In that where she asked another question.

Would you be you/ Would I be me/ Would we be us without an inbox exchange between each?

Excuse the ditty.

There's enough that's been said on technology ruining intimacy. How relationships have been falsely anchored in auto-corrected texts, emoticons and 120 character spaces. 

Like the first proud gay man said, "just to put it out there"- I love my technology. I find nirvana, space and  escape in it.

But I can't help wonder how modern day relationships would play out, without. How did those people *refer our mums and dads* do it? How did they ever decide when and where to meet their friends? Imagine how tedious, linear and sometimes simple, plan making was. X would meet Y at the coffee shop at 5:30. X has gone shopping and hence Y can't change their mind 20 times between coffee shop a/b/c/ d. 

And what would be the Alexander Graham Bell equivalent of a smiley?

The smiley is my favorite conversation, 'I don't know you well enough to be sarcastic with you', filler.

The drunk texting ex-es would, well, not happen. The landline simply would not indulge every impulse shooting through us.  It would not let you experience the heady thrill (and danger) of knowing that every emotion, bad judgement call is a text, tweet, update away.

Perhaps the immediacy of technology, lets truth spontaneously permeate our exchanges. 

Or is it loaded exaggerations hinged on power?- power to construct opinion, identity, realities with one picture/update? 

With one well-worded and smartly concealed generic text sent to you. 

And maybe four others?

Does this technology orgy that we're having give validation to every fleeting emotion we've ever had? Help us make mini-potraits of our daily existence? 

You didn't just celebrate another festival- YOU, my friend. Had. An. Experience. 

Here's what Shakespeare intended to say- All the world's a stage and all men and women are really busy on their smartphones.

Blank Verse in Rhyming Prose

Picture Credit: Here

There were only two rules for survival:

1.There was a thin line between OCD and quirks

2. Gibberish was best understood written.

Of course, the war stretched on till sundown but Steve had to catch the first plane out. There was some meticulous planning that went on and The Council for Construction of Modern Stereotypes loved their doughnuts cream-filled. Tigers patrolled the streets- ticketing anyone, who yelled out “Hobbes”.

If you were a cricketer and had knee pads on, you could contest the elections. But what good could ever come of that ?The place banned all balls. Literally.

Steve reached the hotel late, late into the afternoon.

Sleep (a registered human vice) gripped him.

He knew that lying horizontally and closing your eyes was a disrespect to the gadgets painfully designed to take over your lives. He risked it, anyway.

For the next three days, celebrations were to be organised. Fuschia was an official colour of the rainbow and f.i.b.g.a.l.o.r.e was the new acronym kids learnt. Violet and Yellow were dropped from the list  after the Eurasian crochet teams(official colours- Violet and Yellow) disgraced themselves (The coach fell asleep in public view and had admitted he was “exhausted”. Violet and Yellow (the team colours) were now colours of shame)

Election time was nigh. Your manifesto could only be read/written in Shakesperean.

They made a virtue of necessity but the truth was out.

Steve awoke to silent euphoria outside his window. Drawing his comforter around his knees. He stroked Pluto’s round head. The erstwhile planet had become insecure and Steve had taken it in as a pet.

He knew it was all coming to a beginning- the apocalypse was near. All because the United Nations had lost their iPod charger.

Someone needed to fix the state of things. Cameron Diaz could always dazzle with her smile and beach-blonde hair.

But then one day, she found carbs.

Punctuated Murmurs

She asked me, what it was I liked to write about.

Without missing a beat, "you do it for the love of it. Because you can't help it. News reporting and writing aren't the same" *cue eye roll*

But then, I think I had an answer.(I'll admit it hit me at four o'clock on a Monday- my preferred time for plans of grandeur)

There is nothing more evocative, intriguing and repelling than people. Ironical companionship and deliberately smudged boundaries. Incomplete sentences with loaded subtext.

Whispers of complications which acknowledge simplicity. Varying portions of lies, masks, vulnerabilities and dreams .Shaken, not stirred

There is nothing more fascinating than human relationships.The deviancies , and sometimes, begging lack thereof.

Raw, beautiful, throbbing everyday conflict between Messers You and You.

Desperate belief timed to activate when desperation sets in; rather than something worth believing coming around. Smudges of personalities consciously wiping off on each other. Daily abortion of old selves.

People. Just people all around.

Either at war or in a passionate, gnarly entanglement with their own psyche.

That's what I like to write about.

Isn't that what anyone ever wrote about ?

Another Brick in The Wall

That one person.

They will teach you everything. 

It doesn't have to be a love gone wrong/waste/unreturned. 

It just needs to be one human being so connected to you and so far apart from your being that they wrap themselves around you like a sentence which never ends or the invisibility couture that Potter rocked.

It could be a parent missing. A friend frustrating. Or, the pop culture favorite- love worn and war torn.

You obsess, ignore, amalgamate and then process fragments of their being. 

Your imagination assimilates its favorite bits about them and then recreates- Alternate Realities. Subconsciously and quite subversively, might I add, you re-align your reactions (imagined or real) only to extract desired reaction from them.

This muse need not be physically present in your surroundings but the little you've known of them, always is.

And, that's how you learn and un-learn. Who you want to be. Who you think other people could be. 

Sociology 101, is a fascinating semester. Over too soon and always leaving you wishing, you'd just studied harder.