone keeps on telling me what you’re telling me. It’s not easy.”
“What?”
“Doing what you believe in and standing against the ridicule of others. It’s not easy. It gets too strenuous most of the time if you go at it alone. Talking, like now, helps. Even if it is against what I feel. I let out some things and learn something as well. How to go about it better, or how to improve. And not just here, with my friends, but life as well.”
“Is all this worth it? All the feeling bad, getting up late, being drained of energy?”
“I honestly don’t know. I mean, it’s weird. Do you stay with the friends whom you’ve always been with? Or do you let it all go away? What does one do here?”
“Whatever one’s life has been up to that point.”
“I guess so. Your past dictates a good part of your future.”
“Yes, but there are exceptions. Sometimes you can do things which nobody expects you to do. We all have that in us. That’s why we have reached form sticks and stones to steel and now the internet. Who knows where we’ll go from here? Cosmic beings of pure intelligence? Or maybe beings who only communicate telepathically, or our eyes? Or maybe creatures with no bones, so we won’t have any fractures. And where will we go from there? It’s all endless. And entropic. But fascinating.”
“You watch way too much sci-fi mirror.”
“You’re bad at holding these conversations, especially given how much you loved wondering about all this in your thoughts.”
“I can’t stay the same.”
“But you shouldn’t change to the extent where you start losing all that which made you happy. Are you happy?”
“I don’t know. It’s tough to say. I smile, I laugh here and there. So I know I’m not sad. But happy. Explain happy.”
“Not being sad I guess. We haven’t put much thought into it.”
“Wow. Before you, I never knew I was so smart,” she mocked the mirror.
“Ignorance is a gift cherished only by the complacent.”
“In this case, this line fits. You are what you say,” the girl smirked.
“And I am, in all aspects, you. With my quip, we shall get back to what we were talking about: happiness.”
“You can’t digress, can you?”
“Not by complacent people.”
“I guess I’ll have to get moving then. What do you think happiness is?”
“It’s a state of satisfaction maybe. Not having thoughts plague your mind. Your eyes have a specific shine, glint in them. They aren’t searching constantly for something, or lost deep in thought. It just, feels great.”
“But you can’t be like that all the time. What if you’re deep in thought? Or there is something stressful going on in your life? Or you’re having a particularly deep conversation which doesn’t involve a lot of smiling.”
“Happiness isn’t discrete. It doesn’t come and go from one situation to the other. It’s always there.”
“How certain are you while stating such a thing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe very, maybe not very. All I know is, we used to be happy in the past. We were better than this. Even when we had a bad day, we knew life was still happy. Somehow, I guess that hasn’t stayed.”
“Or maybe we just remember the happy parts of our past and cling onto them? Or we associate happiness with particular qualities. Which, if we stop having, we believe will also take away our happiness. Maybe we’re unhappy because of ourselves. Because we keep on searching and searching for something to make us happy rather than actually setting out sights on what’s there in front of us which we should appreciate.”
“Rightly so.”
“We constantly put so much pressure on ourselves. To be happy, to be who we were. To reach back to where we were, which in actuality moves us further away from it. Happiness is the ease with which life moves. That ease cannot be brought about by pressure. We must struggle in life, but not for happiness. Never for happiness. Happiness brought about by pressure isn’t happiness. It’s something else.”
“What?”
“What what?” the girl chuckled. “I can’t know the answer to everything. Think for yourself.”
The mirror laughed.
“Given your mind, you deserve so much more than you are getting. You need to go out and get it.”
“But what if I fail? And lose what I am even above?”
“We can never let fear guide us. It takes from dimly lit to dimly lit; always in the safe comfort zone between the pitch black and the radiance. It’s a terrible waste to only look at things from one level of brightness. “
“It is. Life needs colour, lots of it. And perspective. It needs to be big, not long.”
“So, what do you make of it?”
The girl did not respond. She sat in silence, thinking about her answer. She had brought her left knee up and put her chin on it, her arms wrapped around her knee.
The air around them started to become wavy, as though fading out.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to make a plan. See how much more I should stay, and where I am headed to. I think I’ll decide the path only before I set on it, not now.”
The waves became fierce, darkness started to seep into the waves, little images of a room, with light like hers an hour ago moving into the present. A noise started beeping, a high screech.
“Wait, what’s that?” The girl’s focus shifted to the beeping noise. “That’s my alarm clock,” she exclaimed.
“Why, yes it is,” the mirror smiled. “Time to wake up and put your thoughts into motion.”
“What?” She was incredulous. “I’m asleep? Is this a dream? Meaning none of this happened?”
The waves became more intense, and the room from the past mixed in with the present and became more prominent.
“Its status of having happened depends on how you felt it. If it felt real, could it not have happened just because it is not how things are not supposed to happen?”
The waves reached their maximum, and the present had all but lost itself in the past. Frantic, the girl said what she knew would likely be her last words. “Who, are you, then?”
“You,” the mirror smiled.
The waves broke upon reaching their maximum. The waves broke into a quaint, picturesque room, like out of a film, the girl wrapped in her sheet, the alarm ringing incessantly.
The girl, in one swift motion, shut off the alarm and got to her feet.
“Five minutes late,” she said, looking at the phone, which said 9:00 AM.

 

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Chats- The one at the funeral

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“I guess it’s my turn to speak now. It’s, it’s a huge honor I was asked to eulogize him. Even when going away, he have me the gift of telling me that I was one of his favourite people. Otherwise he would have never asked me to eulogize him.” *Wipes a tear from his eye*
“It is extremely weird to be talking about him, rather than with him. All of us sitting here have heard him talk and talk till litres of water were extinguished by him. We’ve all had one of the best conversations of our lives with him.” *Smiles*
“He loved to talk. There will never be any contest in that.”*Everybody laughs* “In those talks, in those words, more often than not, he gave us all wisdom; some knowledge about the world and how to live better in it. *Takes a long pause*
“I remember this one time we talked about life. We were talking about how so many fear they didn’t take in enough from the world. The greedy, who just kept on taking and taking. No boundaries. All the way till the horizon and beyond.” *Pauses and smiles*
“He said to me they’re all stupid. Idiots who didn’t understand life. I asked him and he said, Life: It’s not what you take, it’s what you give. I couldn’t decipher what he had said. I didn’t understand his words and he just sat there with his smug smile. That classic smirk and posture. Leaning on his left at the sofa, that smile, which told you he knew the answer while you were floundering for it. All of us here will undoubtedly know that posture.”
*Everyone in the audience chuckles*
“So, he tells me to answer. And no matter how smart he was, he was always kind. He never belittled anybody who didn’t know the answer. He gave you freedom and shared the answer with you. I told him my answer: We all remember that story. No matter how much we earn, none of it goes with us. It stays behind. So maybe, it’s related to that.” *Smiles again*
“He comes forward and says, “Partially”. And then he goes on with his answer. I’m paraphrasing, so please bear with me.” *Clears Throat*
“If you keep on taking love from people, or their time, they won’t remember you. You will just be another person who took from them. But when you give people your love, your time, your words, your sorrows, and your happiness; when you make memories with them, they remember you. They talk about you. So, at the end, you’re not remembered for the amount of money you made, or how much the world knew you or about you. You’re remembered by people for what you gave of yourself to them. Life: It’s not what you take, it’s what you give.”
*Smiles and shakes head*
“He gave us all so much. All of us sitting here, he gave us so much of his time, his words, through which he gave us his love. That’s why there are so many of us here.”
*Let’s out a tear*
“He gave so much to so many.
*Turns towards the coffin*
“I love you man. I really do. Thank you for all our chats and your words. They will be cherished, always. Thank you.”


 

Chats-The one at the Party

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The sea of singularity and collective-ism

It was another usual grand outdoor party. It was just the right combination of warm and cold. Nobody was sweating, and everyone was wearing only one layer. At least the weather was pleasant.
Floating all around the party was the usual air of fake sophistication of people who’d want nothing more than to go crazy and di stupid stuff. But they didn’t. Because it wasn’t expected of them and also because it was unseemly. So naturally, whenever they saw an unrestrained soul. They were usually taken aback in equal parts shock, horror, discomfort and longing.
They couldn’t believe their eyes or ears and tried to disprove their heart when they saw somebody smiling heartedly, or having a hearty laugh, simply enjoying themselves with no pretence.
At this party, there was this huge magnificent beast of a man, whom you’d see from afar and prejudge him to be one of the most solemn, grim men to pace the Earth. A bulking 6’2, beat hair and beard. You’d expect him to shoot you a look if you so much as made a joke around him. A proper grown up, in terms of the air of false sophistication possible for a person. Somehow, we just couldn’t be more wrong.
There he was, talking like it was the single foremost and greatest pleasures in life. He had a glass of coke in his hand, which spent more time in the company of other people, because that man was too busy jumping around and waving his hands in the air and making everybody laugh. He said the craziest and most random of things. There was one man, trying to make banal small talk and try to show how popular and well connected he was, went up to this structure of incredible energy and said, “I think I’ve seen you somewhere. Now where was it?” He tried to act important and that structure responded, “I think I know where. I do a lot of hard-core gay porn movies.” The man was taken aback. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan. Can I interest you in an autograph?”
I was standing a couple of feet away from where this happened. Everybody there downright lost it, and started curling their mouths inwards to stop their imminent bursts of laughter. The more shameless like me walked away and let out our bursts.
Mind you, this is a party where people thought laughing except a fake and low one meant you were uncivilised. So, this is how people lost it.
I was standing next to the man again after some time. He was speaking about this book, “The Fault in Our Stars”, a novel by John Greene. The way he spoke about it, with so much passion and love. I couldn’t remember the last time I talked about anything like this. I simply remembered talking as a means to an end. A forced activity to pass the day till I could enjoy some silence and quiet. Had I, and most of us here, forgotten what the art of talking?
What struck me most about this man was his almost infinite quota of energy. He just wouldn’t settle down. It should be illegal for anybody to possess so much energy. Then again, I think all his energy came from the simple fact that maybe he didn’t need to expend any energy in trying to be sophisticated.
I actually want to go up to this man, and talk to him. But a certain fear has gripped me. I don’t know what it is, but it is pretty strong. I’m obsessing about whether I should go or not. Or you know what, maybe he’ll come here for a drink and then I can casually start a conversation like, “Hey! What’s up?” That should work right?
Great. Now I’m obsessing how to talk to a guy who literally talks all the time. I’m like, that awkward little boy again who never spoke to his crush in high school because she was the popular one and he was always intimidated.
Okay. This is getting way out of hand now, this guy is awesome and everything, but it’s not worth fretting my sexuality over. I’ll just take my drink and sit down on this lonesome looking chair. The next few minutes I thought of myself and forgot all about that man.
It’s so weird, to see something like him. Like this weird prank he did. He fake yawned and on purpose, hit the guy next to him with his elbow when going to cover his mouth, then, he acted like it was a mistake. He made it obvious it was a joke and didn’t even mask the humor. Then, he hit another person while he said the sorry when he took his other elbow backwards. Within a minute, everyone had lightened up and was laughing, or simply smiling heartedly.
This man had this mystical ability to make anything comic. Eve between his passionate tirades, he let in a quip to make you smile. He wasn’t a comedian, but he had the heart of one.
I came out laughing when I thought about it and then saw him. The man, flesh and bones sitting diagonally in front of me. I was like, Wow! This was my shot. SO I mustered up all my courage, pushed down any feelings of latent homosexuality I may have had, and just said, “Dude! You are crazy awesome!” Crazy Awesome. A phrase I never thought I would ever use in my life.
He turned around, all stiff and solemn, his coke in his hand. He looks me in the eye and says, “You talkin to me?” In a crazy western accent. I was a bit taken aback. All I did was let out a little uhhhh and then he said it again. “You talkin to me?” A completely different, heavier tone this time. I gulped.
“Yeah,” I said meekly and awkwardly.
In a heartbeat, all of a sudden, he dropped the whole act, turned sideways to face me better and said, “Cool man. What’s up? “I let out an incredulous laugh at his charade. He had a knowing smile. Just like that, I realised he had lightened me up.
“Seriously man, you’re insane,” I said while laughing. He let out a laugh himself. “Thanks,” he said.
“No really. I mean, you’re a breath of fresh air,” I said with so much excitement at seeing such a person.
He laughed. “Thank you again.” He was almost shy when he said it. Humble like almost.
I didn’t get it. Here he was, somebody who did what he loved, who obviously didn’t care how he was perceived. Here he was, being somebody everybody in parts wanted to be like, and he had no streak of arrogance at all.
“How often is it, you come to a party and see somebody jumping around like crazy? Answer that question and you just might feel how I feel,” I continued then paused for his answer.
“Well, everyone I’ve been to,” he said with his coke glass raised and a smile.
It was a second before I got the joke. He smiled and waited for me to get it and then we both laughed.
“Why does the fact that there aren’t people jumping around at parties tick you off?” He asked me with concern. Like he genuinely cared about it.
“Well, because, you know. Ever since birth, you’ve always been told not to do certain things. At parties, at other people’s house. No matter how much you wanted. And if you did it by mistake, you would be reprimanded whenever your parents caught you alone. I mean, so many people here want to laugh and tell jokes and not fake laugh. But can’t do it, because it’s not the proper thing to do.”
“What is the proper thing to do?” He swiftly cut me in between. There was a pause in which I looked up at him. “The only proper thing to do is what you feel you want to do. Anything else is the improper thing to do.”
It made sense.
“You’ll realise that when you do the proper thing, the right thing as I call it, you’ll do it for much longer, with more energy and more zeal. Simply because, it comes from right here and you feel like doing it.” He pointed to his heat as he said that. I could feel his talking coming from the heart, otherwise he wouldn’t be talking like this. “And it’s not only about doing what you love. It’s also learning what to do it while still being kind and respectful to other people.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “That’s why nobody loves parties like these, except little kids. Because we are conscious and act so much energy trying to act a certain way’ kids never have to, because they’re excused because they’re kids. We get bored. Because we aren’t doing it from the heart. We realise we could be at home doing something we actually love. That comes from right here,” I pointed to my heart.
“Precisely. All this conditioning. To act, speak, walk a certain way. To be a certain way. To live life a certain way. It all comes from right here,” he pointed to his head. “But we can’t fault our parents or anybody else for that either,”
There was no hate or indignation in his voice. Instead, I found a slight hint of understanding there. A keen understanding and acceptance for why we were conditioned. “It’s because we aim to be better. But without ever knowing it, it’s ingrained in us to be better because of the fear that if we aren’t good, we’ll be left behind.”
He has me hooked. Something in there made sense. Something felt similar, like my mom who always told me to study more otherwise I would be a stupid and not smart.
“We’re told to study more, get better marks. Because if we don’t, we’re termed as failures. So we study not because we love it and want to be better. We do it because we’re afraid of being left behind. Just like this party. We’re all acting a certain way, afraid to go crazy or act out of it in fear of how we might seem to a colleague or a superior. If we act out of the streamlined way, we might not get the next big raise or the net big promotion. So, we act like this out of fear.” His voice changed, becoming more emphatic, as though he was about to make appoint. :We all become so accustomed to always not failing, we see ourselves as people trying to defeat failure, rather than as people wanting to get better.”
“Yeah,” I said as I had a moment of enlightenment. “Everyone wants to do better because they don’t want to fail.”
He shook his head with a smile and approval.
“But I still don’t get one thing,” I asked him.
“Hmmmm,” he responded, indicating me to ask the question.
“But how does it all add up? I mean, people being afraid of failure, and the ability to have fun at parties and what we do from the heart? And how do our parents come into this?”
He gave a knowing smile, as though he had been a recipient of such questions. “Because you see, when we’re not afraid of not failing all the time, we tend to not end up thinking about it. So you don’t expend any energy thinking about what how you might fail. So, you’re free to do anything with that energy you have. I want to joke around and have fun. While somebody else might just want to sit and have a great chat. Whereas somebody else may want to sit in a corner and observe the party. And someone else may want to leave the party and sit at home and read. But at the same time, while doing what you love, you must never shy away from doing new things. Who knows, that new thing could be another thing you end up loving! But you can do this only if you’re unconcerned with how you might seem or what people think about you.”
“And our parents were conditioned with a similar thinking, all of which they couldn’t shake off. So, some things they shook off. The ones they couldn’t, they passed down to us.” I don’t know how I reached that conclusion as I cut him in between. ”They believed telling us to behave a certain way, to get better marks were the right things to do,” he responded.
“Cant’ blame that,” Isa di as I raised my glass. “To parents. Who always try their best!”
“Here here!” He responded, raising his glass of coke. Diet, on closer inspection. “And to trying to do the right thing. What our heart tells us to do, without fear or restraint.”
He said that one with an entirely new accent.
“Aye,” I responded.
He gave an accepting smile, making a pug like face, pushing his face downwards and lips upwards and nodding his head. “I approve. Cheers!” And then we drank from our glasses.


My exams are finally over, and for one month, I can write like there is no tomorrow, and also blog like that as well!
To all people who love reading “Chats” stories, this is the latest collection to it; why I believe we all hate parties and why we avoid them as much as possible; mostly.
Do sound of in the comments below whether my theory is correct or wayyy of the mark!
Happy Reading!

Chats-The one with the Two Friends

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1: You have all these songs. But you always skip them on shuffle. Why the hell don’t you delete them?
2: I’ll always keep these songs
1: What the hell? Why?
2: She sent me all these songs when we were together. It’s like, a reminder of her, my connection to her.
1: These songs that you rarely listen to?
2: Well yeah. These songs are what started us off. It was our shared love for Imagine Dragons that brought us together. We were crazy. Up till midnight sending each other songs. Discussing them. Watching the music videos, analysing their meaning. We were crazy kids back in the day.
1: AHHAHAHAHAHAH!! Seriously? Music was what made you two crazy? You sweet, sweet innocent child of mine.
2: Yeah, trust me. Had it not been for those songs, I don’t think I would have ever had a proper way of communicating with her.
1: Seriously?
2: Hell yeah! Had it not been for our shared love of music, we never would’ve gotten so close. That’s what I used to do. Send a song whenever the conversation dulled and then we had something to talk about. And just like that, we used to talk about the universe and its infinite expanse, life and sadness and about us. Somehow, those songs went through us and we weren’t afraid about talking.
1: Wow.
2: And we sent each other all kinds of songs. Rock, pop, English, Hindi, old Bollywood classics, new age Hindi Rock, EDM, you name it, though I never liked the songs she sent. But I never told her, because me liking those songs made her happy, and I didn’t care about anything else or more.
1: Those songs mean a lot to you, don’t they?
2: They do. Each of those songs is her. Every song she sent has her in it somewhere. They preserve her. Because after somebody goes away, it’s what they left you that reminds you of your time with them. I mean, I hate listening to some of these songs, but I love them as well because when I listen to them, I feel with her. Telling her about the songs, how much I like them and seeing her face light up with a grin. Excitedly agreeing and then going off on how much she liked the song. There are her emotions behind some of these songs that these songs assume new meaning and depth.
1: Do you miss her?
2: Yeah, I do. I really do. That’s why I’m glad for the music. It helps you be with people long after they are gone.
1: I’m still confused. Why music? Even after music, you had so many mementos, moments, photographs. Things more tangible. Why music you hate?
2: Because music will always stay with me. Even when I’m ninety. So when I’ll be far away from home or maybe even have dementia at seventy four, I could hear the music and know she’s still watching over me and smiling at me and maybe coming to meet me or waiting for me to meet her.
1: Sucks man. The universe sucks. It’s an absolute whore for taking her. I mean, of all the worthless, good for nothings, it decides on her. What blasphemy.
2: Well, can’t blame it. I mean, the universe has a job as well. It has to be impartial towards it. It cannot care about the consequences and implications. It just cannot care.
1: Which leaves people devastated. For no reason, except the universe is a bitch.
2: Well, still. You can’t bitch and whine about the universe. You can’t possible wage a war against the universe. I mean look at it. It’s huge.
1: So? I say we do it and beat the universe to a pulp.
2: Yeah? Entropy will annihilate us even before we try. Gobble us up and throw us back out.
1: I say screw Entropy man. Screw Relativity. Screw Heisenberg/ We beat up the universe, one atom at a time.
2: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. And how do you suggest we do it?
1: Well, there was this crazy king once, who went to war with Poseidon. So, in order to show Poseidon up, he had his army stab the water. Stab the goddamn water. And that’s what we will do. We’ll stab the air, ourselves, other people, tress, grass, al atoms. To take revenge. Let the universe feel our wrath.
2: BWAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh my god. You can’t be serious?
1: I am. Because that guy was a genius. Because he let it all out. You can’t let the universe take away whatever it wants and then let it hope that it gets away with it. That there will not be r implications or consequences. The universe has to deal with them as well.
2: But it’s futile. Because the universe doesn’t have time for us.
1: So what? You’re saying that we let the universe get away with it and sit idly by?
2: Yes and no.
1: What?
2: We need to let the universe get away with it. We have to allow the universe to not care. Even if it did it in purpose. Because the universe cannot care. Because if the universe started caring, there wouldn’t be any fair thing to do and it would throw itself, and us in a state of perpetual chaos and eventually destroy itself. And it is imperative that the universe outlast us. So as to be a caretaker of everything it encompasses.
1: So, we let it get away with it?
2: Yes. But we don’t sit idly by.
1: What do we do?
2: Now, this is something I truly believe in. You sit back and look up at the clouds. You look hard, really hard. And if you try hard enough, you’ll maybe see a silver lining. A small little reason to be happy and forgive the universe.
1: Why? Why forgive the universe?
2: Because the universe gives us sadness and happiness both. And hating the universe for the bad parts will bring us no good. Instead, we should be thankful to the universe for the good time it gave us and be happy. Live and let live, right?
1: Yeah, but still. It sucks what happened. I mean, it wasn’t right.
2: The universe is unbiased. It sees no right or wrong. It just sees what needs to be done. Even if we feel it’s wrong. We need to let the universe have one, even if it screws up. Be kind, because everyone, including the universe need it.
1: Yeah. Maybe even in taking away the universe gives us something. It gives us nostalgia. Things to live by. Memories.
2: Yeah. Makes sense. And it’s not easy to be pissed off at the universe. I mean, it did make me and her meet right?
1: Yeah, that’s true. But think about it. When it comes down to it, wouldn’t you rather sit with her and chat rather than chatting with me?
2: “Just smiles and continues working”


To everyone who loves talking about the universe. And i know a lot of “The Fault in our Stars” fans and people interested in science will be the ones to grab onto this! Do sound off in the comments below about your feeling regarding the Universe and its infinite grandness!

Chats-The one with the Speeder and the Policeman

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“Sir,” the policeman said as he stopped the speeding car and reached its window, “Where are you going?”
“Home,” the man replied.
“And where is that?” the policeman continued.
“Wherever it might be,” the man responded.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you get out of your car and give me your license and registration.” The policeman said, irate at the man’s response.
The man, calm and nonchalant stepped out of the car and handed the documents to the policeman and stepped aside and shut the car door.
The policeman let out a sigh, regretful at stopping this particular over-speeding car at one in the morning. “Sir, your home address is about two hundred kilometres from here,” the policeman exclaimed in anger.
“I know,” the man went on, as though oblivious to the police man’s ire and fatigue.
“Then what the hell are you doing here?” the policeman said, finally snapping at the attitude of the man.
“Finding home,” the man replied in his usual casualness.
“You keep on with that attitude and I’ll lock you up for the night.” the policeman continued, frustrated and annoyed at the perceived casualness and general waywardness of the man.
“Nothing will happen to the car right?” the man responded, turning a bit more serious.
“Yeah, wait, what?” the policeman shocked at the man’s query. “I’m this close to locking you up with homicidal maniacs and psychopaths, and that’s all you can think about? Whether your car will be okay or not?”
“Yeah. It’s my father’s,” the man responded, his casualness fading away for his serious demeanour.
“Well then he’s gonna be mad that it spent a night in the impound,” the policeman responded, lightening up a bit, warming up to the odd man with cryptic answers to his run of the mill questions.
“Yeah. He would be,” the man continued, “but he’s dead.”
The policeman stopped checking the documents and stared at the man. He was unpleasantly shocked at the man’s indifference in his voice and his blank expression while saying it.
“Man, you’re crazy,” the policeman stated.” I’ve locked up paedophiles, guys who did hit and run, a few homicidal maniacs too, but they don’t hold anything when compared to you,’ he continued on in in equal parts amazement and bafflement at this extremely bizarre incident in his life.

“What, why?” the man responded in light humor, surprised at the acquisition.
“Seriously. I catch you speeding at one in the night, you’re all damn chill about it. Then I tell you I’ll lock you up and you’re concerned about your car rather than yourself,’ the policeman spoke in a fast but high pitched voice. “What’s up with that,” the policeman ended his tirade against the man’s attitude and the man, smiling, burst out laughing,
“What? What>” the policeman responded, his hands thrown in the air, curious at the man’s laughter, but also not very pleased at the same time.
“Well,” the man continued laughing, even more loudly than before, now breaking the silence that shrouded the area. “Well, I’ve never seen a police officer say words like chill or what’s up or even act like that,” the man continued, throwing his hands in the air like the police officer, and eventually falling on his car’s hood.
“Man, I tell you. You’re crazy,” the policeman said, tired at trying to figure out the man’s cryptic behaviour.
“No, no,” the man continued, controlling his laughter to give a more coherent and audible response. “No,” finally ending his laughter, “how often do you look at a police officer use words like chill and act like a normal person. I mean, you all act so tough all the time that we forget you’re just like us. I mean, we get so muddled in the stereotypes, we forget to look at the people underneath”
The policeman stood surprised by what he had just heard. He understood why the man laughed and realised that the man was as smart as he was crazy. “Yeah, that’s because not a lot of people over speed at one in the morning.”
“True,” the man nodded. “Or you know, cross paths with me,” the man laughed.
“Yeah,” the policeman joined the man in his laughter.
The laughter soon subsided into the silence and both the men rested on the hood of the car and the policeman closed the documents and handed them over to the man.
“So, what brings you here, oh great wise wizard man of two hundred kilometres away,” the policeman asked, waving his arms in the air, trying to make mystical hand signs.
The man chuckled a bit. “You never thought you’d see a police man do that, did you?” the policeman continued and the man burst out laughing again. The policeman joined him as well.
“You here to meet some extended family or something,” the policeman asked.
“No, no. Just passing by. Just exploring,” the man replied.
“To where,” the policeman asked,
“I don’t know, I just took the car out of the garage for a drive and next thing you know, I get back home, pack a bag and head out.”
“All of a sudden? Just like that?” the policeman enquired.
“Just like that,” the man responded. “The car had been in the garage ever since it came back from servicing a couple weeks ago and I just took her out for a spin. And while driving, I realised I needed to unburden myself,” the man continues, “of all earthly and mundane affairs,” he spoke, imitating a wizard in speech and action.
Both of them chuckled a bit.
“Unburden yourself? You sound like you’re carrying a lot of burden on those weak arms,” the policeman said, patting the man’s bicep.
“I was,” the man’s tone was now serious. “My family died when I was what, seven. Ever since then, I’ve been living with my extended joint family. So, all my other relatives looked after me,” the man continued. “But they always had this feeling in there heart. They would feel bad for me and somewhere, I felt they always treated me differently. And I always felt grateful and so, in my head, I started to become what I think they would appreciate. And I started becoming this boy who restrained himself from so much because of small things only he could see and burdened himself with this particular way to live and behave that he forgot who he truly was. Beneath all those self-imposed restrictions,” the man ended, taking a deep breath.
“You know they would have loved it had you been yourself,” the policeman said.
“Yeah, I know. I always thought that I could be one way in front of them but always know who I was in my head and it would be all right. But that just doesn’t work out.”
“Yeah. You can’t wear one face to the world and another to yourself without being eventually confused as to which one is actually true,” the policeman added on.
“And that’s the issue, isn’t it? We all think that if we know who we are and are secure about it, we can change ourselves according to people’s needs without it affecting who we really are,” the man spoke with pain and passion in his voice regarding the human condition. “It just doesn’t work.”
“It can’t work,” the policeman added. “The human brain and heart, even though used for deception are not made for it. They falter when they know they’re doing something wrong,” the policeman equally passionate and irate about the human condition.
“That actually makes so much sense. You can’t fool yourself into believing what you don’t believe in. I mean, that’s why heroes and villains go so far. Because in their heart of hearts, they are doing what they truly believe in. Unhindered, unrestrained by anything,” the man continued.
“Because when you believe, you aren’t scared by things that scare you. You work hard to overcome adversities and succeed,” the policeman added further.
“Because only a strong immovable belief forms the willpower to never give up,” the man said, even faster, stimulated by the conversation they were having.
“I’ve never talked like that without having two beers in me,” the policeman exclaimed even faster and both men chuckled a bit.
“Seems like a scene out of a Woody Allen movie,” the man said once he finished his laughter. “Two strangers meet and out of nowhere start talking about life and the human condition and the problems we all face.”
The policeman checked. “Yeah. Rightly said. Had it been longer, we could have called it a scene from My Dinner With Andre.”
“Yeah, but in My Dinner With Andre, the two know each other. We’re more Allen characters. Strangers who are mysteriously empathise with each other even though they’ve known each other only a short time.”
“You sure can talk for about one thirty in the night,” the policeman said.
“It’s a gift,” the man said with a slight hint of narcissism.”
“Aaaaahhhh,” the policeman yawned, tired after this brief but enlightening experience. “I’d love to continue, but I’m tired and no matter how much I don’t want to, I need to finish with my duty here.” The policeman said as he got of the hood of the man’s car and raised his arm for a handshake.
“Yeah,” the man responded, jumping off the hood with his documents in hand and grabbed the policeman’s hand.
The policeman walked away and the man looked at his documents. “Wait, aren’t you going to give me a ticket?” the man screamed.”
“Nah. I have a feeling you’ll be back here.”
The man nodded his head as the policeman entered his car and started it and drive away, his hand out to wave good bye and he soon drove towards the moon. The man too then entered his car and revved his engine and took off as well, a smile on his face, driving towards the moon as well, but taking a different path.


This is the second Chats story, the previous one being The One in the Bar. So, sound off in the comments below how you found this story!

Chats-The One in The Bar

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My Dinner with Andre.jpg

“What would you like sir?”
“Give me an Absolute.”
“Excellent choice sir. Also, I would like to ask you to pay upfront. We don’t want or need any tabs.”
“Sure thing”, the man said. He reached for his wallet in his jacket pocket and gave the money. Well kept hair, black leather jacket, black jeans and a black t-shirt underneath and a confident attitude. The perfect, though a bit clichéd attire for a bar.
The bartender walked away with the money and soon came back with the drink.
The man, still fidgeting with his wallet took the change and kept it back in the same pocket and turned around with his drink. He enjoyed the loud music, his head vibrating lightly.
In front of him was a huge crowd. People in dark clothes waving and flailing around under the green neon lights. All flushed under a singular identity.
One man caught his eye, while the bartender simply cleaned the glasses. This one man, no regard for social convention walked through the crowd and came towards them.
He was wearing brown cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, a hat and was drinking from a coconut. Clichéd for a beach. Unexpected for a bar. He walked towards the sear and placed the coconut beside various glasses.
“Give me a drink,” the man said, in a voice too sad for the beach.
“One that mixes well with coconut water?”
“Yeah”.
“Strict adherence to the code still? Also, pay upfront is the new rule.”
“Yeah whatever”. The man pulled out a bill from his shirt pocket and handed it to the bartender.
The bartender took the cash and the coconut.
“You sound pretty sad for a man dressed for a beach”, the man in black clothes said.
“This isn’t the beach”.
“Well, you know, still!”
Awkward silence followed, both the men sitting beside each other, but not acknowledging.
The bartender came back with the coconut and change and kept it on the table. The man picked up the coconut and paid no heed to the change.
“Man, I’ll have to try that sometime”, the man in the black clothes said, pointing towards the coconut.
“Yeah”.
“Is it good?”
“Yeah”, the man, not even looking, continued on.
“Can I have a sip then?”
The man in beach clothes didn’t even look at him. He remained silent for a couple seconds, his face not giving anything away. “Get your own coconut”, he said and resumed drinking.
The man viewed him with shock while the bartender chuckled.
“You don’t change do you? Being the only invariant quantity in a continuously changing equation”, the bartender said.
The man, not even looking up, nodded in agreement.
“Like the constant in an equation of a line,” the man in black clothes exclaimed, cutting the bartender.
“Well what do you know, we have another live spirit in the soul sucking abyss”, the bartender exclaimed.
The man in black clothes let out a small laugh.
“So, how about that sip?”
The man in beach clothes looked at him, stared into his eyes, acknowledging his existence, and said, “No”.
The man then resumed drinking, while the bartender once again chuckled. The man in black couldn’t help but become shocked, again, before ordering another drink a couple seconds later.
The bartender handed him a strong beer.”Live spirit and brave. A strong beer after an Absolute. You stand up after this and I’ll name a drink after you”.
The man took a sip of his beer before turning to the other man.
“So, what do you mix with the coconut water?” he asked.
“I don’t know!”
The man in black was now slightly agitated. The bartender walked away.
“It’s his job to remember. I just drink”, he said.
The man in black simply nodded, impressed.
“What if he forgets?”
The man in beach clothes stopped drinking, perplexed at the question. He turned his stool and stared at the other man. He kept on staring. The man in black could not figure out the importance his question held.
“And that’s how you confuse a constant. Talk to him about change,” the bartender waltzed back in, breaking the silence.
The man in beach clothes, still uneasy, took a sip of his drink while the other man chugged his drink.
The man in black let out a little laugh. “Change?”
“Yes.” The other man replied.”His forgetting which drink to mix would mean a drastic change in the continuum and code and have unforeseeable consequences.”
“Like the butterfly effect?” The man in black said.
“Precisely the butterfly effect”, the bartender cheered in rapt excitement. Bravo my boy”.
“You see, if he forgets which drink, it would break the code set up until now. It’s the change in the code that would beget more change.
“But isn’t change supposed to be good? If he mixes a wrong drink, you may find a new taste.”
“If he mixes the wrong drink, I might end up with a bad headache,” the man answered.
“But it would be a new experience. You might just like it.”
“That’s the problem. I just might like it.”
The man in black was baffled whereas the bartender smiled, faintly.
“You see, change isn’t feared because we approve of how things are or were, it is feared for we may like how things might be.”
“But what’s there to fear than fear itself?”
“Change,” the reply, with unshackled confidence and faith.
The man in black smiled, before taking another sip. There was once again silence around them, but not awkward.


Do sound off in the comments below everyone! Did you like the story you read? And has such an incident ever taken place with any of you? And how does it feel to be in such a situation? Feel free to share any and all criticisms and thoughts.