Day #10

This is a part of a mini-series of independent posts, starting here

Shun the privilege
Unearned; Not mine
Passed through my blood
Not through my sweat

Shun the heritage
Not my creation
Nor the prize
From my journey

Burn it all down
Let the the smoke rise
Suffocate and choke
As the fossils fuel the fire

Nothing shall rise
The weight is too much
At first all will be bleak
The ashes, tombstones

Stripped down, Naked and bare
The legacy feeding on itself
Soon all is quiet
Light as a feather…

Silent winds carry away
These ashes
All in the noisy head
Of a silent islander

Lonely and stranded
No cry for help
Safer to watch
Than to be

10 minutes – Vol 1

Hello, this is a post which I hope would be one in a series *Fingers crossed*. It’s supposed to be random 10 minute thought experiments about a topic which currently (and by currently, I mean the current moment plus-minus 15 minutes) plagues that biggish thing up-top. ‘Ere goes –

I feel at home with the strangers. I feel at home with the weirdos. At the outset of writing this little 10 minute piece, I think I assigned it to be one of the self-pity ones.
Like, I am so depressed I try to seek the rung of society no one else would, and that I am so attention-starved all of a sudden that the simplest, easiest form of attention would be doing me a solid. But I think a new light, this must be looked under. A fresh pair of perspectives and a dash of positivity could lift this article. 

So yes, I think strangers and freaks are cool. People like the ones you see on the street, not begging, but prancing proudly about, singing loony tunes, walking funny, making you suspect their state of sobriety, yet giving one a twinge of longing for the kind of freedom the loony guy seems to be having at the very first glance. Then of course, and rightly so, enters a more rational realization of the person’s situation and you decide to rather be where you are than the once-coveted alternative.

But these people fascinate me. They make me question what is it that the person is truly feeling and how. Is it happiness? Is it carelessness? Is it a life of recklessness driven by desperation?What was it that this guy used to be? How did he get here? In a single query – What’s the back story here?

For instance, I look at a eunuch and I see the creepy exterior. I see the way that people on the train or in auto-rickshaws get scared, disgusted, downright repulsed even, and I try to imagine the response to these reactions of the eunuch begging for the alms. Correction – “practically demanding”. What strikes me most is the pride. A beggar could probably not choose to be a chooser or otherwise, but a eunuch would be damned if he/she isn’t! I have seen them downright rejecting offers of paltry sums that one would probably spend haggling with a vending machine, with a snide, and admittedly funny, remark. The body language and the face reflect a confidence. Where it stems from, and what infinite sink sustains it has intrigued me quite a bit in recent times.

Just to mess with a eunuch once, I gave him/her a not-quite-indigenous chocolate a friend had got me. Curiosity had overtaken me by the time said eunuch had worked through the train compartment I was traveling in, at the time. What would be the reaction? What would be the retort? Nothing too complex came out of it, except for a pleasantly surprised smile and a small conversation regarding the whereabouts and what-nots of the offering. What made the deal slightly sweeter was the slightly aghast stares from the fellow passengers (*smug smile*)

I think, in conclusion and in repetition, that I seek out the weirdos in a place because I feel at home. No matter how much it might be a creation of my mind, and no matter how much of it is probably me trying to imagine a plightful situation for myself to justify the vacuum I feel that I live in, but home’s home alright.