The wailing’s on the wall

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night and felt so sad that you started weeping inconsolably? And while you are at it, a part of your brain turns into a detective trying to understand what is going on. You simply can’t plug the trigger to such an emotional upheaval. To make matters worse, you aren’t pregnant. It’s clearly not the hormones. Last checked you aren’t a pimple-faced teen anymore. You haven’t even lost anything invaluable in the recent past. Your parents are alive and so is your sibling. You hadn’t been sacked from your job yet and you haven’t killed anyone either. There is no secret guilt trip involved unless you are an undiagnosed sociopath. You’ve been leading a pretty normal lifestyle where you even presumed you were incredibly happy with yourself. You bought into the my-race-is-with-me aphorism. Yes, there were days when you thought you are leading a meaningless life but then, who isn’t? Look around you. Everybody is putting up a show at some level, aren’t they? It’s a farce complimented by a sugary pesticide we call cola and the numbing doses we call entertainment. So, what exactly drove you to park yourself on a distraught lane at 2.30 am? You don’t know. Must be a bad dream then, eh? The sort of dreams which compress your true self to the point that you can’t wait to wake up and wail. Maybe. Or maybe it was that depressing Manchester by the Sea; the most befitting movie for 2016. Oh damn, if not, it has to be that documentary on YouTube about how nearly half of our species don’t have access to dignity. Could be anything, actually. That beggar lady with her medicated child slung across her must have done the trick. Perhaps your favourite football club is having an abysmal year is taking a toll on your sanity. Could be anything to be frank. But for closure’s sake, let’s assume that you are a closet asshole who didn’t believe in karma before that night.