Retrospective

Always though of doing something different. Yet fell prey to the hands of routine

A quiet and dim day was coming to the closure. The hustling vehicles fainted off to monotony. The trees silenced to the humid. And my eyes blurred on whiskey were fixed to an unknown. The fumes from the garbage heap brought intoxication through the broken pane of the window. The living carcasses on their daily routine of getting back to home were stinking of the road and sweat, the only thing they managed to afford each day. A day with nothing new to it and one that I was so accustomed to, kept me in my senses. And so the apparition was never a dream. I just had to bring it in or may be to walk me out. In either case I needed to open the door. I had to do it for he once said that there would somewhere be a door kept open for me. But to reach it I have to open a few more doors.

The silence was breaking with the chirping of the crickets, repetitive, irritating but hardly unavoidable. This had a strange resemblance with my life except for the fact that I did have some charming moments without the crickets. The rest was an ablution of a soul that never decayed but cried for abnegation in vain. All that soul needed was restitution rather than resuscitate. Apparently, everything was fine. The smile was intact as well. It’s only that the mind refused to talk. A mere fact was, it built a world of its own, abandoning what the eyes saw. Bundled up and cuddling in its own kibbutz, cold and calm, mercurial and defensive I was in solitude may not be in a literal sense though. Thus the apparition, now a bit familiar was still a distraction, the door still shut or maybe there was a requiem of them by then.

I felt a well rehearsed tip-toe making a dull flattened noise on the damp cemented soil. No harm meant but that actually did disturb my sanctity in desperation. The stillness around intrigued me and the only expression of it was a soft unconscious smile. I inhaled despair probably to fortify the soul within for one thing I was sure of is that the moment the soul walks away, so will my disparities. And then I would be left in a world of unasked yet calculated equality. The equality, that have put me here today into a stubborn state of downs, fake rectitude and impolite promises. The planned words have shackled me leaving behind a structure designed in its own way. Offensive is the retrospect. I waited for time but by the time it answered, its healing power did mean nothing to me. The crowding faces created a void deep within but crystal was the apparition. The doors unopened even now were bruised of toe-marks. I was yet to take the first step though.

I was now facing a wall an inch from me at the most. With every other thing in place, all I did was to open the door falling prey to the equality of life again. There were more doors. And I moved from one to the other and then another, clearing the bruises and facing the wall and chasing the apparition perhaps. Only then, at a time when I was satisfied with the nothingness beyond the doors, that I opened one more, just to find another with the apparition beside it. I intended to bring it in or may be walk me out. Whatever be it, I had to open the door and I did. I opened the door to one more, and then another and then again. And I have been doing this through the years gone by for he said, once the doors close, once the legs close, there is no going back. Yet, I can’t stop but just watch time to pass by.

Author's Note

Anything you think...

Reviews

[Avinash]

This one slices an individual into many. Every facet of this piece has its own defined color and the best part it, you can not name them. Originality seems to be becoming your middle name.