Monday, 29 June 2009

• B-Sides

  "Where were you when you found out Michael Jackson died?" Dileep asked me last night.

  "Orlando, Florida.  A resort at Seaworld," I said, between bites of pad thai.

  "How did you find out?"

  "Twitter."

  "I found out by text message," he said.  We stared each other down for a moment, two recovering luddites, and laughed.  I keep a paper calendar; can use a typewriter; have actually asked my 50-something year old admin to take dictation when I was busy doing a million other things.  Dileep has a degree in computer science, and worked as a telecom lawyer, but had, until last Friday, kept a house full of supremely outdated technology.

  He bought an iPhone last Friday, and was still figuring it out.  I had compared the experience of switching to an iPhone to that of complete personal transformation--like discovering yoga, or Jesus, or waking up like Mr. Scrooge on Christmas morning--pick your poison, really.  The iPhone was life-changing for me, for a variety of reasons I could go into, but I won't, because they're all profoundly boring to people who are not enmeshed in a web of obsessive-compulsive behaviors.

  "Switching to the iPhone has, in a way, restored my love of tech," he said, sheepishly.

  I nodded, noticing.

  It is funny, the way it sometimes only takes a spark.

  For him, the device had given him a reason to reconnect with a part of his life--a passion--and a part of his family (his parents are both super successful computer scientists--Dileep left the study and the profession and pursued law), and to dip his toe back into the waters of technology.  To experiment.  To explore a tiny piece of the world he'd blocked out.

  It was small, but profound.

  I thought, instantly, and obviously of the parable of the prodigal son, who was recieved warmly by his father when he returned to the flock after trial and tribulation.  Of men, women who had left their families, sought separate identities, only to be reembraced by the places they had left when they had found the things they most needed in themselves.  Of identity crises.  Of revelations.  Of change.  Flux.

  "And I've been putting music on it, too," Dileep said proudly, "Mostly, Michael Jackson.  Of course.  But other stuff too."

  He showed me what he'd been up to.  "I need to round out the library, obviously."

  "Obviously.  You should go through my music.  Though I have mostly B-sides."

  "Did you actually use that word?  Do you think people know what B-sides are anymore?"

  "Pumpkin, thought that a 45 was a gun, only.  She had no idea what the context was when someone was referring to playing one, or putting one on."

  We sat with silence between us.  Technology--modern and antiquated--swirling around us, Michael Jackson pounding on the sleek speakers.

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