Act as though I am, and I will be
There was this giant yellow ball shining above my head in the usual mornings that I have which includes my getting up, sipping cup of tea while reading newspapers and a short walk in terrace. Every single ray was like bubbling blisters on my body. As I took the shower, I felt a sense of succour. As I moved along an alley, I felt on my hands some dew drops. The ideas were juggling in front of my head. I didn’t know which one to pick, some random boy just pissed on me or water dripping off some clothes. It would all have been taken better had I not seen flushing clouds right in front of me. It seemed as if sky got all frustrated with my mean ways of living and wanted to show how lamely, how inscrutably I have been doing things. And it cried, it cried so hard.
Working in a corporate clan it was one of things one would not even wish of his arch rivals. My face reddened with the liquid blows. Getting drenched I was just praying to help me not kill someone out of sheer agony. For god’s sake, I was the most important person for the day. I had a presentation and two very crucial meetings. I was just cursing things from my wet but parched lips. Some more action to follow, I reached the Metro station. There were no shortcuts, no end to my miseries. Pain became my mistress that I couldn’t even stand. Metro was almost full and I ended up getting crushed between two grownups, one looking like drug mafia, and other lean tall retardo. I was just wondering if people don’t brush teeth or eat cow dung cakes in the mornings. I mean nothing is impossible. All noble laureates are working on making this globe into one crazy place.
The whole day went like that. I had never seen queues like that in my entire life. Gutters flowing like Ganges, people wearing floaters with pants on thighs, slum kids dancing on streets like monkeys, fallen canopies on road after their battle with tears. After 3 hours I smelt like sewage, I almost had caught cold and certainly lost the heart I had the day before that. I came back after having scuffle on road.
I was having my ginger tea and munching some corn, just when I felt how perfect my life is in the sphere of all imperfect events. I could feel how symmetrical those raindrops were or the smile stretched across slum kids or smoke ring formed out of some random lip. What if I could walk over that puddle, glide over gutters and had some plastic sheet over my body like superheroes that could protect me from thousand spatters? Would I miss it? I guess I will. The more we try moving away from it, the more it pulls us to the nucleus.
We are all set of imperfect people with some or the other phases of transgression. Being imperfect makes we privileged to make fresh mistakes and the joys of overcoming failures. We find serenity only after mocking other’s miseries, and only then realizing how fortunate we are finally if it permits and if we have some time out of our busy schedule, then maybe helping them and feeling so proud, its weight on our chest. Finally we all have achieved Mother Teresa.
May be that was the only reason why man had built such big colonies unlike other animals.
Ring the bells that still can ringForget your perfect offeringThere is a crack in everythingThat’s how the light gets in.