It’s the bloody clock ticking shamelessly for the last 30 years without a pause. Unending and undefined but it flaunts a direction not to let me forget that I’m getting old and days on this often-loved-but-more-often-hated earth inch to an end.
End. It comes when it’s all over. Lots done but lots more undone. Yet, it’s over. Like the butt-end of a burnt out cigarette, the dreams — most of them strangled and a few humble ones, that managed to give a slip to the inevitable abortion, alive — are all set to be stubbed. A few teardrops, some moments of recollections and then, it’s all over.
Am I a cynic? I would say it’s better than feigning to be a pragmatist.
We’re all dead, scared to face the truth and fight the adverse. But the pseudo-pragmatism gets stripped when India talks of man-on-the-moon. Every day, on my way to the newspaper that pays me to work on thousands of words on the blockbuster great Indian aspirations, I meet an old man — probably older than my father. With his arms stretched, he cries: “I’m hungry… give me something so that I could eat.”
I’m sure many of us meet such undesired and useless creatures (no longer human beings, perhaps) on our way to office or home.
The clock ticks on. But nothing changes. Only promises get stacked up.
Where do I see the light? Where can I get a fresh breath? How can I start believing that with its over-a-billion-strong battalion, India would someday rule the world? Because I can’t forget that behind all that chemistry that goes on in the US Congress with the powerful Indian lobby, there stands a poor man with his arms stretched and crying “I’m hungry….”
He, too, has a clock. It, too, will come to an end someday. But I’m sure before that someone else will come up to continue the cry.
It’s all silly, Billy. Care a damn for all this shit and pull up your socks, dude. After all, you gotta look positive.
Eta likhechhilam anek bochhor age Telegraph-e. nam chhilo: The clock’s tickin’ dude. Aj keno hothat etake fish out kore ekhane pathalam tar kono convincing reply dite parbo na. Tobe eta bola jay je ei lekhata anektai amar protidin dhorshito haoa chinta, swapno ar kolpona ke reflect kore.
Kodin dhore boddo gumot cholchhe. Hothat jeno sob haoa ek adrishyo danob ese shushe niyechhe ar amar chardike ekta thom-thome noishobdo. Majhe majhe erom mone hoy ar tokhon characteristically kunre ami jeno prithibir somosto sthabeer jonotar protinidhitwo korar mohan dayitwo niye feli. Kono kichhui kori na. Office na gele khete pabo na sei bhoye je jai ta noy. Barite bose gele bou khediye debe sei bhabnay jai. Beshi porashuno korle aro anek kichhu janbo sei ashay pori na. Na porle kichhui korchhi na erom ekta sottyi jodi proman hoye jay sei bhoye boi niye bose thaki. Eromi ekta pseudo-psychic state-e pore acchi kodin. Bodh hoy eta mid-life crisis-er onset, not bystota.
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