I hate goodbyes.
And so, I prefer it when farewell-time just hits me like a bus running on batteries without headlights over a dark highway on a moonless night. There is no time to wallow in self-pity, no time to feel pain, no time to write teary-eyed blog posts.
No last meeting. No last-Tuesday-night. No last-time-I-will-buy-bhelpuri-from-this-bhaiya-sob-sniff.
You just come home from work one day. And, bam. They tell you, you are never going back again. Whoops.
I remember, as a kid, I used to well up even when cousins visiting over summer vacations were going back. I could use that not happening now – if for nothing else, but to keep up my social pretense of being an emotionally balanced adult.
Do goodbye’s even mean anything in this time and age?
‘Cause lets face it. In a Facebook-Gmail-Whatsapp-infested world, there is no such thing as a Goodbye, really. You are never too far from anyone. Not even when you’d rather be, in some cases.
And yet, given enough notice, I would feel like I owe every colleague, every client I ever worked with, every hawker and vendor on the street, every postman, electrician, plumber, and garbageman a formal farewell. Heck, you would find me hugging street dogs goodbye.
Trust me, it wouldn’t even be my first time.
|Circa: Every time I have ever left a city in my life.|
Which is why, give me a jhatka any day.