447/2 - Declared

That was the score tonight.
What was perhaps THE most arbit random chat I have had in ages, lasted all of 447 lines and 80 odd minutes. In what can only be described as absolute bullshit, good old SS and I managed to extract SO much!

However, this post doesn't intend to summarize or build upon that conversation; that would be a certain shot between the eyes to whatever little sanity still survives.

Instead, it is just a premature, spontaneous lookback, at what exactly happened behind all the dramatic, lunatic thass, that flew across cyberspace in all its unbridled glory. Naturally then, this post remains open to future edits, perhaps more so than others.

Anyhow.
While this subject tempts me greatly to try and define thass, I reminisce of my several previous instances of having done so (with varying degrees of failture), and prudently decide against it.
I thus, in all earnest, now, begin.

What transpired in those 80 minutes, at a level above that of minor specifics, is rather interesting (not that the specifics weren't, but you get the picture! :-)
When one is entangled in a long jugalbandi, of wit, humour, spontaneous poetry and intense innuendo, there comes a time when one realizes that one is nearing the edge, and precariously at that. Then it becomes similar to those insanely long points one comes across in tennis from time to time, where one can't help but laugh at any and everything, and pray that the opponent blink first!
In such situations, one is no longer in a position to think beyond the primitive instincts of survival and the like. And then, when in such a state of potential vulnerability, not to mention at a stupendously unearthly hour, two young adults dole out (arbit) gem after gem, one cannot help but wonder at that which fuelled this whole fire.

As one sets one's own sanity on fire, bit by bit, in sporadic yet systematic maneouvres, a certain part of one's mind takes a backward step, and just watches. It takes on the role of observer, in our battle with the wits of another equally well endowed individual. What that observer noted down in his black box, prior to his mysterious and spontaneous self-destruction the moment the war ended, is what I am trying to decipher.
From the moment one loses active control of one's senses, what one does, is driven by one's innermost beliefs and understandings (conscious or otherwise). This may also lead one to incorporate certain points, from the deepest recesses of one's existence, that one may have otherwise felt too precious for a forum as trivial as this. While some part of the brain does give a flailing, half fused red signal in warning of the impending confidentialty breach, one can only watch oneself float on, waving towards said light in a manner not unlike those in high spirits.

Thus, every single thought that comes to mind, gets directly translated to words, bypassing the now-grumblingly-temporarily-laid-off Aunt Discretion, and subsequently is shot off the mouth/gtalk. Of course, gtalk does have the advantage of giving a momentary preview of the missiles about to be launched, thus allowing one's senses one final chance for exercising any form of restraint, a luxury absent in the more free, speech. However, irrespective of political correctness and safety even, one can safely conclude that whatever comes out, is the closest one can get to knowing oneself devoid of self and social desirability biases.

Of course, the other extreme measure to realize this ideal, is to find one's banyan tree, and sit, and think. However, that path seems nicely well documented, as also beyond my adequate comprehension (not that this method is crystal clear!), and thus I choose to restrict my journalistic duties to this method, for now.

Thus, if I were to conclude with a reckless generalization:
One catches a faint glimpse of one's true self (and one's real relations with one's surroundings), in times when one loses control over it. Of course, this revelation lends basis to one's perceptions of one's own potential as well - which may be disproved, or exceeded, with equal measure.
Thus a dictator going mad with infinite power, a man fighting a ghetto mob for his life, and even two little kids going insane, having met on gtalk after a long day - they are all equal in how they can reveal what is popularly referred to as 'character'. Of course, the levels of interpretation to be dug into before one can conclude that the character mine has been breached, remains open to debate, discussion and discourse.
Further, practical utility and societal considerations would tend to distort the equality of the above (randomly) mentioned instances, and rank them in order of significance, but that would naturally be just one of several coloured glasses to look at the world with, wouldn't it?

PS: Quoting what I felt was something real that escaped my discretionaries during the mad rush, the insane laughter, and all the colours that come flying by...

"apne mastishq mein chhupe kaksh mein jao, and jhaanko
tumhe har dwar ki kunji wahin padi milegi..."

PPS: Hmmm... :)