Everything was like it should be. Today, today.
Yesterday like yesterday, and a million
years ago things were like a million years ago.
Yet when every time, time is like that time, there are certain still moments in that time, certain differences. Maybe not everyone thinks so, but then not everyone stops to notice such things.
Whatever the case was, that day was like that day, like it should be, the dust on the ground and the footprints imprinted on it were like every day. The half torn, half chipped off poster-ads on the stems of lamp posts were no less telling a story of a destroyed civilization, than what a civilizations has to tell after eventually getting destroyed. The light that was emanating from a far away stree-light seemed to a myopic like me, a golden explosion, like always. The fans slowly rotating dully, hanging from the ceilings as seen from an empty street, looked as sad and unhappy as always. Vehicles moving away and towards me were just aimlessly moving like always and the half constructed building next to me, near the Vinoba Puri subway, was looking as beautiful as any semi-constructed building looks when compared to a constructed one.
All this was like it should be today, but still, this today , with all its peculiarities, which should have been like today, reminded me of a million old passed yesterdays.
I don’t know why, but looked at with a certain perspective, this today and all the things in it, were boring and monotonous, to the point of being ugly. Difference was only of the nature of boredom and monotony which made one yawn for a good five seconds, and the dreadful memory one wants to relate this today to. Standing in a corner of one’s life, outside one’s skin, all this looks really very repulsive and I think we are fortunate to have more than one perspective to look at this today from, to find a beautiful strand, a meaningful stand on it . But sometimes our ability to see things from more than one perspective gets hindered and then we do what people call suicide.
I don’t know why, but this today, which is a mere shadow of many bygone yesterdays, has, along with all the still moments and differences, something missing as well, something lacking. Something different that wasn’t there yesterday, or day before, or before that. I think it happened because of a lack of perspective, a lack of room to adjust, K, after living a long and peaceful life of 30 years, was lying dead from a stroke in his room for about five hours...
Yet when every time, time is like that time, there are certain still moments in that time, certain differences. Maybe not everyone thinks so, but then not everyone stops to notice such things.
Whatever the case was, that day was like that day, like it should be, the dust on the ground and the footprints imprinted on it were like every day. The half torn, half chipped off poster-ads on the stems of lamp posts were no less telling a story of a destroyed civilization, than what a civilizations has to tell after eventually getting destroyed. The light that was emanating from a far away stree-light seemed to a myopic like me, a golden explosion, like always. The fans slowly rotating dully, hanging from the ceilings as seen from an empty street, looked as sad and unhappy as always. Vehicles moving away and towards me were just aimlessly moving like always and the half constructed building next to me, near the Vinoba Puri subway, was looking as beautiful as any semi-constructed building looks when compared to a constructed one.
All this was like it should be today, but still, this today , with all its peculiarities, which should have been like today, reminded me of a million old passed yesterdays.
I don’t know why, but looked at with a certain perspective, this today and all the things in it, were boring and monotonous, to the point of being ugly. Difference was only of the nature of boredom and monotony which made one yawn for a good five seconds, and the dreadful memory one wants to relate this today to. Standing in a corner of one’s life, outside one’s skin, all this looks really very repulsive and I think we are fortunate to have more than one perspective to look at this today from, to find a beautiful strand, a meaningful stand on it . But sometimes our ability to see things from more than one perspective gets hindered and then we do what people call suicide.
I don’t know why, but this today, which is a mere shadow of many bygone yesterdays, has, along with all the still moments and differences, something missing as well, something lacking. Something different that wasn’t there yesterday, or day before, or before that. I think it happened because of a lack of perspective, a lack of room to adjust, K, after living a long and peaceful life of 30 years, was lying dead from a stroke in his room for about five hours...
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