When we we were all Mayakovskis he was a Zhivago among us.You could always fathom that there was a certain melancholy deep inside him, behind all the sarcasm and criticism. Some kind of a abyss which he alone knows that he will never be able to cross. He needs to bid adieus from one end of the cliff.
His Philosophy has always been that if he thought of something then someone must have already done it.I recollect those days when he was literally in tears seeing someone else breath life into his thought form. (Incidentally holding a job like that of a programmer seems to inculcate a God-complex in most fellows I know.I mean this about the good ones.Not your average-run-of-the-mill-mediocrity-loving fellow who should have no such qualms because paycheck comes first for them and then their creation thus taking away the disease with it)
I am not sure how we came together to be mates. Despite the age, he probably belongs to my lost generation who feels a camarederie with other lost and lonely folks.Probably not.Its hard to tell because he always has this veil of a vision that was focussed on a far off oject, probably leading this general impression that he is a traveler in this planet and his home lies somewhere else.But I kind of know whats behind that veil.Its something to be discovered through smoke and mirrors.
I have seen him through his many moods : childlike exuberance,youthful irresponsibility, mature hesitation, conservativeness of an old hag and a supreme indifference.Almost like a Kaleidoscope plugged into his cerebrum. Some brilliant, Some naive and Some curious but all of them were original.They never lost my interest. The one I see now has come a full circle. Probably he reached the end of vanity of all things that leads to a resurgence of interest in him.
No. Its not over. What I see now must be the twilight of a new dawn and not the hangover of an old sunset.Whatever it shall be, it is worth looking forward to..