As a child I was too passionate, too enthusiastic. I loved festivals (I still do). To me, festivals meant having more guests in the house, getting to meet lots of new people, making new friends etc. Of the two of us sisters, I was the more talkative kid, so obviously, I was out there all the time, to make some kind of conversation with the people who had come over. I would be waiting to amuse them all and get amused in return. Golu, a.k.a. Navarathri was one such occasion for me as a kid. I used to spiritedly visit each house in the vicinity, sing, chat along and invite people over to our place. I used to make good that opportunity to mend broken ties, to create good impressions, and most importantly, to get gifts and stuff to eat. But that seems a long time ago now. I don’t seem to remain the person I was, as a kid. Over the years, I’ve become socially awkward – totally unintended. I don’t seem to care anymore about people, I don’t seem to want to mend ties, I don’t seem to want to socialise, I don’t seem to want to meet new people or make new friends. For a person who used to talk for hours to people who visited her house, I’ve degraded to someone who has to be pushed to even go and greet them when they visit. As much as I’m disconcerted, I’m also secretly pleased about this phase I am in. I feel supremely comfortable when I’m locked in my room having nothing but my books for company. I’m actually happy when there’s least amount of interaction happening with/around me – because, of late I find myself struggling to actually make a normal conversation with someone.
Having said all that, Navarathri is still one of the absolute boons I have, to drag people I like to the place I love, to the space I know.
P.S. In picture, is our modest Golu – with nil contribution from my end.