Is Small Talk the New Fixation?

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Conversations matter. We have grown thick skins around ourselves so that nobody would hurt us. We meet people, get close and fall apart. We feel scarred but let us understand that like the cells in our body which constantly get replaced, we too lose our former lives, our former selves to become better humans, to gather the strength to think, talk and listen. The amount of understanding and wisdom you acquire, the familiarity of every cut, scratch and injury which threatened to damage you earlier, will cease to exist because you decide to make a choice, a choice to paint your internal walls with bright yellow, because there is nothing else that can trouble you except your thoughts. Do not drive a nail into the coffin of your vandalized past, but look at it and accept it. Caress your hair when your demons refuse to sleep, when they stretch out like empty winter nights, cold and solitary.

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For once, let someone capture your honest vulnerable self, where energies flow, like yin meets yang in perfect balance and not out of coercion. Be brave enough to start a conversation that shakes you, where you let the other to decipher your cryptic self and cannot get enough of it. Conversations with focused attention which a large group does not offer, where you long for that one friend who makes your stomach sick with question marks, who smells your intellect oozing out of your skin, who catches you in a deep state of emotional inebriation, who chokes the spirit out of you, while you gasp for breath, to say everything you want to in one long sentence, to which the response is, “your twisted mind speaks to me”. Nothing can be more beautiful when you speak to your faceless self at night with drooping eyelids, and that is the time when flaws are embraced and mistakes admitted. Nothing can match up to the connection which a pen has with a paper when it scribbles out its unconscious desires, too strong for the paper to handle. Those meaningful conversations which characters in a work of art have with the words that create them are transparent yet complex.

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Have a fight, but do not argue it over text messages where emotions are deadened, meanings are misinterpreted and feelings denied in spite of the whole spectrum of emoticons at your disposal, each trying to comprehend your contradictory halves looking for psychological explanation through mechanical encryption of algebraic formulas. You open the directory where the name appears, with the ‘green’ hued button flashing on your phone, asking you to decide ‘to call or not to call’, but you feel the conflict, your courage on the verge of death, but that feeble audacity inside, like the last man in the army, still pushes you to make the toughest decision to speak, to feel certain that you will make it right.  Instead of saying “what’s new?”, and “what’s up?” just say “What are you grappling with?” “What intrigues you?” and probe into the dustiest corners, territories of squalor and spaces of dirt where you may find naked life. Talk about the last time you saw your mother cry, the time you spent speaking nothing, just reading pauses, your belief in humanity, your fascination with human mind. Every word has something to offer. Listen and learn. Speak and enlighten. All of us are conscious of our mortality, but the aim is not to live forever but to speak out ideas whose echoes remain even if we don’t. And, there shall be a moment when in death, our breath stops whistling out, but the others would say, “Even in death, (S)he is beautiful.”

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