You know that moment when someone takes you into confidence and says something that makes you feel really special and you feel so good because you feel ‘chosen’, and then a couple of days later you find out that that person has said the exact same thing, and maybe a bit more to someone else and you get that ugly bracken, bile, pit of the stomach churn, that feeling of being utterly let down? I seem to be feeling like that all the time these days. And the culprit isn’t that so called friend or that two timing lover, but the city itself.
I’ve always had great admiration for people who never change, who hold their ground, who will always respond to their inner current, never cheating on it whether in the presence of impressionable company or in solitude. It’s a characteristic that is greatly missing. Especially in Bombay.
Bombay where you become what surrounds you. Merge into the smog and though this sounds cliché – forget who you were. So who were you, you ask yourself? Were you that girl with the thick glasses and unbelievably unmanageable hair that got onto her scooty every evening and rode to Eloor library and spent hours, no, days sitting in one of the aisles buried in a book. Were you the girl who loved watching Saturday morning Lok Sabha sessions and were a 100% sure you would become a politician, or were you the girl that read so much, you wouldn’t leave your room for days on end?
Bombay that has killed the reader in me, the thinker in me, and then most paradoxically the introvert in me as well. So what was better you ask youself, once in a while, like on a balmy Wednesday night like tonight. Was it better to be an intellectual obfuscator with no social skills, but where you still held yourself in extremely high regard, OR a social butterfly with a packed schedule who cant seem to even hold a mildly intelligent conversation anymore, who reaches out for Vogue instead of even Time Out these days because it involves far less reading but, who I dare say is – still happier somehow?
Or is this just the bane of the mid twenties? Of a life past and present that incoherently collide, where from this ugly copulation will birth your true self?
What? Say me.