Shut up amid the cackle.

Back to Square one

This is not in the tone of the other posts here. it is a gloomy, dark monsoon morning which does not seem like a morning at all. (I have never really liked these gloomy so-called "romantic" mornings). However, it perfectly suits my scheme of things...rather, train of thought this time.

Was passing through the road I take to office everyday the other day morning. The surroundings looked lovely as everyday. Then it hit me....it looks lovely everyday. Maybe the purpose of flowers and trees is to be lovely, to look lovely. Well, that is more than I can say of the human race...or of at least myself. Many a times, in the middle of a busy day, I find myself stopping and asking myself, Why am I doing all this? In fact, why does anyone do anything at all? Intriguing, isn't it?

Picture this...you come into the world, all red-faced and ugly and bawling your head off, literally (!!)...you grow up a bit, and go to school (because all other kids your age are going too) The bawling continues, only now it is about grades and acne and that cute school teacher who doesn't know you exist. Cut to college. Teachers have turned to professors. Studies have changed, you don't look like what you looked six months back in school. You have all kinds of holes apart from the natural ones which God Almighty provided in your holy body. The bawling now is about good courses which will make you rich soon, so that you can move on the next set of bawls in life. Which centre around the elusive eligible mate. The trophy wife who will be sharon-stone-tulsi-virani rolled into one or the trophy husband who will be George-Clooney-Bill-Gates rolled into one. Either which ways, once the deal is done, you realise one thing....she doesn't really look like Sharon Stone and he doesn't really look like George Clooney. It was just the candle light playing tricks during the first meeting (hopefully without parents around).

The bawls start again. This time, they are real bawls of miniature-you's. Meanwhile back ground bawls about who pays the bills and who works more continue. Then there is that static called the Boss's voice. Life moves on to the same set of bawls from your children which you had, only now the perspective is slightly different, and you wish the bawls would stop. Then you get old, and the bawls turn into squeaks...until the squeaks also die down. Where are you now? Back to square one. The ugly, red-faced body. Minus the bawls. Or the doting gazes.

Through all of this, only one thing remains common....no prizes for guessing....THE BAWLS. Can anyone really see why we do all this? We are born...we die. Life is the hobby we create to fill this seemingly interminable expanse, so it seems. We accumulate degrees, we hoard money....they are meaningless, say the wise ones. Ok, then, we make relationships, maintain them, put our emotional energy into them....but then, do we take them with us? I really don't think so.
From bawls to that final squeak, life goes on. Without much of a purpose, or any hidden meaning. Or if there is any hidden meaning, it is too well hidden.

posted by Anupama. @ 8:40 am