![]() The solemnly journey of a little wandererA Story by Wanderin_monk![]() This story grants you a window into the fragile constitution of a wanderer, undertaking a seemingly monotonous journey, which leads to him questioning his own life and existence.![]() Introduction So, now where and how do I start? Shaky, abrupt beginnings
are never a good beginning, but then who remembers the beginning of that
thought, of that moment, where and when was it born. Do you? Haven’t you
ever gazed across that dark starry-eyed universe on a cloudy night? You may
have decided to gaze at those pearly stars at that point of time, but you never
remember when or what triggered that moment. The moment where time seems irrelevant
and you shine upon some pain troubling you or maybe even a thought lingering in
your mind. That feeling of gushing emotions like the moonlight trying to claw
its way atop the clouds. The clarity and relief of freedom you feel at that
moment as if you have been fixed from the inside. A barrage of pearly stars and
an incandescent moon has that effect on you. Giving yourself some time and some
retrospection, has that effect on you. Well the story I am about to tell you today, though it
arises from a similar moment of clarity, it’s different. For never have I been
in more turmoil than I was before. This moment might I say, was impure on its
own. My mind ignited to quaint thoughts of disposition. The thoughts,
adulterated with green ecstasy and my heart fluttering with music. Each part here today symbolizes my journey through the
surreal passage of transcendence, with every song laying the foundation of that
thought. So I would urge you to light a joint and follow this story as your
own, listen to the song as you go through that part. And maybe just maybe, I
will be capable of showing you what I saw through my little window. Now this
story revolves around such a moment of clarity, my own disposition and my
thoughts weighing down upon me. Consider this a burden I want to share or an
opportunity I am willing to provide you. The implications of this may be life
changing or maybe not even be worth a snail’s race to the other side. But the
gravity of my ramblings cannot be ignored, for a person has decided to open his
life to you and a window into his vulnerable true soul. Hope you do see more
through this window about your own life than mine, that somewhere this window
may encourage you to make a change. Part 1: Light My Fire Its 4:30 a.m as I wake up to the distant cries of dogs,
howling at the silence of the pitch black night. The moonlight seems pale, the
star-studded skies dreary and dead. It was time for me to get ready and part
ways with Bangalore. Even though for a few days, but yes, I was excited to go
back home, the one and only place which would always have a place for me. No
matter how lost I am, it was the one place that always gave definition to me
and I was the one and only beloved son coming back home. My mind was racing and
I was excited. Somehow it seemed as if it was my soul’s lone flickering candle
lighting that dreary night. All preparations done, I sit down to crush a bud to make a
fine simple roll, while waiting for the cab to arrive. My only relief,
something I use to calm my mind. Something I use to clear my doubts and
reinstall confidence in myself. I light it as I think to myself, to have a
pleasant cab journey. Maybe I will fall asleep in the cab today. Maybe I will
dream. I feel like chuckling for I realize I haven’t dreamt for ages. “Isn’t that
a fool’s dream?” It wasn’t long when the cab arrived. By 5, I had finished
the joint, high on my senses, relaxed, I get up on the cab and start the long
lonely journey into the night and towards the airport. The music, slow, yet,
tranquil and mesmerizing. I always loved “The Doors”. They always seemed to
have enlightened me. I relax back on to my seat listening to every word,
feeling its meaning. I wonder on what was the pain that always haunted Jim
throughout his short life. This song “Light my Fire”, particularly, hated by
Jim, for it was written by Robby. But as the organs kick in in the music, I
feel a sudden tranquility hit me. A sudden urge of depression as I see the
lonely dark roads, illuminated only by the street lights. To my utter surprise,
it wasn’t as deserted as I expected. My mind starts racing with the images I
was seeing. The life not many would know of. In sudden dark corners, you would
see a scantily dressed old person, trading paper with another. His hair whiter
than his clothes or the paper that was presumably his life. There was a chilly
nip in the air, as cold as death itself, drawing the life out of me even more,
making me pull my jacket close to me. And I see a wrinkled, old person with a
wet towel wrapped around his bony structure, taking a mug full of water, as he
takes his bath on the roadside. I could feel his despair, behind his dead eyes,
which he tried to resuscitate with the dreary cold water. And all I could do
was see them pass by like everything in my life, through the comfort and warmth
of my cab. For a second we pass through a darker than black path, which made my
face reflect on the glass of the same window. I look at myself, my eyes no more
different than his. Dead to the night, despair being the only feeling in them. There I was at the darkest part of night, passing through
abandoned ways, only to see the remains of greed and pain. How we live attuned
to our own happiness. A young woman, more tender than a growing flower, swept
the doorway to her small tea shop, unfazed by the perils of darkness. There was
an imminent despair in their faces, which their bodies lied, as they worked
monotonously, struggled feverishly, to live. And to only live. There was
nothing unearthly for them to gain at this time. Nothing to say their future
will be brighter than this night. Yet they worked to survive and to live
another day. There was a sudden urge of emotions overflowing in my mind.
I was ever more confused with myself than I ever was. I couldn’t dare question
my existence, for I was afraid of what I would find. For I would hate myself,
feel as an embarrassment to my parents, an ink mark to the otherwise perfect
home I was returning to. Part 2: End of the Night “Do I really deserve all this?” " I question myself in that
moment. An unexpected and rather unsurprising tear rolls off my face. “Some are
born to sweet delight, some are born to the endless night”, the song and these
lines echoing in my head. It brought some peace to the turmoil, as the night sky
started shining with the first rays of a new day. One could still see the
remains of the darkness and the abandoned roads. A heavily-illuminated church,
calling faith seekers to itself, while right next to it laid the abandoned path
to a Durga pandal in its own golden glory. The disparity ever so clear, and
abundant. Yet we choose to run away from it and ignore it. We choose to remove
any inklings of pain and hardships to make our own lives beautiful. And it
pained me even more to see someone try to get to where I am or become better
than me, only to be pushed back down. Who has given me the right to look down
upon anyone? I haven’t earned it. I haven’t earned half of the things in my life.
It is the result of the sweat and toil of my parents. It crushed my heart to feel their pain, as if they are
trying to reach out to me. And I want to reach out to them. Let them know I am
there for you. I may not know you. But to let them know that things will get
better and there is someone who cares for you. People struggle and fight, yet
never lose their will to live, even if it just guarantees them a tomorrow. What
gives me the power to question the same and to say “My life sucks”. The tears
symbolizes this pain, helplessness to do anything to cure the pain in the
world. I can feel it all. I may not have any pain of my own but I can see you
and feel your troubles. How much I yearn to share the burden with you. To make
your problem as mine and see the bridge through together. Yet I feel so
confused and troubled. I haven’t been given any powers to do anything. The
uneasiness creeps into me as I realize that only power I have is to feel their
heart. And this makes me cry even more. I do not cherish my life.
Not yet. As I approach towards the end of the journey a stark
realization sets in. This story is, I am afraid, incomplete. I still have not
figured out my path. The tears have stopped and the realization might have
come. But I still do not know my next step. We all have our lives. We all have
ghosts of our pasts and troubles of the future. We all love and live, but at
this present moment, this very second, while I am telling you this story, we
can cherish the fact that we all have been given the gift of a precious life.
It is the gift of life that is most precious to all. Why can’t we not give such
a gift to someone? If for a second we can stop what we are doing, and look
around us at all the people who love us and what we have achieved. Be thankful
of what we have and for a second we try to give someone the same gift of life.
One does not need blood to determine relations. We all have the same life
flowing through all our veins. In the end, it is that one tree of life from
where we are born and where will go when we depart. These few pages of my experience is my attempt to tell you
that you matter to me and I cherish the knowledge that I have been able to
become a part of your life. There are several such windows in life, where you
will be able to see into the lives of another and you will have the “power” to
do something. It is at that moment, the decision you make to close that window
or to extend your arm and become a part of them. It is that decision that will
determine what your life is worth. It is that decision that might help you
proudly say, “I have touched upon several lives and bask in each of theirs joy
and sorrow. We have taken the journey together and not alone, and I am a proud
to be a part of your life” © 2016 Wanderin_monkAuthor's Note
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