Lost on roads more traveled
I haven’t been keeping well. Backache one day, migraine another. Fever one day, bad throat another. Food poisoning one day, dizziness another. Doctor tells me it must be hepatitis. My wife tells me that it must be the weather. I tell them it’s me. Your body listens to you but only for a limited period of time. After which, it expects you to listen to it. In the wake of medical advancements, we’ve taken health for granted. Pop a pill, not a big deal. Death is for wrinkled asses. And I believed in this modern miracle too.
Not anymore.
Now, I feel that one should find a physical semblance sooner rather than later. In my case, I’ve been shying away from core realities. I leave home early for office around 7.15 because I want to avoid the sun as much as I’d like to avoid the traffic. 10 minutes under the sun and I’d spend the entire day tolerating headache. I can’t sit straight for long and you’ll often find me in a slide-down position almost sinking under the table. My lower back hurts. I’ve tried yoga, general workout regimes, changed diet to bare minimum, etc. but I don’t see much of an improvement anywhere. I fall asleep before 10 but I don’t sleep sound. Installments. The worst part about the morning is to wait for it to happen so that you can get on with the day.
Once I get fully alright, I’ll lead a lot healthier life.
Such is the kind of promise you make to a woman you want to win but are quite aware you won’t stand true later.
This restaurant is barely a restaurant. It’s shamelessly ancient. The guy sitting behind the counter is older than the city itself. He’s so old that he’s basically waiting for Death to pick him up on its way. The word ‘slow’ fails to describe the pace of his place. From the waiters strolling to the elderly patrons who show up only for breakfast and evening snacks, everything about this establishment reeks of a time warp. The old man counts the cash handed by the customers in such a fashion that you’d develop newfound respect for sloth’s efficiency in Zoopotia (2016). All things said and not done, this restaurant is a piece of history meant to be razed, ultimately by giant corporations, to the heartfelt cry of those who wanted the place to survive but never bothered to visit it. It’s only when you enter such a place that you acknowledge the expanse of decay. Time is oppressive, particularly on those who couldn’t guess the direction of the wind. Speaking of which, the fan is accumulating dust but at a gentle pace. Comparatively, some pictures on the wall are gathering dust much faster. The last time either of these articles were cleaned was in 1913. That was also the year this place came into existence.
Aren’t we all stuck in a car that is not moving anymore? The car is warm and cold and nice and musical. And it took a long, long while to get into it. But that’s all. We are holding the steering wheel and playfully spinning it despite knowing very well that the car is not moving at all.
Why we do this?
Because we are afraid that we’ll be carless if we get out. We are afraid of what lies in the woods. The sight of the road is comforting. In fact, much more than the car itself. To be able to see ahead helps; it provides us with a glimpse of what can be but never will. This undue gratefulness of having a roof is too much to fight. So, we continue to pretend to steer the wheel even when the car is NOT MOVING AT ALL!
