I had one of those conversations recently. The kind I always hoped I’d have with a member of the opposite sex. A random, spontaneous and unexpected conversation while skimming foam off my cappucino and trying to wrestle my lighter out of my pocket at the same time. It was politics, literature, love, words, education, cities and culture. It was the kind of conversation I never wanted to end.
I was drawn into the magic of intellectually charged verbal banter. For the first time in forever, I felt that all the nuggets of knowledge and uselessness Ive picked up over the years between the pages of books, was coming to pulsating life. It had a purpose, but more than that, it was appreciated. After getting used to the S.O’s pretend-yawns when I try to steer conversation to literature, this lighting-of-eyes as I waxed poetic on literature festivals and the such was surreal – in all ways good.
And for the first time in months, a seed of doubt was planted: Isnt this what conversations should be like? Interest and animation; being interested because you’re interested, needing to know because you want to know? When he suggested our one-off conversation grow into many conversations, and I informed him of my growing yayness at the S.O’s existence – the seed of doubt still lingered.
It fled as I had another kind of conversation with the S.O a few hours later. The kind nestled between 4am snacks of Haldiram&Hajmola, of popoy-ing and bickering. An unmemorable conversation filled with nonsense and not-much. But a conversation that means so much more than the magical one. This kind speaks of being slowly perfected over time; the steady simmering of knowledge of how his lips tighten when he’s concentrating, of how I turn to the side when I’m annoyed. This one reads of many other conversations just like these; starting from the first one days&weeks ago.
I don’t need a few hours of magic. Not as long as I can have many more nights of nonsense and not-much.