Man's World - Incoherent Riot of Emotions Part - 2, [Developments over Coffee]


Narendra Singh Posted: February 25 ,2014

“Of Course, no such thing as coincidence”, she said. “I don't believe its pre-determined either, just a complex permutation and combination of being somewhere at a certain time. A game of probability I suppose.”

 

I question everything new. It's in my nature. I doubt and try to find reasons for the way things are. In this case however, everything she said was acceptable, without any questions or doubts! “Of Course, no such thing as coincidence”, I agreed.

 

We both shared a dislike for Coffee. On that rainy afternoon however, a coffee shop was the closest hiding place. And while she reluctantly sipped on her share of the bitter brew, I for the first time noticed her crooked tooth. In a purely sadistic way as some would argue, it was a bit reassuring. That tiny irrelevant detail as if made her humane suddenly. So far she had been pure perfection in every possible way that I looked at her. Perfection can be a little unnerving you know! I felt full of flaws all the time after all.

 

What followed next was the typical 7-8 minutes of awkward silence, where I assume she was just as confused as I. What’s the next best thing to say? This being only our second meeting beyond the confines of common friends and our private spaces. It can be quite unsettling for the socially awkward kind.

 

“So, exactly what is it that you do”, She caused a turbulence with that simple question. I was not ready for a straight one liner I believe. And even though, it’s a fairly plain and obvious question to ask, I really had no answers. Of course the possible answers could have been that I have a job, I sing in my spare time and play the cello when I am really at peace. None of them were satisfactory replies I calculated. 

 

“I try to write once in a while and have a day job!” I finally answered and in the process also shared my closely guarded secret.

 

“Simplify it for me; writing is such a complex thing.”

 

“I weave the fabric of my story. I put threads of different colors in distinct patterns. Truth and lies in equal proportions, imagination to contrast reality, love and hatred bound together in tiny strong loops of black and white letters.”

 

“So you give words to your interpretations of life and the way you see things. That is quite a decent effort I believe.”

 

That was by far the most accurate summary of what I try to do I thought.

 

“And, what is it that you do?” I guessed it was my turn to ask the question and went through with it.

 

“Well, I have a job that keeps me busy most hours of the day and week, but when I do find time, I travel.” “To strange, unknown and unseen places, farther from home they are, better they make me feel.”

 

“Can't find enough logic in the mundane life I suppose.”

 

“That was accurate.”

 

Just a lucky guess I said. Trying to hide my habit of reading words as they were spoken. It's a dirty habit you know, not easily accepted or understood.

 

That led to a longer conversation, none of which She or I remember anymore. I have always believed it’s important to remember how things started. Things are most beautiful in their moment of creation.

 

Light always leaves you with a cold dark night. So did she, with a promise however, to meet soon, to exchange more ideas and indulge in something more bearable than coffee. And of course with a smile that could keep one going about dreamily, for days to come...





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