Talking habits

“Wow, mum he does know how to talk, he came up with so many things.”

If we conjure up a clock which applies on this writing, and turn back the minute hand around ten minutes, it would still not bring back time, but if we do understand the reference and carry it out, we would land where it was my grandfather’s birthday and my mother was wishing him on a mobile, she then gave the phone to my brother and just like clothes, I was heir to the phone. And I asked him about his age, his year of birth, his wife’s age, her year of birth and many other things I’ll refrain to reprise.

My parents say that I have always been a talkative person. But it is hereditary somewhere. The older generation says that this generation is not into talking, among many other negatives.

But is it us who talk less or is it them who talk a lot? They were able to talk at lengths, but one of the reasons could be that they behave like a vocal detective, many-a-time prejudiced, which mostly ends up at an attempt to patronise, they are not narcissistic, they just have a truck with change. As my mother calls it, “having a room full of perfection.” But at a point of time they do become narcissistic and authoritative, and sort of obvious. They at times say to children out of care which portrays the meaning, ‘listen to me, I know more’. And you can end up listening, “don’t run, or you’ll fall”.

A few are also like a notice board, an advisory committee. But when they were small, they would have lots of life around, living, happy, rejoicing souls. Hence they grew up to ask people how they are, even in a hospital.

I am not angry with people who have such idiosyncrasy, I am just fed up of ‘their’ perfect world, annihilated by their own generation, which inevitably comes down to us. ‘The’ fact that this generation uses a lot of mobile, made by a person of their time, and above that,  which was given to us by them, in good faith, but there is a Volenti Non Fit Injuria on their part, unintentionally, but as an assumption.  

   

 

 PGI

I will not reveal the reason why I entered the premises of PGI, but I can assure you that I didn’t learn a lot that day. Cause I was mostly inspecting the strong emotions and vibes that covered my mind like thermosphere over Earth.

But 1 moment hit me, and it wasn’t the ambulance which introduced new admissions, or the fact that photos of gods have a monotonously charismatic smiles, not the humanly fact that this hospital is the last recommendation by any other, not even the experience I shared with the people who were celebrating with grief, the demise of the dead person, the person’s eldest son, coming out walking towards his family, assumedly not knowing how to give the news and at the same time probably feeling the pleasure of responsibility and authority: while the members looking at him, he with a gesture breaks everyone to tears, and due to the reaction I believe they were waiting for the holy fate, cause otherwise it would have been a slow pouring of melancholy, by watching them, especially two of the younger ones hugging each other and crying, the one facing me had the loudest expression I ever noticed, like the fact that when we think, we listen to something, but without anyone talking. And just like that, I was able to see in his eyes, he was thinking of every good moment he ever spent with the permanently lying person. 

No, it wasn’t the watery eyes of the person that hit me, which were squirming and as for me, thinking of the past.

It was slightly related to the phrase I’ve already used, ‘humanly fact’. My dad wanted me to see something, it was from the perspective of the entrance, and I saw one of the most inhuman things of my life there: in the corridor were around 30 stretchers with people on it, waiting for the imaginary que to move on, with a digital information board above them saying in an ironical sense of tranquillity, “the beds are full, please wait patiently for your turn.” And that too at a time when someone’s life is being showed the ropes of afterlife, they cannot wait patiently. It’s monotonous for them, frustrating, they feel helpless. They can see the other stressed and crying faces and panic even more in the wake of the short-lasting destiny, where the information board continues with mechanical perseverance, the same place, the same faces, the same expressions, the same news, the same disease, the same corridor, the same people outside, the same kid looking at them, the same emotions in their minds, the same impatient wait, the same fate, the same dream.