The midsummer night's dreams are becoming
too indulging that they stretch in time
all day.The reality seems one of the
options for mind, where as to not to loose
myself from its option I need to bootstrap our
status quite cohesively albeit with some morbid
disentanglement from the long acquainted way
ward traits. The whole thing culminates in the day's
cliffs and troughs , getting assimilated by
evening of the evening into the dark night which
leaves me to me, to gaze at the past rage,enrage
and the garbage since dawn.The whining pathos some
times pull me to the edges of the known world into
uninhabited spaces.On one such occasion I bought
a weekly which sells at the shop, only 3 copies a week
compared to the popular one which does 25. While
going through that diverged progeny of its parent
weekly, I saw a book being serialized in it.It is
a scathing take on the first epic of our civilization.
The fact that I would have undone all the
civility by that time of the day, does not
make it an anomaly to look being its reader.
Though it does not interest me much,I
flick to the next page. But I cant bury my
reminiscences unvoiced, of that book ,
he had got me to read two decades ago.
The voices of the past haunt , with its
image mollifying my fragile serenity.
The weekly is Lankesh by Gauri Lankesh and
the book is Seethayana by Dr.Polanki Rama Murthy.
In the dark chambers of the night, as the
world seems going apart, I clutch to that
singularity called hope. The integrity that
I impart to it, draining my vitality transcends
my relevance beyond now.Along with time.Only
to discover many new "now"s. Which just toss
me to the next.The monotony of this truely
has reached the nadir now. The only escape
from this now is the now of a different kind.
A fully actual one, with all virtues and
the real one. A self contained cocoon which
spawns all my restlessness around it like
the thread which webs insulating me from
the chaos in and around. During the
transitive aberrations like these , an
"interpreter of maladies" due to the
"inheritance of loss" it makes.
Then my vanishing persona wakes.