I wrote this in a pensive mood, one evening a few months back...
He walked alone through the road along the wooded reaches at the crack of dawn. Alone was good for there were no limits that his mind knew nor his walk would know, that presence of another would most certainly serve to normalize, constrain and make mundane. The hour was that of transition; from a world of uncertain chirping of the delightful six-legged creatures that have fascinated him ever since he laid his sense upon them to the more certain calls of the early birds. Thus unbound by the limits of purpose and another mind or body’s demands, he wandered on, both physically and mentally, wherever he was sent, not much unlike a dry leaf on the surface of a gentle spring.
This was that state where rationality broke down and his mind refused to comply by the guidelines of its being every other time otherwise. This was a time when nothing could have chosen what he cared for. Most things that would otherwise seem so significant to him, was detached and so far away that he transformed into an altogether different creature. Anything mattered but nought to him, neither the lofty dreams that he had, nor the little liberties that define us. Now was a time when his mind was so far removed that no force, human or otherwise, could bend its state of emotional isolation. He wasn't happy for how kind life had been, neither was he sad for its harsher realities. The beauty of his surroundings mattered to him only as much as it would have to the wayside rocks that he passed along.
Why is it that we pursue something just for the thrill of the ride? Unto what end is achievement, pain, happiness, misery, pride, anger, lust, envy or sorrow? How much does it matter whether our demeanour would placate the expectations of them who surround us? How much does it matter whether it placates our own, if by doing so, we are merely making way for the arousal of certain ephemeral, visceral emotions that are brought about by the action of naturally emitted chemicals? How much lesser still it matters, if these chemicals are pushed through by consuming more chemicals? Our emotions are but reactions between baking soda and acetic acid of differing strengths, spurting and gurgling whenever they confront each other and merely as significant. Now isn’t that a neat experiment? Make a rudimentary mountain of clumped lumps of mud and poke a hole on the top so as to fill it with baking soda and add to it the vinegar in your hand. A reddish hue might just about qualify to remind you of a volcano. Cheer its occurrence heartily while repeating it till the ingredients are spent, or you are.
Then what be the purpose of such existence? If there be no higher being, it has no meaning. If there is something of that sort, we are merely its experiments, serving to glorify our deeds and emotions, clawing the dirt around us to ground us more firmly, consuming, producing, purifying and polluting things that we deem so worthy, pumping ourselves with pleasure, both physically and mentally only to be irrevocably transformed into insignificant dust, only to source his amusement. Of course, the significance of such amusement can be questioned as well leading us to reach an irreversible loop. What are we but mere parasites of that which surround us, which in turn are the same. However, that doesn't change the nature of our discussion, nor does it make us more relevant.
He then joined the stream that ran beside his path, unshaken, unstirred yet much happier than the happiest man in spite of the absence of joy, because he knew not any sorrow. He was the master of his emotions. He did not submit to the will of another being in any way whatsoever. He did not see the need to care or concern himself with any other. He refused to depend upon anything for survival. His life refused to be imprisoned in the prison that it had just discovered around itself.
He floated on, dead, not much unlike a dry leaf on the surface of a gentle spring.
He walked alone through the road along the wooded reaches at the crack of dawn. Alone was good for there were no limits that his mind knew nor his walk would know, that presence of another would most certainly serve to normalize, constrain and make mundane. The hour was that of transition; from a world of uncertain chirping of the delightful six-legged creatures that have fascinated him ever since he laid his sense upon them to the more certain calls of the early birds. Thus unbound by the limits of purpose and another mind or body’s demands, he wandered on, both physically and mentally, wherever he was sent, not much unlike a dry leaf on the surface of a gentle spring.
This was that state where rationality broke down and his mind refused to comply by the guidelines of its being every other time otherwise. This was a time when nothing could have chosen what he cared for. Most things that would otherwise seem so significant to him, was detached and so far away that he transformed into an altogether different creature. Anything mattered but nought to him, neither the lofty dreams that he had, nor the little liberties that define us. Now was a time when his mind was so far removed that no force, human or otherwise, could bend its state of emotional isolation. He wasn't happy for how kind life had been, neither was he sad for its harsher realities. The beauty of his surroundings mattered to him only as much as it would have to the wayside rocks that he passed along.
Why is it that we pursue something just for the thrill of the ride? Unto what end is achievement, pain, happiness, misery, pride, anger, lust, envy or sorrow? How much does it matter whether our demeanour would placate the expectations of them who surround us? How much does it matter whether it placates our own, if by doing so, we are merely making way for the arousal of certain ephemeral, visceral emotions that are brought about by the action of naturally emitted chemicals? How much lesser still it matters, if these chemicals are pushed through by consuming more chemicals? Our emotions are but reactions between baking soda and acetic acid of differing strengths, spurting and gurgling whenever they confront each other and merely as significant. Now isn’t that a neat experiment? Make a rudimentary mountain of clumped lumps of mud and poke a hole on the top so as to fill it with baking soda and add to it the vinegar in your hand. A reddish hue might just about qualify to remind you of a volcano. Cheer its occurrence heartily while repeating it till the ingredients are spent, or you are.
Then what be the purpose of such existence? If there be no higher being, it has no meaning. If there is something of that sort, we are merely its experiments, serving to glorify our deeds and emotions, clawing the dirt around us to ground us more firmly, consuming, producing, purifying and polluting things that we deem so worthy, pumping ourselves with pleasure, both physically and mentally only to be irrevocably transformed into insignificant dust, only to source his amusement. Of course, the significance of such amusement can be questioned as well leading us to reach an irreversible loop. What are we but mere parasites of that which surround us, which in turn are the same. However, that doesn't change the nature of our discussion, nor does it make us more relevant.
He then joined the stream that ran beside his path, unshaken, unstirred yet much happier than the happiest man in spite of the absence of joy, because he knew not any sorrow. He was the master of his emotions. He did not submit to the will of another being in any way whatsoever. He did not see the need to care or concern himself with any other. He refused to depend upon anything for survival. His life refused to be imprisoned in the prison that it had just discovered around itself.
He floated on, dead, not much unlike a dry leaf on the surface of a gentle spring.
2 comments:
This is an absolutely brilliant piece of prose. Its a pity that the commenters flock at the more mundane posts. And its a pity that such posts are one in tens of thousands. I'm tired of reading the usual array of "Today I traveled in a bus. (I miss the old days when walking 3 miles to school with best of friends was a much look-forwarded-to ritual with heartfelt laughs and smiles bountiful.) I saw a dog on the road, and a beggar trying to pet it. His face was lit up with a scintillating smile of utmost and genuine happiness, not in the least exacerbated by the mind numbing throb of the sun shooting its most boisterous violet arrows with alarmingly high ferocity. And I realized that simple people have simple pleasures in life, and that we are so caught up in our quest for what we consider a superior life motive, that we narcissistically ignore the smallest gifts that life so selflessly offers, tarnishing the very essence of happiness in its truest self, forcibly self-justifying our relentless pursuit towards an eclectic form of it by adorning ourselves with pricey ornaments, palaces, wine and women."
(They could've just said "I saw a jobless beggar today" on facebook. If its a female, maybe she would've got some 87 likes also).
You should write one such post in satire of things the above. Like this excellent post of yours, make every word one have one big trip behind it.
Dear Amrut
I was a little late in seeing this. Thank you for your kind words.
As for the satirical post targetting the mundane stereotype, you can, as you've just proved, do a lot better than me on that account, perhaps on the same lines as your note lamenting how systems in India are so screwed up.
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