I have never known why silence intrigues me so much. Often when I stop by a famous book-store in Pune, my eyes seem to hover around for someone who is all engrossed in herself and perusing through some unknown novel. Fixation doesn't stop here. There is a certain charm in silence which words, somehow, have never been able to tap. I have lived alone, with a thousand thoughts bustling in my mind and but still have managed to look calm on the outside. I have celebrated alone and have adorned silence as a coat to hide my earnest desires of being loved/ cared back. I have always loved silence- but somehow I have never volunteered to smear myself with it. It just so happens-that life makes me a loner, murders my will to talk and a sudden huss replaces all the silly blah-blah that was rambling across my head. Sometimes, silence is thrust on us. At times, I have nursed a desire to sit besides my friends and talk to them about everything in this world, but I have found no one willing enough to listen to me.
I have always impressed people with my glib conversations- some have just marvelled at my never-ending zest for life, some have grown tired of my voice and have distanced themselves from me. A particularly sad incident happened a few days back when a summer intern at my place summoned enough audacity and darted straight to me and said," For all your wisdom and nature, I find you irksome. Your talk bamboozles me. I can't stand it.". It was so straight in the face, so brutally honest that I wasn't even able to respond properly. There are a thousand answers I have with me now but the sheer honesty of his confession is what has held me back. Why! I can't be interesting or engaging for every bloke on this planet. All I managed in retribution was , "It's ok". That was all I could muster and then silence prevailed. If I was a shadow of what I was some months back, I would have issued him one tight slap and would have not thought twice before doing so. But silence has conferred me that humility to inhale the severest of criticisms. Voice, on the other hand, has only earned me flak from everywhere. I am a terrible speaker, it seems.
So where I was? Silence draws me. There is this one particular intern, this time a girl who has captured me. She is so calm, diffident and drawn to her books that I can't help but admire her. Sometimes I have this strange urge to go upto her and listen to what she has got to say. I am sure her silence has got something more than what meets the eye. An agony or a broken dream, who knows?
I am still at a loss of words. A part of me wants to hit back at the impostor fella and let him know that I ain't a sissy if I haven't answered him yet. A part of me wants to embrace silence so that no such guy ever-ever comes to me with such blunt truths. The road to recovery seems to be a weary one.
