Swaying to the music
of life
As dusk gave way to darkness and
night seemed to slowly envelope the sky, as the crows croaked in unison calling
it a day flying back to their shelters, as office goers were hurrying back to
their safety called home, and as traffic seemed to outsmart each other in the
din, a man dressed for office was seen swaying from side to side in the middle
of a busy by lane in Delhi teeming with hurrying steps and loud boisterous traffic,
streets lined up with important landmark of offices.
A look at his appearance seemed
to convey the message of a middle aged man caught in the swirl of office and
social routine. He could be any of us working in a small, medium sized firm or
a multinational company, processing numbers or squeezing out sales figures. It
could be anyone of us with a brood and the seriousness to carry the day as a
supervisor, or it could be a weary employee who has had a hard day fitting into
the scheme of things. Whatever be the reason surely none of this merited
swaying steps in the midst of an unending stream of chaos, woefully unmindful
of the bustle around him and oblivious to the commotion he was creating.
In a thriving metropolis he was
not a lonely figure, passer-by’s reminded themselves this was the dark side of
the city, the dark side of life, as drivers swayed their vehicles in rhythm to
avoid bumping into him. No one cared as to give him a second glance, who was he?
What was his issue? Why was he swaying? Where was he working? Had he just been
fired? What on earth was wrong with him? Had he been hurt outwardly or
inwardly? No one cared. Probably no one had the time to ask these questions, or
better still in a busy city it was best not to ask such questions.
As I watched him disappear in a
long line of traffic, I asked myself a few questions and tried to find answers
in the dark. What if that was me? Was he someone’s husband, father or brother? Isn’t
he someone’s son? Surely there is someone waiting for him. Some neighbour must
have noticed his absence; at least someone would miss him. The answers failed
to fill up with any amount of cohesion or spontaneity.
As I tucked myself into bed that
night, the image of that person refused to go out of my mind. Something wrong
must have happened, the poor man has had a tumble, in love he may have failed,
or in life’s examination. He must have given more than he has received, the
perilous nature of relationships must have exerted itself too hard at him, the
expectations must have far outweighed its rewards, the sly nature of
meaningless friendships must have paid him handsomely for his commitments, the
desire to fight back at life was probably extinguishing fast.
His woes were drowning him in the
quicksand of life. He probably did not have anyone to go back to or speak about
his troubles. He was a lonely soul who had in all probability long given up on
life. He missed the zeal in life, the life in life.
He was probably trying to destroy
his edifice built painstakingly over the years, the youth the budding
prospects, all of which were now lost to the vagaries of life. That which
looked promising had been an illusion. Life passed him by at break neck speed
and he was left clinging to its tail, now he was finding it hard to hang on, it
was taking a mighty effort, his energy was sapping, he was using his reserves
in a last ditch effort to hold on before falling into the deep abysses of
destruction.
The sway was his answer, a
befitting one for having treated him badly, for having injured him, for attacking
him when he least expected, for cheating him on oath, for prescribing to life’s
ambitions. The sway was his revenge, his way of getting back at life, sneering
and jeering, ‘cocking a snook’ even while bidding adieu swaying to the music of
life.
Another day it could be another
man caught in the thicket of life’s woes, someone else who has misfired his
ambitions or tried jumping over his shadow falling flat and become a laughing
stock in society. It could be my son, your husband, father, brother or neighbour,
some acquaintance or someone you don’t care for, but he wasn’t born that way.
He had started off with noble intentions, strived hard to make it, yet he
failed with what matters, what counts in the end, he fell short on the
measuring tape of success.
The woeful life of a loner,
caught in the unending woes of life and striving to end it all in his own way
with a swagger that says ‘I care less’ or ‘to hell with the world’. What he
probably missed out on were some soothing words that would still his jarring
nerves, some words of encouragement, someone filling him with hope, arms that
would embrace him, love that would encompass all his tirades, a feeling of
belonging in this world, a family to go back to, a world full of love or at
least some loving folks who would seek him out.
1st September 2014
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