The Irony

'Are you coming to Hudson Lines for dinner?', I asked my friend, who was waiting outside the Seminar Room.

'Can't', she said shortly. Couldn't blame her. She had been sitting there all afternoon and evening, waiting, first for her group discussion, then her interview, then another...and now for the results. In three years of college, I had never seen her so worked up.

'I'll wait here with you.'

'No, I don't want company. Honestly, I'll feel a lot better if I'm here by myself.' Her reply was so prompt, I stopped midway through hoisting myself onto the windowsill to sit next to her.

I didn't argue. I understood.

'I hate people from Human Resources', I thought fiercely to myself. 'And recruiters are the worst of the lot. I'm glad I've never thought of getting into HR. I don't want to. Ever.'

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'You went to all this trouble for someone who said such a blunt No?' I was incredulous.

He shrugged. 'You have to do what you have to do. Besides', he busied himself looking out of the window, 'I don't like her. I mean, I like her well enough, but I haven't fallen for her or anything. That's all in your imagination.'

'Right.' I didn't bother veiling the sarcasm. He and I had seen each other through one low too many for me to buy that.

He gave up. 'Yes, I like her. She likes me back too. Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'd have done this for her anyway.'

'And what about you?'

'I'll be fine', he shrugged again. 'Look, I needed to know she'd be okay.'

'All you end up with is a lot of broken pieces', I mused, walking out of the dining hall. 'I wonder how people fall in love. Why fall in love at all? I'm glad I'm not in love. I don't see that happening. Even better.'

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'Aren't you going to miss this place?'

She gave me a rather puzzled look. 'Why should I miss it?'

'Well, all the time you spent here must count for something. A little bit of emotion, maybe, or some memories?'

She laughed. 'Yes, yes, I like having been here and I guess I'll think about it from time to time. It's okay. The world won't stop turning!'

I laughed along, but with a sense of uneasiness. I didn't understand. 

Whether it was the result of forced intimacy, routine, or actual emotion, attachment could not be avoided. Should not, if you asked me. For what kind of a life would it be, I wondered, where something was a constant presence, yet completely uncared for? It was waste of the most regrettable kind, I thought, to allow something to occupy so much of your time or space - or both - and not bother connecting with it. Time spent like that was time spent existing, not living.

Detachment, I thought, was more of a theoretical concept. I, for one, would never be able to put it into practice.