7, 6, 5, 4, 3…
In the animal kingdom, hunger rules. Neither the lion nor the elephants claim the crown. Stomach is the sole dictator. And there is no place for hatred or greed. All the elements of nature are welcome: from the 7 shades of a rainbow to the lonely brown of an arid lake, from the shriek of a macaque to the hiss of a cobra, from the stench of a rotting crocodile to the fragrance of an alyssum, from the soft lick of a gecko to the saw-ish tongue of an ocelot, from the bone-chilling breeze of Alaska to the roasting wind of Gobi. Despite such contradictions, this particular kingdom — the longest surviving of all time and before — manages to maintain an equilibrium of the highest order. It’s inhabited by creatures who don’t know how to judge. Whether you are a decent person or an evil soul, you’ll seem, sound, smell, taste and feel the same to them.
There was a man named Jabba (meaning ‘old man’ in Tulu) in our village. His parents named him so because he had grey-ish hair as a baby. He led a life assigned to a man of his stature: carpenter who mainly dealt with agricultural units. Simple existence for a simple being in a simple environment. As fate would have it, he got married even before turned in to an adult and had 6 kids and, eventually, a dozen grandkids. If there was one thing he loved more than breathing, alcohol (read: arrack) would be it. Long paragraph short, he has a century years behind him today and walks straight without a stick — to the local wine shop twice a day. His wife had long gone and so have all his kids. He doesn’t remember the names of his friends although he knows some of them hung themselves to trees — because using a fan or the wooden pillar of a house could lead to monetary damage to the family — and he knows death is waiting for him somewhere too. Every time he stands in the queue for his daily dose of liquor, he smiles a bit as he wonders whether he proved his parents right with their choice of name or his grandkids wrong by outstaying his welcome.
A parallel universe must exist. This universe can’t hold in all the probable truths. In an alternate reality, your housemaid is an important woman in an MNC and is busy in meetings all the time; you are a star footballer who can speak 5 languages and is obsessed with tattoos; your dog is your best friend except he is a human. And so on. Just that in this universe, things are the way they are so it’s alright because ‘justice’ is being served in another dimension. Here, it’s a matter of perspective. There, it’s a matter of probability. Anything can happen anywhere. And this notion should only enable us to heave a sigh of relief.
If the aliens can snoop in on us, they can hear only 4 words repeated again and again: THE END IS NEAR! France is burning up while Greece is literally burning. India’s groundwater has somehow left for the sky. Polybags can be confused with jellyfish now. Trees are going extinct but nobody talks about it. Light pollution is blinding the birds and sparrows are nowhere to be seen… Against such a tragic series of events, the problem wouldn’t be the ending. The devil is in the delay of such an ending.
One of my biggest regrets is not being able to come to terms with my procrastination. I am disciplined but my desire to learn has diminished considerably. Not very long ago, I was keen on picking up what I didn’t know. Such a crystal clear attitude helped me float from one vocation to another and to my credit, I got reasonably good at whatever I chose to learn, be it swimming, gardening, typing, juggling, etc. Of late, I am lacking the patience to go through new experiences. A chance to learn pottery? No, thanks. An opportunity to bake a cake? I already have Palla. Let’s go for a trek? My body is already revolted by the thought. There could be 3 reasons for such a sad evolution:
- I am done.
- I am so done.
- I am so done done na done done.
Languages tell us where we come from but they don’t have the power to show us where we are going. All the words and all the phrases and the meanings cease to exist the moment 2 people decide to shut up for good. Come to think of it, a language is an extension of a person. You recognize a person’s voice and accent and the way they utter a specific something: It’s extremely unique to them. This is what makes communication sacred as we realize, with time, that words are soldiers deployed by our mind to accomplish a goal. Almost everything you do — with or without a squeak — is an expression of who you are. And going by this mutual understanding, if I know you, do you become my language?
Do you ever get that feeling you’re never going to die? Perhaps, somewhere down the line of your existence, you’ve convinced yourself that the gods are very fond of you. Sorry to spoil your joy so early into this paragraph but everybody on this planet with few ounces of brain thinks so. There is nothing special about assumptions of being special. The sensation is not very different from bursting a bubble wrap or riding a Bullet on the street: you are feeling great while everybody else despises you for the noise you create. Again, it’s not your mistake. We are all part of a matrix where you are either 1 or lost.
A monk deep in his meditation was disturbed by his discipline with an inane question. “What will happen once you are enlightened?” To which, the answer arrived: “I will stop answering such lame questions.” A bit embarrassed but not wholly discouraged, another question made its presence felt: “How many answers does it take for an idiot to turn wise?” Quick came the reply: “0.”
