The disheveled rumpled papers, scattered from printer feed tray down to the floor, gives room an appearance of a lousy office busy at unusual hours. It’s a half past noon, when everyone would try to look busy eagerly waiting for lunch, an appetizer after half of a day out in the sun. The window air conditioner makes usurious sound like of a motor engine; it camouflages the cantankerous noise made the metal framed pedestal fan. The fan base has served more than its age; the pedestal now stands welded to the side metal channel supporting the roof.
Sitting on armless chair, I stare at the partitioned window. Amidst the changes all around, only the window doesn’t changes, although the one of the glass pane broke which has been replaced by the ply board with printed paper glued to it. Now this window pane serves as a board to stick out important deadlines, milestones due to be achieved, New Year resolution to be abandoned.
Despite my best efforts to stay sober, New Year started with carousal. I don’t blame myself, May be I should. May be the land of prohibition or the banality of human nature. It drags one to pounce on everything prohibited, as if prohibition is meant to be broken. Like every fence needs an intruder. Like the boisterous kids on an adventurous expedition, who prefers to jump the wall than to use gate.
The harsh land with extreme disparity doesn’t give you options, it leaves you melancholic. You began to search for meaning of life in the sands, thorny bushes as does the jackals and the wild asses. The salt desert is mystique; I have not ventured far into it but plan to do so. Once the land parch, the brine vapor out and a thick encrustation of salt crack up. As it turns white like a January landscape in the Arctic, except for the heat, I plan to run wild. It is to praise, to shout and to swear; not at the world, not to me but everything in between, for fragments of life and occasional bout of deep thoughts.
One plans things out, some calls it resolution. I never did. If procrastination was any conviction, life would have been easy. At least it would have been soothing to the sullenly feeling, to the parody of opening every mail that starts with “you are invited to….” with bright eyes and pounding heart, but it is ends as an invitation to sales preview at a neighborhood retailer. It is not what you wanted, may be the next mail…for life moves on when the world stands still.
443 words so far in 2012 on Barunjha’s Blog
© Barun Jha || 2012
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