Dear Diary : The Cell Phone

If I could, I would just throw away the dratted cell phone. What purpose does it serve, anyway? What is this need for it? If I am in trouble, I could call for help, but otherwise? I have come to intensely dislike this chain that binds me to do other’s will, the line that allows others to break into my privacy. Is there a time that I am not carrying around this little menace and not being told that…”my dear, you really should reply more often?” in honeyed tones of poison? Gag me.
So many misunderstandings because there was no tone of voice to accompany the words. No face expression to lend a cue. First Man invents this elaborate system when one speaks what one does not mean, when precise meanings are dropped to make room for more a language that leaves room for me to say ‘that is not what I meant. I know that taken literally…’ blah blah blah.
Then he took away one of the crucial elements for interpretation needed – presence. With letters and phones, out of the window went the body language cues. Do not misunderstand me, I think the phone – within limits is one of the best things that ever happened- long distance communication made possible. When that is used to talk to your neighbour, however … I begin to have second thoughts.

Then came the cell phone. Logical extension, this mobile phone. But sms? It is evil. Yes, it saves time, and money, but if you have ever had those long conversations where when you finally meet the person you had the conversation with, you realise that both of you had taken the words to mean something else entirely… you’ll know what I mean. Or when something you say is taken to mean something else.
Don’t get me wrong. I do not hate technology or its’ products. I’m not even techno-phobic. It’s just that letting anything take over such control over your life is foolish. If it were not for the cell phone, planning of events would not be left to the middle of nights and the morning of D-day, confident that the messages that need to get through would do so… How often do people plan in factors like cell phones not working, power lines being cut? Why are these things taken for granted, and their absence taken as an act of Nature, like a cyclone would be?

What of computers then? Talking to strangers? I don’t mind. The picture of me that you have across this screen is consistent; it will probably never meld or attempt to meld with the ‘me’ that people who see me typing this see. You will probably never have to reconcile what you think the ‘real me’ with whatever latest stunt I have pulled.

But when you mix the two? You’d probably think I’m some sort of hypocrite. Because you’d see different sides of me, and you’d probably not be able to accept that this person and that are the same. I can think of other people whom I know who seem exactly the same when I meet them online, but if I had not know that X whom I am speaking to now I also know as Y, I’d probably never spot the similarity.

Nobody can ever know another person. There is too much to know, and people change too fast. Problems arise when you think X is something, and by the time you look again, and act on the knowledge that X will react in such-and-such a way, X would have changed. At least across the screen, one finds it easier to accept that there are huge sections that one does not know or understand.
It is a strange morality, and one that… would not make sense to many, but it is crystal clear to me. And I’d still like to throw away that cell phone.
~*~*~*~

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The Winds of Change

I follow the Moskva
Down to Gorky Park
Listening to the wind of change
An August summer night
Soldiers passing by
Listening to the wind of change

The blue convertible with the silver line lasing through its side zoomed on the highway, purring softly under his hands. There was music playing there, inside the car. The man was tapping his fingers to it on the steering wheel, his eyes at some distant point. The road was empty as far as the eye could see, and the hood of the car was down. Her sunglasses were perched firmly on her nose as she stared out into the barren land around her and he… continued tapping. It was as it they were letting the magic of the rhythm tale away their pain, and the speed of the wind that would soon turn their faces red-raw take away all feeling, so that they could forget. Just drive baby, drive, and forget. The music drifted listless behind, as the car moved further and further away until all that could be heard of it were beats. Thud-thud-thud-thwak…

The world is closing in
Did you ever think
That we could be so close, like brothers
The future's in the air
I can feel it everywhere
Blowing with the wind of change

They exchanged a glance. It was becoming entirely too noisy these days, living right next to the highway, with these new age kids deciding ever so often to crash through the roads, leaving behind bruises in the eardrums for all who happened to be around. Where was the genteel music of their youth? Where had all the softness and the pain gone? Where was the concern for the world that they were living in? It seemed that they were all drowned in noise, like it was unacceptable for the youth of today to admit the fact there were issues that had to be addressed. The glance warmed and changed to a comfortable smile. One that was born of familiarity. Whatever else the world was coming to, they still had each other, so they leaned back to relax and watch the vast emptiness that stretched out in front of them. It would be a long time before they would be disturbed again.

Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow dream away
in the wind of change

She soared far above both couples, easily catching the thermal, for it was a warm day. There was the wind in her feathers, and joy in her mind. This was what she had been made for, to soar, to fly, to reach out to the sky. She let of the cry of her kind, “cree-ee-ee” and swooped. There was a lizard on the ground that she feasted on before taking off again. Her winds beat more and more rapidly until she was high again. This time, there was a weight in her belly that pulled her down, but she ignored it. Her flight seemed effortless to her, and she was caught in the joy of just being. She went so high that there were spots in front of her eyes and her winds began to freeze. Another cry rang out in the fierce passion of this flight, flute like and touching, as she folded both her wings tight against her body and fell…

Walking down the street
Distant memories
Are buried in the past forever
I follow the Moskva
Down to Gorky Park
Listening to the wind of change

As they watched the hawk continue its antics, his hand sneaked over hers. The sun was blazing in the clear blue sky above them, but they were seated in the porch, safe from sun-tan and sun-stroke, sipping from the cool drink that they took turns to refill every few minutes. They were enjoying a lazy afternoon together, soon enough it would be time to return to the hustle-bustle of ordinary life. The children that were born to them had long since moved away, left the nest, so to speak. Once it had been them trying to forget the now, but now they held on to it like they wished to never let go. They knew all the times that they had spent – worked and laughed, wept and lived together – and some of it apart – but it all came down to the now-moment. And neither of the two would trade their today for anything else. Someday, they would all get together again and talk about old times but for now, today was enough.

Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams
With you and me
Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow dream away
in the wind of change

She dug her fingertips into her back, right above the shoulder blade, closed her eyes and twisted her head. That helped, it did. He ignored her, deliberately, telling himself to not notice, not care. He focused himself on what was coming out of the speakers. She arced her back, restless over sitting still for so long and turned to stare at her partner. The enigmatic stare from behind the opaque sunglasses made him uncomfortable, and he set his jaw, irritated. After a couple of seconds, she took it off and continued to just look at him. His drumming ceased and slowly, the speed of the car dropped. The volume of the music faltered, and then it died. The wind stopped seeming so intrusive as he pulled over at the road. And finally, finally, they began to speak.

The wind of change
Blows straight into the face of time
Like a stormwind that will ring the freedom bell
For peace of mind
Let your balalaika sing
What my guitar wants to say

“Cree-ee—ee!” she cried, catching sight of her mate. Her wings flashed open before she hit the ground and the force of it tore at her wings. But the euphoria of falling was like that only on rising, and she swerved towards him. The two fledglings had flown away, and as she came closer to him, her voice softened. The trill that came out was a plaintive cry, one of loneliness. It would have caught at and tugged the heart of a human, who knows how it affected him for whom it was meant? A glitter in her eyes, and confidence as her wings propelled her closer and further, as she chose, she made a playful swipe at him before gaining height again, teasing him, taunting him to catch her. And as they disappeared into the blue, little specks that fell as one to make more, it seemed as though the wind was whispering again, content, and at peace.

Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams
With you and me
Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow dream away
in the wind of change