There is a storm brewing outside. I am indoors, sitting in my darkened bedroom. The wind is loud. Too loud. And it is shaking the house. The doors, the windows…they rattle in the wind. Creates an eerily disturbing atmosphere. From the window pane I can see the wind shake the tree outside. The branches are swaying madly, as if a ghost waving to its favourite haunt. There is a dim light coming in through the dirty window pane and I am writing in The Diary in that light. The clouds are heavy. It will rain torrentially. Perhaps it will rain all night. I hope not, for the water might come inside the house. The ceiling might collapse for all I know. And the worst part is that it won’t collapse on me. How do I know this? Because this has always been the case. As if all elements and forces of nature are out there to make a fool out of me. And perhaps I am their idea of an ideal clown anyway. Will do whatever they subject me to. How do I resist them anyway?
Damn! The wind is loud! There was a small sapling outside. I had bought that tiny little thing from somewhere and it had grown remarkably well, given the bad “grooming” it received from me. Ha ha! The wind took it away. It got uprooted and then went flying out of sight. Like my life. Fleeting. Fleeing. Escaping. And all I could do was sit and see it happen. Like I said above. How do I resist them anyway?
And lo and behold! I suddenly have this vivid image in my mind. An image right from my childhood. Its autumn. In am sitting under a tree. A kid. Small boy. Call me whatever you want. There is a small ball right next to my feet. I seem to be tired. I must have been running all over the yard kicking that ball. Alone, of course. I don’t really recall having any company during my childhood days. (Not saying that I have had company in my adult days…alone back then…alone now). Anyway, so I am tired and sitting under a tree and the leaves are falling. Right over my head and I am sad. Looking down with a leaf or two in my head and there is a stray dog which has come and is now sitting next to the ball. Perhaps it wants to play with it. And with me as well? It must be as alone as I am. But I don’t think I can play with the dog. If mother sees me playing with a stray dog, she will be upset. And then I will be beaten. By a stick perhaps? But it’s the only company I have had in days. Maybe weeks. How can I resist playing with it anyway?
I don’t know what keeps happening in my head. There are these glimpses that suddenly turn up. And they leave me stunned. Shocked. And most importantly sad. And now I am sad again. Not that I was happy before. Less sad, maybe? That too is a question. Sometimes I feel I should have been a philosopher. I sure ask a lot of questions. But I don’t really know anything. I don’t even know what philosophers do? I mean, are they even paid? Is that a job? The light is very dim now. There are droplets on the window pane. It has begun. Now the rain will wash down on me and I will be more miserable and sad. Sad. Sad. Sad. Its almost as if the rain is calling out to me…seeking me to embrace me in its misery and sorrow. How can I resist it anyway?
- U.E
12:35 AM, Varanasi
November 5, 2012
I could feel the word "depression" expressed in this whole piece through and through. The small account of childhood loneliness made me truly sad.
ReplyDeleteWith every log of yours you are making me think about the sorrows of life...making me wonder about what the character must have gone through at every phase of his life...and those memories simply aggravating those sorrows for present.
I especially loved the last few lines....Great work!
The tree, a tired kid, that lone dirty ball at his feet.. All of it was very very vivid!
ReplyDelete"alone back then…alone now".. you have said it all in this line.. these are much more than simple words, these are echoes of one's deep sorrow and despair, they give off tangible longing!
Beautiful!