The Winds of Change were slowly blowing across my personal landscape, it had happened and happened again, the last when such a change had happened, it had been years ago and the change had radically transformed my life. I was a sucker for a change, "damn how I welcomed it," and lived for it, it wasn't as if I didn't realise the advantages of stability, however once things were stable enough, I once again began harping for something to change. It gave me my sustenance for life, like there was a civil war constantly brewing up inside me, "thoughts of gun blazing inside my head," gave me this high of knowing that I could stand up and be counted when the time was right.
Last I had been to London was some three years ago, when the warm summer sun allowed people to shed their clothes finally and take stock of their lives in dull suffused glow of it. There were times when I had thought that my going to London had been fortuitous, after all what is life unless you get the Big Picture and more often than not, moving away from the scene of action for a short span of time allowed for radical mental changes. Anjali had never questioned me about my trips there, though she was curious, she would quieten, but I knew her and saw that I would have to satiated the part of her that wanted to know more about me.
As I walked into an M.F. Hussain contemporary painting exhibition, "though there never had been anything contemporary about him while he had been alive," he was an artist par excellence and an old rebel, I met this old friend of mine there, Shilpa, who was visiting the exhibition too, I had known her for well over 10 years and this was the first time I had seen her in a while, "damn how I hate perfection in numbers," so the "while" here had more to do with a time frame than anything else. She was travelling with another friend of hers, Meenakshi, and they both were commenting on a controversial painting of Hussain, which depicted the map of India as the body of a woman. Meenakshi was really quiet and spoke and then stopped and allowed Shilpa to dominate the appraisal of the art piece. When I walked into the conversation and said my hellos to them, "and how I hated these intros," Shilpa was in full flow, I listened to her too, "as I often do these days with most," and realised that Shilpa's friend wanted to talk but was holding back.
These days there are too many people talking about a lot of things that make no sense to anyone, its the quiet introvert like her friend, Meenakshi, who understood people more than anything. Meenakshi began to apply the same technique to me, she would seemingly want to talk to me and then stopped midway and allowed me to continue to tell her more about the painting, "a pigeon in the making eh ?". I began to wonder at people like her who never spoke out and yet were instrumental in leading many conversations. How did Meenakshi do this, I wanted to find out, but there were more paintings to peruse today and miles to go before I slept.
If You Expect The Lion To Not Eat You, Because You Didn't Eat It Then Stop Fooling Yourself.
Last I had been to London was some three years ago, when the warm summer sun allowed people to shed their clothes finally and take stock of their lives in dull suffused glow of it. There were times when I had thought that my going to London had been fortuitous, after all what is life unless you get the Big Picture and more often than not, moving away from the scene of action for a short span of time allowed for radical mental changes. Anjali had never questioned me about my trips there, though she was curious, she would quieten, but I knew her and saw that I would have to satiated the part of her that wanted to know more about me.
As I walked into an M.F. Hussain contemporary painting exhibition, "though there never had been anything contemporary about him while he had been alive," he was an artist par excellence and an old rebel, I met this old friend of mine there, Shilpa, who was visiting the exhibition too, I had known her for well over 10 years and this was the first time I had seen her in a while, "damn how I hate perfection in numbers," so the "while" here had more to do with a time frame than anything else. She was travelling with another friend of hers, Meenakshi, and they both were commenting on a controversial painting of Hussain, which depicted the map of India as the body of a woman. Meenakshi was really quiet and spoke and then stopped and allowed Shilpa to dominate the appraisal of the art piece. When I walked into the conversation and said my hellos to them, "and how I hated these intros," Shilpa was in full flow, I listened to her too, "as I often do these days with most," and realised that Shilpa's friend wanted to talk but was holding back.These days there are too many people talking about a lot of things that make no sense to anyone, its the quiet introvert like her friend, Meenakshi, who understood people more than anything. Meenakshi began to apply the same technique to me, she would seemingly want to talk to me and then stopped midway and allowed me to continue to tell her more about the painting, "a pigeon in the making eh ?". I began to wonder at people like her who never spoke out and yet were instrumental in leading many conversations. How did Meenakshi do this, I wanted to find out, but there were more paintings to peruse today and miles to go before I slept.
If You Expect The Lion To Not Eat You, Because You Didn't Eat It Then Stop Fooling Yourself.
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