You’re 15. You suddenly want your parents to trust you more. You want them to be okay with what clothes you’re wearing, the way you style your hair, the people you hang out with. You don’t like the tv they watch, and they, in all probability, totally disapprove of the loud music you keep listening to and they can’t even make out the words (neither can you half the time).
At that age, you are introduced to the world of rock music. Those guys yellin away to glory with their uber-cool guitars seem like manifestations of God.
Now those are the people who’ve been there, who’ve felt that anger that you feel right now, they understand! The whole world of that music, is like one big let out for people of all ages. And some of us want to be 15 all our lives.
Some of us are lucky however, because you get papas who introduce you Floyd…you know, the Pink one. They talk to you, and then they also understand your need to not talk. Then they take you out for a nice long drive on their very special Bullet. You don’t speak a single word to each other all throughout and yet you come back with that very clichéd but very real feeling of having had the best conversation ever! with one of your best friends.
So then, when the whiff of the most wonderful fragrance on earth – that of freshly fallen rain drops on a parched ground came my way this weekend, I just looked at Ramit, and we knew we are so not staying indoors, me clattering away on the laptop and he immersed in making his pictures say more. We did go out. We let the rain drops fall in the car. We kept the windows down. We were lost in the long symphonic overture of November Rain by G’n’R. We weren’t yapping away to our hearts’ content (Read: I was not yapping away…). Just being with each other. Seeing each other be healed of all the stress that we undergo, through our workdays.
