"Un ange passe" or "The angels are passing." We've all encountered this meaningless phrase at one time or the other. You know, you're at dinner with someone and you're sparking up a delightful conversation, jiving effortlessly from one topic to another and suddenly you hit a corner. And then somebody who just can't handle more than ten seconds of silence says that. But then let's face it. Nothing exciting can be said after that insufferable phrase hits the floor. Whatever happens next is most probably dull chatter - one that everyone will be bailing out of soon enough. People will start texting, someone will excuse themselves to go to the powder room, others will take a smoke break or worse, call it a night.
Personally I'm more erroneous in filling up conversations than embracing the pause. Which is why one-to-one exchanges are probably not my thing. In a mad dash to fill up the anxiety of silence, I'd probably resort to the highly popular, "Isn't it hot today?" escape route or blurt out something stupid or even wonder out loud without realizing.
But sometimes, it makes me wonder. What is it about silence between conversations that seems so hostile to us? Is it a cultural thing? Isn't it possible to accept the lull in conversation and catch our breaths and maybe let non-verbal communication run its course for a few minutes? But hey, non-verbal cues are tricky to interpret. Think about it. If you're on a date and you hit a pause, sooner or later, you'd either be wondering if you have spinach stuck in your teeth or that your date's a sex offender. If you're in a marriage and you hit a pause, you'd conclude, "Oh, have we become that boring couple who have nothing to say to each other?" If you have kids and you decide to use your moments of isolation to actually talk to each other, when you pause, you'll switch on the TV. Or the other thing. ('Cos there's just no time to lose, right?)
The other day, I went out shopping for groceries, which has become a very gratifying exercise for me over the years. I mean I love everything about it. Making lists, splurging on exotic sauces, strolling up and down aisles fantasizing about perfectly hosted dinners with really tiny, vibrant canapes and multiple hues of curries. So, I usually take Peaches with me as she nearly loves it as much as I do. In fact, she adds her own radiant energy, picking out ripe tomatoes and deciding to put one each on all the shopping carts around her as her personalized gift. But since Peaches has started school, I do it on my own, listening to Imogen Heap on my Ipod. (I do still love her.) Obviously, when my cart starts featuring really cheesy nachos and all the fattening things I don't need in my life right now, I know I'm starved. That's when I stop at a small Italian place for a cup of coffee and croissant. I happened to meet a friend from the building there. Also a mom to a three-year old. We start chatting. About our kids. About the pain in the rear-side that they've become. We reach a point when we're just whining. About everything. And then there comes exhaustion. I feel like I can't do these kind of conversations any more. Merely because they're not productive. I pause. She senses it too, I guess. We sip on our coffee and savor our croissants in silence. And yet, we don't feel driven to fill the silence with something cheerful; to steer the conversation onto happier notes. We finish our coffee in silence, smiling at each other occasionally. (Come to think of it, we were probably coming across as queer.) But even though, we had reached a point when we had nothing to say, it didn't feel awkward. Well, atleast not to me. We thanked each other for keeping company, feeling rejuvenated by that perfectly brewed silence.
So this week I leave you with a thought. What do you do when you encounter an awkward pause in conversation? Except scratching yourself, I'd love to hear all about it :).
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