Tuesday, 10 April 2007
What Is This?
This is my house. This is my room. This is my bathroom. This is my wardrobe inherited from my sister. This is my pair of jean. This is my music system. This is my corner. This in my window. This in my view. This is my sky. This is my share of wind. This is my cycle long abandoned. This is my neighbourhood. This is my favourite facing window. This is my girl by the window. There goes another one by the promenade. And many more. This is not what I meant. This is not what I want from life. This is not me writing. This is me smoking in the loo. This is me lighting an incense stick to douse the smell. This is me sitting idle. This is me hooked to the phone. This is me on the dining table. This is me sleeping till late hours. This is me writing. This is not what you want to read.
Monday, 2 April 2007
Wasted
Wake up. Brush your teeth. Take a shower if you have to. Put on the first thing you lay your hands on and rush. Skip your breakfast and comb your hair with your fingers on a rear view mirror of a vehicle parked irresponsibly. You are late for work as usual. Damn the snooze button. Never realized what 10 more minutes of indulgence could cost.
Board the first bus and jostle with the crowd. Everyone it seems is running late. Scamper for a seat but there’s none. After some pushing and elbowing you find your place to land your feet. Hold on to anything nearby to keep from falling. Keep one hand free to hold the bag. But the fact is the crown wouldn’t allow you to tumble down completely. You had bathed sometime back but now you’re bathing in sweat. Squirm lest you accidentally feel a lady passenger. You have struggled to get up the bus, now struggle to get down.
After you have brushed against so my things in the bus, your clothes takes a beating including your morale.
After another such round, equally harried as the first you finally enter the sanctum sanctorum. Plush and sprawling. All correctly dressed and always running against time. But that’s ok (I mean the dress part). After you have entered that you begin to realise you have entered a place which is not worth half the hassle you have taken. You were better off, all naked under the scorching sun, with the dust, grime and crowd than inside a place done up by expensive interior designers with air conditioners and coffee machines. What are they trying to hide here? Who are they trying to scare or impress. All the glitterati is only to fool you into believing that you’re in for something big. Something meaningful. Something, if it they didn’t do, the world would be poorer. What hogwash. Loot at you. What purpose are they serving? Do they really think they deserve the richness? They think that the glass cabin, the laptop, the expensive car, the golf clubs at the car dickey, the English will hide the inefficiencies. All smug in their incompetence.
Because they are doing it right what is generally accepted as right. Because they have a rule book which says this is how it’s supposed to be done. Because that’s not what the rule book said. Because that’s the correct way. Because that’s the safe way. Because someone else has already done it and it has been fruitful. Go out of whack and you’re at fault. Now wouldn’t it be foolish to do it another way. Not because it’s not correct, but because it’s not how it’s expected. Never mind the brilliance, unless a book says it is.
Now, step out, not only from the place but also from the mould. It’ll make you one of them. Instead, take another bus back home and don’t show up again.
Board the first bus and jostle with the crowd. Everyone it seems is running late. Scamper for a seat but there’s none. After some pushing and elbowing you find your place to land your feet. Hold on to anything nearby to keep from falling. Keep one hand free to hold the bag. But the fact is the crown wouldn’t allow you to tumble down completely. You had bathed sometime back but now you’re bathing in sweat. Squirm lest you accidentally feel a lady passenger. You have struggled to get up the bus, now struggle to get down.
After you have brushed against so my things in the bus, your clothes takes a beating including your morale.
After another such round, equally harried as the first you finally enter the sanctum sanctorum. Plush and sprawling. All correctly dressed and always running against time. But that’s ok (I mean the dress part). After you have entered that you begin to realise you have entered a place which is not worth half the hassle you have taken. You were better off, all naked under the scorching sun, with the dust, grime and crowd than inside a place done up by expensive interior designers with air conditioners and coffee machines. What are they trying to hide here? Who are they trying to scare or impress. All the glitterati is only to fool you into believing that you’re in for something big. Something meaningful. Something, if it they didn’t do, the world would be poorer. What hogwash. Loot at you. What purpose are they serving? Do they really think they deserve the richness? They think that the glass cabin, the laptop, the expensive car, the golf clubs at the car dickey, the English will hide the inefficiencies. All smug in their incompetence.
Because they are doing it right what is generally accepted as right. Because they have a rule book which says this is how it’s supposed to be done. Because that’s not what the rule book said. Because that’s the correct way. Because that’s the safe way. Because someone else has already done it and it has been fruitful. Go out of whack and you’re at fault. Now wouldn’t it be foolish to do it another way. Not because it’s not correct, but because it’s not how it’s expected. Never mind the brilliance, unless a book says it is.
Now, step out, not only from the place but also from the mould. It’ll make you one of them. Instead, take another bus back home and don’t show up again.
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