To begin with, the last few days for him have seen a few paradigm shifts, well-aligned with the numbness we associated earlier.
For as long as I can remember, he has been driven by enthusiasm, motivation, and a perpetual appetite to live life to the fullest. For the first time ever in his short life, he now sees himself losing these very things that govern the way he lives. People talk about him being wiser than his years because of skill or experience. Someone suggested the other day that he is a lot more responsible than he ought to be as a result of events that have happened in his life. All that accounts to, and amounts to absolutely nothing. The only thing that’s kept him going and perhaps will is one word: attitude. He lives to win and wins to live. He wants to be excited throughout the day and night about anything he does, and most importantly, he is a die-hard optimist who considers himself sensible enough to bring in pragmatism wherever necessary. For him, pessimism equates to fatality. Until the recent past where he - and this comes as a shock as he admits it here - has simply lost interest in the things that excited him the most from cursing the strays in Bangalore to gulping down coke to table tennis, geeky studies and - shudder - writing.
To say that it’s taken a hit on his relationships with people is an understatement. But incidents have happened, people have changed, and people have either distanced themselves too much or gotten too close for comfort that it’s made him look into the mirror every single day and made him question, ‘why are you not yourself anymore?’.
But today, he didn’t ask that question. Simply because he didn’t need to. He wasn’t being someone else anymore. This is how he is now, and it’s here to stick.
The guy has gotten nastier, a lot more rude. Shallower. He’s not erratic, yet there’s a sense of unpredictability that comes along with him. At times he gets so evil that he perhaps doesn’t realize the impact. There have been formal, written apologies on blogs from people as a result of his anger or wrath, as he remains oblivious to the power he commands and influence he has over his friends and foes. But these aren’t the scary things about him.
The scariest bit, about this particular individual who places himself as the ideal pivot, a bridge amongst people, is his willingness to let go of things he held dearly. For instance, the people he loves, his family, his friends, the girl he’s bonkers about, close friendships, close associations with events, communities, things that he insisted he did for the cause. He’s reached this stage where he gives it up effortlessly and easily, without a hint of hesitation or regret. It’s rendered him lonely, and the best part is, he loves the seclusion. There have been instances where people have tried their best to penetrate through his iron-carpet of silence or humor, and they’ve all failed. Humor is a powerful weapon, but a better shield - and his humor, like Scorcese would put it, was savage, one that came out of a great deal of pain. Those who tried too hard or nearly made it through - he ignored them entirely for an eternity. His harshest punishment is the unsaid, the unspoken, the unwritten.
No longer is he a team player, a knot of sorts. He prides himself on his newfound love - solitude. The intent for the causes will come back. The associations should. The friendships might. The love won’t. The damage is irreparable. The cavity caused, unfathomable. And the future? Unpredictable.
