Sharc-triggered-memories

A series of memories get triggered, even if I don't want them to. What else to expect when I'm sitting idle in front of my computer, listening to Iggy Pop, having been blogging for the past hour? The fingers don't stop.

So, a series of memories. I was 18 when I got swept off my just-out-of-convent-school feet by the dynamic boy who was the center of every one's attention, who came to class stoned, who had the guitar during breaks in the foyer, who was a theatre actor, who was making movies, making music, being rebellious and outrageous, and walked me home one day for 2 hours in the rain. Of course I fell madly in love. 

The first time I smoked up, was with him, high in the mountains of Shillong. Under the stars, I got a laughing trip and didn't stop giggling for hours.

I'd never heard of Kurt Cobain, and he sang me the songs even before I heard them. He brought a lot of music into my life. System of a down. Radiohead. Along with the smoking up, and drinking, and staying-out nights.

9 months of a roller-coaster that consumed me completely. And then the ride was over. Rude shock, I thought my life was going to be like that forever and two days. That was the phrase he used to use. Forever and two days.

It was weird. I had classmates come over to me and say that they were so glad that we'd broken up. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They were happy about my broken heart?

But the next one year, I guess, has made me who I really am today. From the girl who had forgotten who she was and had just become that crazy boy's girlfriend, I discovered photography, cinema, and an ability to walk alone in Bombay for hours, surviving on vada pav, sugarcane juice, watching the sunset at marine drive, buying second hand books at churchgate, and overhearing conversations in the local trains.

It's been a full circle. No matter how much I was hurting, I couldn't be rude to him, I couldn't not talk to him, I couldn't not sit with him and his new girl friend and teach him economics before our exam. But the year that healed happened, the time came where I'd moved far, far along and could look back and be friends without the ache.

But still. It's been 4 years since we ever really sat down and spoke or spent more than 10 minutes together. In these years, our brief conversations have revealed how difficult he's become - his restlessness, his impatience, his inability to sit still for 5 minutes. How strongly he moved into an intense life of more drugs, almost violence, and an absolute disregard for anything that society considers appropriate. 

But anyway. Coming back to the memories triggered. I guess the ones that really still ever haunt me are those of music. The innumerable times I saw him performing on stage, with a madness that matched Kurt Cobain's, of singing with his guitar, forgetting who, where and what. Sometimes I hear his voice mingle in with the songs when I hear them. 

On another note, I wonder if I reveal too much about myself on this blog. I really wonder at times. But then I think of dooce and I feel well consoled. Oh, I love dooce, it was awesome to come back and have 30 blog posts to catch up on. She's fab.