Artist Vs. Artist

 

One of the hardest things that I have had to do is to give an honest critique about a piece of art to someone who I like/love but with whom I do not have kind of relationship that befits such and exchange. As an artist myself, I’d like to hear from others how my art can be made better, sandwiched between thick slabs of comments about what is it that I got right in the first place. This seems be the most important lesson that they the staff at Berklee School of Music teach their students!

The recipients of such an exchange can be classified (in a gross oversimplification) into two.

There are those who give you the freedom to express yourself—not necessarily only harsh, but more open. Those people make it clear at the outset that they don’t think highly of themselves but do care a lot about the piece of art they created. The others are cagey and probably just want to hear from you that they are doing absolutely great. Sometimes, these people might actually benefit from not hearing something harsh, especially if they are already doing quite well.

For the latter, some of the struggle lies in the lack of vocabulary and tact in expressing and receiving opinions. I find it easier to have these conversations happen over emails and long messages than face-to-face conversations. This gives both the parties enough time to process the responses, avoiding the awkwardness of one’s facial musculature giving almost everything away. Even when you have go easy on people, one could always pass on the good to them. That should still help and technically help build the relationship that you need to switch to the healthy one where you don’t need to parse the praise from the critique.

As a recipient, I still will fall into the latter bucket. Does that mean that I need to work on my relationships more.? Maybe. Or maybe that the people who give me feedback need to use the right lexicon and tact.

As a critic, I am currently in a self-revelatory exchange with a close friend of mine. I call him Blummer and he’s someone that I have done a lot of travel with. He’s currently in the middle of writing a book about the most important characters that influenced him and made him what he is right now. He has shared a few chapters and had requested my thoughts.

I thought he fell in the latter bucket when I started these exchanges. However, I feel that we’re slowly moving into the former. His way of expressing the fact that he felt that I was holding back helped me overcoming my inhibitions to share with him what I felt.

The relationship that I have with him are one of the few that could qualify, based on the duration and quality our friendship, to justify the open-critique. I have only a very few where I can be open like that, and I regret to say that I don’t yet have such a healthy relationship with my band mates. Maybe we’ll get there some day.

Life shouldn't be a series of things that need fixing

Life shouldn't be a series of things that need fixing.

— Krishna Kumar V. (@krishna_kumar_v) June 5, 2015

I can't believe my own life, which seems like a series of unfortunate events I'm being dragged through. Despite me planning and coordinating than most people I know, I am annoyed with the chaotic sequence of events.

After I returned after my vacation, I spent about a week staying over at the boyfriend's place. The first day after I returned, I spent almost half the day trying to put things away and sort things out at his apartment. I was overwhelmed by the things that seemed to be staring at me to get done, and I voiced my concerns to the boyfriend.

At work, things are generally smooth, but I am generally disappointed by people not pulling their weight in activities where I eventually need to do extra just to cover up for them.

When I came back to my apartment a few days back, I found that my TV tuner card was not working and my AC was not cooling well enough. I immediately started fixing things.

Two nights back, I went to the electronics store where I was told that they don't have a cheap replacement adapter for my card, and they asked me to come later. After a series of calls, I got my AC guy to visit and service my AC late the same night. After apparently servicing it, he said that it would work well for 6 to 8 months.

Yesterday night, I came back at 2 am after a rehearsal and found that the AC was not working. I spent the night in my very warm and uncomfortable apartment. Today morning, I called my AC guy who said that he would need to take a look at the unit when there is still daylight.

Temperature outside: 32C Temperature in my apartment: 35C Temperature at my desk in my kitchen: 40C #Mumbai

— Krishna Kumar V. (@krishna_kumar_v) June 5, 2015

After talking to my mangers at work and adjusting my work, I came home early to let the AC guy in. The usual guy sent two junior guys, who told me that there was something wrong with the unit and they needed to take it to their service center and fix it. They said it will at least take 24 hours. So no AC for tonight.

After they went with the unit, I called the electronics store to confirm that the replacement adapters had arrived. I started to the store -- of course, I couldn't find a rickshaw, thanks to chaotic mess Andheri West is. At the shop, I tried the adapters that they had ordered. None worked.

Of course, they didn't seem interested in helping me out in any other way. I decided that it was pointless to try and find an adapter. So I decided on buying a new TV tuner card! When I did, their card machine wouldn't work and it took them about 15 minutes to fix it.

When I was waiting for the card machine to start working, I was told by my friends in the book club that they won't be able to make it because of commitments at work. Mind you, we had planned it five weeks in advance, and they canceled it about 1 hour before the meeting was about to happen. I can't believe this.

I came back home with the TV tuner card and found out that my LED rope was not working. I took it down to the shop from where I had bought it -- those guys, so unprofessional, tried to fix it and damaged a component right in front of my eyes. Then, they said that it had been damaged and needed replacement. Of course, I bought the replacement, but when I told them that they had damaged it, they just shook their head in typical Indian style.

By the time I eventually got home, I was very frustrated. I found solace in a Skype chat with Billy with some Budweiser Magnum to cool me down. After I finished the chat, I decided to go to bed and texted the boyfriend.

He restarted what seems to be an endless series of text messaging-based attention-seeking behavior that seems to happen each time I spend time at my own apartment. He asked me questions like "Why are you avoiding me?" Of course, I was not avoiding him -- I am just trying to fix things. If only he would understand that it would help if our communication wasn't a thing that needed fixing.

To make tonight perfect, all I need is my power to go, internet to be down, PC to crash, wallet to be lost, and phone to get stolen. #Mumbai

— Krishna Kumar V. (@krishna_kumar_v) June 5, 2015

Battling depression

The past few months, I have been relatively quiet – everywhere, not just on the blog. The depression is at it again. Forcing me to feel bad about myself and incompetent, and making me think of suicide. It makes me want to avoid meeting and talking to people or engage in group activities. The only thing that I have been wanting to do is to go home when I’m at work and to go to work when I’m at home.

Work keeps me engaged and the wonderful family of colleagues that I work with keep me relatively upbeat for most of the working day. Occasionally, one of them would send me an instant message asking me what’s wrong and remind me to start smiling and laughing again. At home, I spent most of the time consuming entertainment – movies, television series, sports, entertainment, social networking, etc. Nothing productive ever happens.

For the few gigs that I had during these months, I managed to work enough to just rehearse enough both by myself and with the bands. The only time I really enjoyed myself is when I was playing live in front of a receptive audience. Some of my friends in my musical circles seem to understand. But I can feel that my band mates are very frustrated with me. I avoid contact with them as much as possible and, on occasions, have postponed/canceled rehearsal sessions at the last minute.

For those who don’t know, I have broken up with Joe. Crazy stuff happened and I was depressed enough to let it happen and not take any measures to prevent the catastrophe. My nadir coincidentally coincided with the breakup.

The last time when I was such a low, Vinokur helped me out. He got in touch with my psychiatry resident friend here and asked her to prescribe something for me. She did. She put me on a cocktail. Escitalopram + Clonazepam + Haloperidol. I have been religiously adhering to the prescription for the best part of the last 3 years.

But now, I think I need a change. Maybe a new shrink. Someone who doesn’t  know me. Someone who can arrive at a diagnosis and start treatment afresh.

Crazy. Cool. Scary.

Six days into his first visit to Mumbai, Joe made plans to go out on his own to explore the city. Not just on a cab or a rickshaw – he had plans to travel by the overcrowded suburban railway network. Mind you, he can’t speak/understand Hindi, and people can barely understand when he says things like ‘Andheri Station’.

When I left him at the apartment for work, I didn’t know how the hours were going to pass by. What if he would get lost? What if something would happen to him? What if someone swindles him?

Of course, he had a mobile phone with him and we kept in touch by SMS. Incredibly enough, the few lessons that I had given him in getting a rickshaw, deciding which train to take, and getting into the first-class compartment were enough for him to get around by himself.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I read the text message ‘Honey, I’m back home and safe. I had a wonderful day out in the city’ at around 5 pm.

I can’t explain how proud I was. My baby had done the almost impossible! I gave him a big fat hug and a long kiss when he greeted me at the door when I came back home from work. He deserved it!

Dysfunctional families

I’m sure everyone thinks that they belong to a dysfunctional family. I believe that more dysfunctional relationships exist in families than elsewhere. The more I think of it, the more I believe that this might be true.

Think about it. In any other relationship, people are brought together because they are interested in something that is common to them. The key word here is ‘interested.’ In families, people are together because of ‘relations’ and most probably, they have nothing in common except for this ‘relation’.

Relationships need this commonality of interest to flourish. That’s why friendships stay - if you work on them - whereas familial relationships bite the dust. This is true in my case. I don’t have any truly ‘healthy’ relationship with any of my family members.

What’s your opinion?

Wonderful Vinokur

Today, received this beautiful note from Vinokur, my ex-boyfriend. Needless to say, he made me happy like no other man has ever has, or perhaps can.

I think my ex, Kris, who lives in Mumbai, loved me more than any lover I've ever had. In fact, I think he still does. He's a wonderful person and I suspect you'd agree. Although he's a Hindu by birth and was named for Lord Krishna, he's an atheist now. He's a very fine rock musician.

Thank you, Vinokur!

Not Single Anymore

Yesterday, I told Blummer that my friend from France was visiting me in July and that I didn't want to have sex him. I knew that Blummer likes a monogamous relationship. He told me to tell my friend the truth. So I told Rich that I'll tell my friend that I'm in a relationship and hence sex is out of question.

Blummer said 'okay'.

This means that I'm indeed in a relationship with the quiet, soft-spoken, shy, but lovable Blummer. That makes me very happy. :-)

I don't need to conjure up more excuses for my self-imposed celibacy now!

And lastly, Blummer, if you are reading this, I love you!

Trigger hippie

For the first time in many months, I'm feeling the pinch of the blues. A feeling of worthlessness is drowning me in and my life suddenly seems pointless. What was the trigger? Well, I'm not quite sure yet. Everything was alright until yesterday (Saturday) afternoon, a routine "off day" on which I chose to work for some extra money via my paycheck at the end of the month, when I had a conversation with my colleague about what I was doing with my life.

She asked me why would I work on an off day instead of relaxing or doing something else. The only answer that I had is that I was desperate for money. I suddenly realized that I am being so desperate to save money that I have censored out pleasure from my life again. I wait for unacceptable periods of time at the bus stops to save some measly rupees. I walk about 2 km up and down (on my way to work and back) to save 2 rupees (for each walk). I divide my lunch into two so that I can eat one portion as dinner. I have stopped watching movies because of the expenses. I have curtailed my party-going and eating out/drinking instincts to save up.

What do I need the money for? I don't quite know. Maybe for the future. The most ironic thing is that I think I'm going to need the money to be in a position to father a kid or two. That's what I have always wanted - to be in a live-in relationship and to be a loving father. But this goal seems to be so far beyond my reach now that there seems to be no point in saving all this money. But I can't help but traumatize myself because that is part of my normal process of coming to terms with the reality.

The rate at which I'm earning right now (in my editing career as well as with music) is definitely not enough for my plans for the unforseeable future. Even if I don't achieve my goals of becoming a parent, with this stream of income, I wouldn't probably have enough to fall back on once I retire. This makes me want to seriously reconsider practicing surgery for a living. But that would mean giving up on music almost altogether, and that is something that I don't want.

I have been brooding over these thoughts and a solution seems to be far from the offing. The one thing that I am glad about is the multitude of well-meaning friends that I have who worry about me and care for how I am. I love them for that. But at the end of it all, I'm here alone having to take care of myself alone. I hope this downspiral does not lead me to another phase of clinical depression where I start contemplating suicide. Honestly, I don't think this is going to happen. But I'll keep you posted on this.

A friend I'll never forget

This is another song that I have just started writing. The last two lines of the first verse have been contributed by Vinokur. Both this and the song below have been inspired by status messages on FaceBook. FaceBook statuses aren't that bad after all.

‘What will you do tomorrow - write a song about me?’
I had said yes, but I haven’t yet
The words will come and the song will be
An ode to a friend that I’ll never forget

What I did today was to think about him
To reminisce the wonderful moments spent
And the words came along and the song is now
An ode to a friend that I’ll never forget

What I will do tomorrow, even I don’t know
I’ll hope for more such moments of fun and frolic
And the words have come and the song is now
An ode to a friend that I’ll never forget

How do such friends come along – that no one knows
How lucky I am to be with them – that only I know
How happy I was with him – that everyone can see
How glad I would be with him – that only time would tell

My only defense

This is a song that I have just started writing. My friend Athiran contributed the last two lines of the first verse.

Don’t know what I should do now
Be myself or hide behind a pretense
Feel I should call him now
The pain I feel is so intense

Let’s blame it on love
Baby, that’s my only defense

Someone suggested to me
‘Be yourself, that’s the easiest way’
I swear by that rule, and hey
Have followed it scrupulously to date

Let’s blame this on them
Baby, that’s my only defense

I wait for an hour or two
Before calling him twice
I get no answer either time
Must’ve been busy, I pay the price

Let’s blame it on the situation
Baby, that’s my only defense

Hoping for a call or a message back
I stay up until half past one
I still haven’t heard from him
Must be sleeping now, like a baby

Let’s blame it on the distance
Baby, that’s my only defense

Delhi Trip - Day 4

The last day of our trip started out with a heavy breakfast – as usual – at the rooftop restaurant. Both me and my friend had to catch morning flights to our destinations. The hotel arranged for a car to drop us at the airport. Because my friend was going to the International terminus T3, we dropped him off first. The taxi driver took Rs. 200 extra from me to take me to the domestic terminus – that’s how cut-throat these Delhi cabbies can be. That’s one of the reasons why I dislike Delhi. It is a beautiful place, but conveyance is a pain in the neck. I think the metro is a fantastic thing to have happened to Delhi and has made intra-city travel so much easier.

My flight was delayed by 2 hours primarily because of fog and secondarily because of (what I feel) as the sheer ineptitude of Go Air, the airline which I was flying. Despite my breakfast, I felt hungry and had to grab a miniaturised chicken zinger burger from the KFC and a coffee from the Costa Coffee before I boarded the flight at around 1 pm. There is nothing much to write home about regarding the flight except that it hovered in the Mumbai airspace for close to 20 minutes because of airtime congestion. Darned! Had I been home on time, I could have worked half-day and saved that much of leave.

I took an auto-rickshaw back home from the airport. Unlike Delhi, I asked the rickshaw-wallah to put on the meter and he obliged. That’s the beauty of Mumbai. On the ride in the rickshaw, I carefully surveyed the roads of Mumbai and compared them with those in Delhi. One thing is certain – Delhi might be brilliant, spacious, and beautiful in some parts. But it can’t beat Mumbai in terms of consistency and charm. Of course, conveyance is the other glaring “fail” of Delhi.

After reaching back home late in the evening, I started working on the photos and my blog posts so that you can read all this. All in all, it was a fabulous trip to Delhi and I had the wonderful company of a charming man! We sure are looking forward to our next trip together. Maybe it will be to Goa!

Delhi Trip - Day 3

It was the third day of our stay. The clouds had cleared up – it was bright and sunny and perfect weather to sight-see in Delhi. We had the Qutub complex on our agenda. We took the metro down to the Qutub Minar metro station. There were share Omni cabs waiting to prey on travelers wanting to visit the Qutub complex. They packed 9 people including the driver into that cab at Rs. 10 per person. It was so cramped that the gear shift was between my friend’s legs throughout the journey. The clown that he is, he didn’t waste an opportunity to squeal every time the driver tried to shift gears!

The Qutub complex had the same racist agenda as the Red Fort – foreigners have to pay Rs. 250/- whereas Indians and natives of the SAARC countries need only pay Rs. 10/-. I had posted a couple of status messages about this blatant racism. Many people commented on it. One of them, an architect friend of mine, said that the Archaeological Survey of India uses the extra money generated from the foreigners to maintain the monuments. However, she also pointed out that despite the money taken, basic amenities like drinking water and clean toilets are not provided for visitors. This was not the case in the US apparently, as confirmed by my friend, who said that most landmarks did not ask for a fee to get in and offered world-class services.



Anyway, we spent about an hour and half at the Qutub complex. A bunch of school kids were also visiting at the same time. Some of them were sporty and posed for pictures. I’ll post a few for your reference.

We decided to take a rickshaw back to the metro station. The rickshaw driver insisted that we visit a couple of emporiums on our way as he would get some free gas cards if we did that. We visited the Rajasthan emporium where I tried to buy a kurta pyjama set for my friend. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find anything that would fit my friend properly. So we left the emporium without buying anything. The rickshaw wallah stopped us at Saket metro station. From there, we took the metro to INA station and went to Delhi Haat for the second time in three days.

It was such a different experience this time. All the stalls were occupied and there was so much more to see. We shopped around like crazy – my friend bought more scarves, jewelry, and a Madhubani painting, whereas I picked up some exotic ball pens (from Rajasthan), some wrist jewelry, and a handmade leather-covered book for my colleagues at the office. I bought my friend a handmade leather-covered book and a framed medium size Madhubani painting as gifts. Once again, we ate at the Kerala food stall – this time we had Puttu + Kadala Curry, Appam + Chicken Curry, and an Onion Oothappam.

We ran into a mom/daughter couple from the USA – we had met them on our fist vist two days back as well. Pamela, the mother, wanted to use my phone to get in touch with her husband – she didn’t have a local phone. Our conversation with her was raunchy and funny and she immediately realized that we were ‘seeing’ each other. She indirectly told us that we were a beautiful couple. It was the second time in Delhi that strangers had recognized us as a couple and complemented us. It felt wonderful!

With all the stuff we had bought, we had to take a rickshaw back to the hotel. We celebrated our third successful day out together by sipping some beer (that too, Fosters) that the room boy had specially arranged for us. After relaxing in the room for a couple of hours, we went up to the rooftop restaurant of the hotel, where the chef had made a special Hyderabadi Chicken Biriyani for us. Although the spices weren’t all there, he did a remarkable job of making one for us. We finished another bottle of Fosters beer along with the dinner. With a heavy stomach and a heavy heart full of thoughts having to leave each other and the wonderful city of Delhi the next day, we returned back to the hotel room.

In a year's time, he said

You eased into my life that day
When you joked about me getting hit by a car and dying
I wasn't quite sure of it then
But I made sure I didn't get hit

You eased into my life that day
When we went on and on entertaining each other with our wit
I wasn't quite sure of it then
And we made sure we didn't fall in love

You eased out of my life the next day
Saying that I had the chance once and I'd failed to grab it
I wasn't sure what I had missed
I am not sure about it now either

You eased back into my life today
Saying you were unwell and had a terrible period of ill health
I wasn't sure how bad it was
And you gave me vague answers

You eased back into my life today
We joked about for quite awhile until I had to say goodbye to you
I wasn't sure if he'd be my mate
And you wished me well in my endeavor

You'd eased back into my life today
When we decided playfully that in a year's time, if we both were single, we would take it up again
I am not sure if we were joking about it
I won't be until the coming Jan 30th

Blue Lies (2011)

You were spinning right in front of my eyes
I couldn't hold on to you tight
You were spinning out of control
I couldn't save you, you were addicted

You picked me up from the crowd
And rushed toward me with tears in your eyes
You embraced me in front of the crowd
I couldn't believe it, I was addicted

Addicted to your blue eyes
Addicted to them blue pills
Addicted to your blue eyes
Addicted to them blue lies

And it between all this, you wrote to me
Dear, I think I can't take this no more
And in between all this, you wrote to me
Dear, I think I love him a little more

You were trembling in front of my eyes
From happiness or disbelief, I didn't know
You were trembling on the way to our house
I wasn't so sure, you were addicted

You were making love to me ever so tenderly
Was it love, I'm sure it was
You were making love to me ever so passionately
I couldn't believe it, I was addicted

Addicted to your blue eyes
Addicted to them blue pills
Addicted to your blue eyes
Addicted to them blue lies

And in between all this, I cried to you
Dear, I think I can't take this no more
And in between all this, I cried to you
Dear, I think can't bear this anymore

So much for blood relationships

Last weekend, I had a chat conversation with my sister. I thought it was about time that I mentioned the developments in my life vis-a-vis men and romance. I didn't want her to know after the rest of the world already knew, which already is the case unfortunatley.

As usual, our conversation was nothing but rude and unhealthy. I opened my heart out to her and I guess she did it too. Our feelings to each other were categorically unruly. She asked me things like 'Why do you meet before you get to know them/like them?', to which all I had to say was 'That's how relationships are made, by meeting peope and knowing them better'.

When I told her that humor was a very important factor when it came to choosing a man because I had a good sense of humor, she said that she thought that I didn't. That's how shallow our relationship has become these days. If she didn't know that I was funny, she hasn't known me at all, I said. She said that what she knew of me from the past, I didn't have much of a sense of humor. Incredible!

And then, as usual, she asked me to make decisions carefully, as if I didn't know that already. She thought that my decisions have not been well thought through and that's the reason why I'm having such a miserable life. I asked her how she knew that she was right? Then she asked me 'Now, who's being rude here?'

With that she and I decided that we better not chat with each other any further. This is the reason I should believe why families are not meant for the welfare of people like me. Also, I know why it was such a wise choice to have decided to separate myself from the family and adopt 'friends' as the primary family. As someone told me the other days, and I quote, 'Friends, to gay people, are what family is to straight people'.

Faithless?

Turn around and you will see me
My loving words will echo in your ears forever
Play around and you will miss me
My loving words may not have a recipient anymore

Walk around and you will see me
My loving words echoing in others ears
Look around and you will see not just me
But everyone in this phase forever

Why do we like playing around?
Because it reminds us of our childhood?
Why do we like flirting around?
Because it reminds us of our childhood?
Why do we like to misbehave?
Because it reminds us of our childhood?
Why can't we seem to accept the truth?
Because it reminds us of our childhood?

You were around to see me play
But will you be around to see my cry?
You were around to see me display my charms
But will you be around to see me lie?

Waiting for you

Winter afternoon, as time slowly passes by
Whisper in my ear, your face flashes past
Within me a feeling of pleasure, it persists
Without you this feeling would never exist

Hold me in your arms, kiss me with your charms
Feel me with your hands, give me all you have

Wanting for this moment to stay forever and long
Waiting for your lips to push me down strong
Wishing that us and this would be real, really soon
Waiting, if only it would be sooner than soon

Hold me in your arms, kiss me with your charms
Feel me with your hands, give me all you have

Free me, feed me, kiss me, kill me

You may not be what I had in my mind
You may have come up from behind
You have always been far from being kind
You have always been that, I don’t mind

Feel me inside out, it your only chance
Drown me down and out, it’s a fat chance
Feel my breath, it’s not happenstance, you
Drowned me in your charm, as per plan

Free me, feed me, kiss me, kill me
Free me, feed me, cuss me, kill me

The wonderful world of online relationships

It has become a ritual these days. Every evening, after work/rehearsals/gigs, after reaching home, I log on to the internet and to SilverDaddies.com, where I participate in chatting in a chat room - yes, it is so '90s and early 2000s to be in a chat room, I know. There, I meet my friends from all over the world, crack jokes, pull legs, and of course, get better in the act of seduction.

SilverDaddies.com and this chat room, where I had met Vinokur in 2007, has once again become the place to meet quality men. Every other day, I stumble on to men with whom I establish varying degrees of friendship. Some last just the length of a casual chat, some go on to other intsant messaging/chat platform, and some meander into furious e-mailing back and forth.

In the past 6 months or so, I have acquired at least 5 such friends, two of whom I have become very close to. One of them, a guy from San Rafael California, has become an integral part of my routine - he's the guy that I wrote about in my blog post about the Federal Government of the United States denying visa to his Indian boyfriend. I need to hear from him daily to know that he's alright and relatively positive about his future.

Another friend that I met there, a professor of French literature from Paris, is visiting Mumbai for Christmas and New Year's. We have already decided on meeting up for at least a couple of dates during the time he's here. I try to keep in touch with daily over Yahoo messenger. He is a poet and sends me across some poems that he has written. I comment on them and he replies to them etc.

And then there are Scots working in Yemen, Canadians retiring from public service, and yankees pretty much doing nothing ,-). I meet such a plethora of interesting, charming men. I like doing this to know more about people from other countries and cultures - it's almost like traveling without spending a rupee. Whatever it is, it is worth the effort!

Telephobia

It’s a forgotten fact about my forgettable past. Yes, I used to be an introvert once. My tenure as a medical student and the responsibilities related to my sister’s marriage, which, in turn, was a result of the sheer ineptitude of my father in tact and intrafamilial affairs, had allowed my de-cocooning and metamorphosis into a social butterfly.

Most of my current friends haven’t a clue about this dark aspect of mine. Let me try to put it in a rather complex way: my past is not present in their past related to me because I was not present in their past at that stage. Anyway, my introversion remanifested around the time I had to deal with the mental trauma related to Vinokur’s illness/visit and the eventual separation; it has now established itself to be the primary trait in my present day life.

One of the characteristic features of this shade of my personality is my fear to have phone conversations. A Google search tells me that this is a prevalent, relatively well-known phobia and is referred to as phone phobia, telephone phobia, or telephobia. My telephobia is currently rooted in my fear to have conversations with people who I have a difficult job convincing my side of things in traumatic topics, which include my career choices, familial duties, and depressive tendencies.

Although my best friends (Chuck, Ray, and May) have the level of understanding with me that should enable a conversation, I still fear the trauma associated with the reestablishment of a torn umbilical cord — nature lets the umbilical cord atrophy, we try to put it back together. What I’m trying to say is that - it's that hard for me to speak to anyone, even my best friends.

My telephobia, which is an element of the broad umbrella of social phobia, is acute with my family, relatives, and friends from my past. Please note that the modifier ‘from my past’ was not initially meant for the former two items in my three-item list, but can encapsulate them as well, because of the obvious — I have honestly moved on from my family and relatives, haven’t I?

Thus I don’t take calls from my past and definitely don’t make calls to those associated with it. Simple. Avoid trauma — the reincarnations of the past that I have left behind for good, even though a very tiny part of I may still want that past to be a part of my present.

When not at its inglorious best, my telephobia manifests as rudeness or curtness. Sometimes my perplexity as to what necessitated a phone conversation in the first place, when we could have perfectly avoided it, seeps through, you see. I often forget to sugarcoat my words in the social context and I misunderstood as the consequence. People fail to understand that I’ve never had that part in my machinery to start with — so how can have the oil to lubricate it?

Maybe this post is not cogent and is rather disoriented. But the final message is this — for telephobic folks like me, SMSes, e-mails, and even face-to-face conversations work better. There it is for you; that little snippet of me is out.