You and I let’s become friends !

I wonder were you could find the best conversations coming from two individuals. Whether at a coffee table or at some silent bar or just an evening walk along the public park ? I usually hunt for such talks over coffee with friends.
Not always you are accompanied by someone with your coffee , and it was one of those silent table moments where the warmth of the coffee mug between the palms fills up the void of a companion. Even the empty chair is usually lent to the other table in need. But somehow today it has no taker yet .
Then suddenly I see a soul approaching my table. I presume it’s for the chair to be traded. But to my surprise , he asks for sharing the table with me. My eyes turn wide open cause I have never encountered such thing before. I point towards the chair foolishly to this guy who has bombed into my table and to be frank talking to strangers is not my thing at all.
An awkward silence sets in for a moment before we break into a half-hearted smile to acknowledge one’s presence. I’m thinking in my head its possibly happening because there’s no table empty but my sight calls it for a fraud since there are tables lying vacant around. This is totally weird !  As our nonverbal dialect finally breaks into words I get to know he is aware that I come here regularly. Curiosity kicks in to understand what I’m really getting into. I immediately order a coffee for him but he politely declines it for his love for tea. Great ! shouts my mind, atleast an argument over tea vs coffee will easily set us up for a talk over the table. Before I get into say, my mind skips it and I end up asking his name. He says, “My name is Father ” . “Father? What a strange name ! What does it mean ? ” I ask. He replies, “I don’t know , I’m trying to figure it out. ” A guy with an interesting name would definitely have some interesting story to tell. I pop up the question , “So what’s your story ? ” .
 As the last sip of coffee gulps down my throat , his incredible story comes to an end . I take a deep breath to settle down the lump in my throat and gather myself. And the moment that follows meets with a deafening silence which was much more significant than the noise of words. His story was so similar to mine , I almost felt like it’s my story and only his words.
Born on the exact day as mine , I wonder how such details could even match. I know like every other child I came crying into this world , likewise even he did shed tears on that day. He said “In the initial months , everything was new and first-hand in experience. You don’t know what’s going on. ”  I assume I must have felt the same too. Then arrived the playful years of life. Buying new toys, enjoying funny faces and mimics . He would play with those inanimate toys all day with sheer excitement and also get sad if any toy gets broken just like me. Fun fact – even he used to hate homework  but would certainly be sitting with the books the night before exams. And finally as you hit the adolescent age , life started to taste sour lemons . Suddenly he felt like people are not getting what he’s trying to say. Opinions were usually found to  be perceived aggressively which lead to bitter arguments. Due to the lack of common interests , communication reduces to an extent were you feel like being ignored for everything. You feel deceived by the idea of love and end up hurting yourself. Life brings you to a point , were just expressing yourself becomes a Herculean task . The struggle becomes painful and leaves you crippled from within but you can’t help it. And this is when you beg life for atleast one person who could get it what it’s like to be me, cause everyone around has failed to understand . Probably that’s how he ended up at this table to sort of find a way to ease out his pain and make things bearable.
The sigh of despair could sum up everything he wanted to say but couldn’t say it. My empathy for this soul couldn’t hold up to myself and got immediately reflected through my eyes. He tapped me over my shoulder looking at the watery eyes and tried to cheer me up.
He asked me for my name. “Son ” I said.
The name clearly amused him and here followed the question “What does it mean ? ” .
I said ” I’m too trying to figure it out. ” . The two of us instantly break into this whole-hearted laughter .
Today’s table has definitely witnessed the best conversation ever between two very identical life stories. And how better could this end with –
Father and Son becoming friends .
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Do you remember me ?

This conversation was just hanging around the corner to finally intrude our talks but I felt to imprint this on my blog forever to help us whenever we feel that way again.

    Not that I haven’t heard from you for long. Its just that I haven’t heard  you well for long. Lately our talks are summed up with  the regular blunt gestures, somewhere lacking the substance I seek. The questions still sound the same it used to be then , only the answers have changed during the course of time. There’s this strange feeling of losing track of you no matter how regularly we might talk. Since the present seems less encouraging than the beautiful past , I truly fear about the upcoming future. Lately , It seems some efforts are needed to help us build that conversation and I’m not able to find the right thing to ask cause we have never worked out this way before. I guess, this struggle is growing strong with a depreciating sense of empathy for the other. 

     As all I know every story shared builds empathy between the storyteller and the storytold. Hence with recent irregularities​ in the series of our life stories, all I’m losing is my sense of empathy for you. Such problem didn’t find a place in the past since much of the trouble was averted with the excitement to share even the silly happenings that we care. Nowadays it’s more about keeping it brief and unornamented. 

Earlier we enjoyed the leasure to talk anytime and everytime and now its about categorising it like the ones necessary to tell and not so necessary ones to compensate for lack of time as it is understood. And with the time passing by all the little stories are labelled  not so necessary ones,and all I’m left with are the final conclusions with the absence of the tiny details making it hard to feel it the right way you want me to. 

 Don’t you feel the urge to pickup​ the phone and dial someone while these little incidences reiterate in your thoughts ? What’s​ holding you back ? I admit nowadays I see myself suddenly stop too. I’m still not able to picture what’s holding me back but at the end I couldn’t help myself but succumb to silence. And with every failure , all I could see myself giving up easy on to being silent and impassive.  But dear I would like you to know I think about you and only you every time when there’s a story either Big or Small , Important or Silly as it can be, is dying to be heard. And with every such unsaid story ,I think we are struggling more to ask the right thing.

The truth is  I’m terrified about the idea to have ever known you any less than yourself. And I always believe its you someone I can always count one , the one who would know me inside out, the one who’s not needed to be remembered of any moment of my past which he haven’t heard before. If any such unspoken stories accompany you in your solitude and make you feel like to be heard, the only right thing I would ask be –

“Do you remember me ? 

 Cause I do remember you.”