January 12, 2004

Reborn

On days like these thoughts of any kind refuse to cross over to my mind. Kick it, coax it, choke it, still the mind just refuses to feel anything, entombed its cozy phlegmatic womb. I have a task at hand which requires more than just thoughts, it requires original thought. The harder I grapple, the faster it slips, till I find my unwilling refuge in the blank 'I'll bite you' look, presented like a rattlesnake's warning to the outside world.

Late afternoon and the road to the market has lines of some kind running along its length till the eye can see. We jostle and snarl in search of supremacy derived from our respective internal combustion mechanisms. Red to green we go and till the next red we race. Few more turns and the market lines up far ahead in my vision, the crowd is way too large, there is hardly any space to park, after my customary bout of indecision I make my way out of there.

Many of these places have changed a lot in the past months, not that I did not notice the change, just that I did not bother to look. Places are so much like people. As the greyness starts to put on a darker shade, I park by the side of one of our favourite joints. It is strange how I have come to doing so many things by myself. If stag entry was not such a huge issue at most places I'd have even tried dancing alone. Not a pretty sight, I agree, but who cares.

Maybe the outside was much more cheerful than in here. I have nothing to read as I wait for the food to arrive and when it finally does I realise yet again that the anticipation was tastier than the real food. Somehow, it never measures up. I do not know why my tonsils feel as if someone has been filing at it for a long time. Which is fair enough considering the state I was in on Friday night, I could have been thrown down from a tower and still not known what happened.

Back home and then the walk to the multiplex in the neighbourhood to see if my luck would hold with a late evening movie. FULL. Hands in jacket pockets, I make my way back home once again and the bookshop sucks me in as I am reminded of something. Thankfully, it is not as well-stocked as it could have been. I pick Kundera's Immortality and another one. I do not know what I am going to have for dinner, but I do know what I am going to read.

As another spring approaches, the old tree spreads its branches in anticipation of the new flock that would eventually take shelter, till they are done with the nesting for the year, before they take away to far away lands, never to be seen or heard from again. Save the odd case, this year has been good, the flock is hale and hearty, with strong wings and cheerful hearts. What can the tree complain about when the season is over? It is only fated to stand till its eternity.

You know, it feels like some sort of dialysis. New replaces the old, for a life that seldom amounts to much. It is only the last few ounces of resistance that the body is experiencing now. There is no point fighting a life that is being drained out, there is nothing that prevents it, there is nothing that wants it. Fleeting images, cries and questions turn more incomprehensible, a muffled last gasp, new blood flows into a numb body. I am reborn and you are history.

Still, every passing hour leaves its mark. As the grain of sand slips from under the feet, the message of your own ineffectiveness is profoundly reflected in everything. What you do not have becomes more and more apparent, what you have is only worth a fleeting indulgence. No one will take your hand and dare to dream. Eventually, ordinariness takes over everything. Is it a rapidly spreading disease or is it just my extravagant dementia?

In just a matter of hours another day will begin, one that I'd approach with renewed vigour and whatever I have left in my little bag of hope. When I walk out of my door I'd see the sun shining bright, I'll tell myself it is okay, even if no one understands I can always tell my story to myself. Even if no one else would walk to the edge, I'd still walk all the way there and stand there alone till the day my legs fail me. I don't want to stop, ever.