The Bench in The Park

It was an evening. It was like any other evening. The sun was not intense and the regular 5’o clock was strolling around. People walked without talking too much to each other. The half smile and the nod were the common way of acknowledge acquaintance. The people had too much time left after attending to the needs of life and too many thoughts. It was, like any other, the evening of the has-beens and the under-achievers.

It was a bench in the park. It was like any other bench. And it had designate people occupying it when it was time. Everything in the park did; benches, tree shades, walkways; it all had certain people in them at certain time. It was like pieces in a puzzle. Anybody out of place would topple the equilibrium. The bench under consideration belonged to a man in his mid-30s and another in his late-60s. They would greet each other with the customary smile and nod. But they never talked. Yet they were profoundly happy to share benches. It’s not everyday that you meet people with whom you could comfortably share silence.

And during these periods of silence, they observed other people in the park and even made stories about these people to themselves. Clothes and at times facial expressions constituted the foundation upon which they build their stories. And they did enjoy the craft of coming up with stories out of the bleakest of evidence, of people they have never talked to, or knew, however, the bench mates never made stories of each other. It was probably because both were dressed in the in the same manner everyday. The young man was attired in formals, neat but not extravagant. A plain, light coloured, full sleeve shirt, dark trousers, and black flat front shoes were his clothes. The older guy had evening clothes. The clothes he wore were so indistinguishably precise that any one who saw him two different days would have mistaken him for a military man. They never made stories of each other because everyday; it was the same old story.

And then the eventful day struck. It was probably the 24 hour strike down but the equilibrium of the park was thrown out of balance. There were fewer people at the park. It was like a huge vacuum created within a crowd. You always expect people to be there but there in not. And this was the picture the semi-deserted park bore. But not the bench under consideration. At the atoned time, it had its occupants. Their greeting contained not the least of hint that their life had taken the slightest of deviation from the normal. But the realization struck once they scanned the perimeter of the park. They had no subjects for story today.

Young man thinks: The deserted park…not good. There goes my day to ruins…

Old Guy thinks: …and I ‘eve been preparing for this the whole day….

YM: it takes a lot to act normal. I pull that act all day here and I know how tough it is…

OG: to think that you are just like everyone, engrossed in your life, and definitely moving forward…

YM: and now, I’ve lost the only thing I look forward to…

OG: …all because of this ridiculous strike down, what was it for anyway? Something like…

YM:… the government policies not letting people live their normal life or something…

OG: well, that used to be normal time…

YM: and this definitely is not.

OG: Now, all I have is this man of insipid dress sense

YM: and the old bloke who dresses the same way everyday could hardly be of any interest…

They both drift to memories that they have of each other…

YM: unless he used to be someone in the military who’s heard got royally screwed so much so that he can’t even contemplate changing the way he dresses…

OG: well, you can’t expect anyone who has been in the corporate world to have any real dress sense. They just ape each other and look stupider than the rest

YM: and may be I am just a part of his clock work world…imagine.. he might not be able to sleep properly if he does not meet me in the bench…

OG: and that explains why he sits in this bench. I might be the only inspiringly different piece that he meets in his life.

YM: I have not noticed if he frowns while he sits in this bench. All military men are hard and easily scorns upon the slightest of disorientation from the normal way.

OG: but I am not sure if I’ve seen him smirk, he could think I am dressed like a WW II war hero… or may be think that I start dressing up for the evening stroll at afternoon just because it’s the only thing for me to look forward.

YM: after all managing and delegating duties on large scale data handling services for multi national companies, although sounds complicated is mundane, monotonous and so unlike the “real man” things that people at the army claim they do

OG: or can he tell someone who has been in service for a ling time and yet has nothing special to claim, may be that is something that these high aspiring young men will laugh at is it?

YM: Does this man sit next to me every evening so that he can make his life full of “bravery and valour” a special one? Because if its so, he couldn’t find a better person to sit next to.

OG: He may consider me an amusing piece of antique?

YM: I am not…

OG: …his laughing stock, am I…

YM: …or am I…

OG:…as ridiculous as he thinks I am?

They met again in the park the following days, but their greeting was a bit more tightly lipped and strained. The shifted uneasily in the bench while they were there and sometimes left early. Soon, the bench under consideration was looking for new occupants.

The Lie

The night must have been upto something. When the sun made a peek from the valley, she blushed. But she soon lighted up, transpiring her mood to the world she held in a gradually withdrawing embrace. The leaves greeted dawn in a smile drenched in dewy tears. And for all things moving, yesterday, a tiring day was a day of the past.

In the highest room in the tallest tower, the princess slept. The rays stroked her bare back before tickling her eyes to wakefulness. And she smiled. Yesterday was eventful. She met him for the first time in the weirdest way possible. But the rendezvous gave her a thousand promises and three times as much dream. They were together through the balmy afternoon, the breezy evening, and the unveiled nights. She had excitement when she smuggled him up her room. For the princess, yesterday, a tiring day was the most decisive.

She gently turned her head, looked over and suddenly blushed. But she only got redder. There were tears in her eyes of broken dreams. Her hair like his promises, gone astray. She sprang from her bed, as quick as her amorist life’s death. Her eyes red, her hands shaking…and she screamed at the frog lying on her bed” you lied!”

the Journals of an Existentialist

Day:Hardly Matters

Today i got up with a fresh breath(even if it stinks). It seems to be the only thing going right for me. these journals are truly a pain; a harsh reminder of the cumulative failure that each day of my life adds. I slip into the machinery of the society as usual. the footpath, the bus, the lift and to my cabinet. The cold coffee, the once bit doughnut reminded me of myself. The usual motivating crap from my do-gooder cubicle neighbor. The i mean frown business of the boss successfully tested my urge to not burst out laughing. Endless payrolls. And the company was really enjoyable. People being very generous with there nods and mechanical "mornings".Had slumdog, obama and general elections for lunch;those around the table with there own taste. The golf session to unwind made me feel like shit courtesy my skills. Had intercourse with angry customers who made me feel impotent. Closing time,music to ears. Nosediving again to the stream of humanities,flowing through footpaths, meandering through the streets and finally delta myself at the park. My favorite spot; everybody here to there last tissue feels the shittiest possible way;my brothers to whom i never speak,never dine, never drink but who understands me all the same. The serial fag from different buttts, all one in a big smoke. The mosquito bites cued me to leave. Thought for a long time on how to waste more time.settled for a walk back home for the hundredth time(where is my creativity?).Home looks just like it always did.The diner broadened my tummy.An argument with tv left me defeated. Finally a confession to my journal. Will go to sleep prayin to find a better way to feel about myself.Hoping to live to write another day,
your lover
the loner.

Of Charity and Lies

The excuse to have ones feet on ground,
a mute unresponsive slave of gravity,
a limitless world is where i am bound,
a world sans sugar-coated realities.

What is life so full of care,
you feign fulfillment in charity and love,
yet question this cancer, we don't dare,
all to please the accountant above.

If fittest survive paying strength the prize,
then why cultivate these parasites,
'charity is divine' and other big lies,
the reason they have to rob my rights.

If life is but a perennial fight,
to let body and soul together stat,
charity saves none from their plight,
but shows them miraged hope rays.

I don't lavish rewards to undeserving,
with promises of a non-existent life,
selfishness is self-obliging,
the commitment you ultimately have.

Long have we heard the story of a man,
who comforted a robbed out traveler in pain,
a very twisted story, good Samaritan,
true men stays in their life's narrow lane.

Cleaning the Mess

If the world is messed up
why cant I?
Pretending to follow the crowd
yet lie;
Normal life is in the air
a pie
how hard to think ones just
another guy.

The plain old normality has
big requisites
Whose logic peeves even
the mystics;
Ones life's simplicity is as
he elicits
a grand performance to which
society critics

I pretend to be dumb, blind
and gay,
For things are best in their way
they say
And i keep dirtying what was cleaned
yesterday
Just to wonder tomorrow" whose mess is it
anyway?"

tHe laW of laWLesSNeSs

isn't it high time we think of why we follow rules?i'ev often been peeved by the chronology of any law.did the law happen first;or was it the breaking of the law?if it is the law that happened first,why make a law if nothing had gone wrong to make way for a possibility to do the wrong(coz all rules have been broken).and if it is the breaking of the law that happened first,how come it be lawlessness when there s no law in the first place?the effectiveness of law to ensure common good is a paradox in itself.
take it this way:isn't a new law alerting the otherwise blissfully ignorant of a new way to disrupt peace around.laws have in no way has done anything good to social sense of security.in pre-industrialized england,the execution by hanging was accompanied by the general trend of dangling the body from the post for sometime,most commonly a week as to avert whoever sees this from doing wrong.but then,come industrialization and the authorities had to ensure 3 to 4 set of executors to handle the huge noose traffic.
laws to a great extent remain a mere relief measure than a disaster mitigation.but the ever so mechanical law machinery is all spot on in ensuring that that law is swift,just and impartial and that one is implicated rightly for ones crimes.what good will the hanging of the murderer will do to the murdered when he is dead in the first place?a dead man is hardly aware of the wreaths which decorates him.why do we spend so much time and effort on law & order when the core issue is far from the lack of law.
every act of lawlessness irrespective of how trivial it is has a story to tell.a story which dates back to the time when a soul was born in this earth.it has a story of subdued imagination,of abused fantasies,of the strangles of the strong hands of the more affluent ones towards the deprived,of rightful victories denied and of just measures delayed.and yet we spend so much on law enforcements.
the biggest problem our judicial system faces is pendency. and the easiest way to overcome this is to make sure that lesser cases reaches the bench.the best way would be to ensure the non-redundancy of the once lawless situation.ensure an environment where there is lesser chance of occurrence of a potential social upheaval.the solution is very simple:make sure whatever might lead to a state of lawlessness is avoided.and investing our efforts on the ever so burdened judiciary is not exactly the brightest way to do it.it might be the reason why the trend persists and aggravates despite increased efforts.

FREE BIRD

one fine day,
he had wings;
he realized
his prayers have been answered-
"god,let me be free,
give me wings and let me fly away
from the world that makes me toil
that gives me love just to make me cry
that gives me challenges so that i can meet them; and fail
where bread comes from battles
and water from blood spills
where you are accepted
for tied neck and tied heels
and a mask of pretenses to hide
your true self as if
it were something hedious and boorish
"o god
give me wings and let me fly away"

and he had wings.
as the rays of dawn tickled
his eyes to wake fullness
he was conscious of something
covering his body and
stretching out as he woke
the mirror asserted his disbelief:
he had wings,
big and strong and beautiful
it was all his.
"give me wings and ill fly away"
he was free,he could fly
the world may not have him,
but he will have the skies.
from shock to jubilation
he made himself believe:
he had wings.

he rushed to his window
of a new world,
he looked up at the sky
bathed in gold spilled from the sun,
and the clouds as puffed pillows
a better bed he will never have
he looked down at the shadow and dust
of what used to be his world:
an arena which hosted rat races,
for the meager prize of survival.
he puffed in air,
a subject of his would be empire.
he closed his eyes
and said to himself,
"this is too good to be true
and yet it is"
"give me wings,and let me fly away"

(to be continued...)