Bijli Lagi toh main kya karoon
But raita is what this is all about, this poison we want to serve as a delectable dish
- Published 2.02.20, 12:47 AM
- Updated 2.02.20, 12:47 AM
- 3 mins read
Some things are pre-ordained. Like bad things. Horrible things. Things you wouldn’t expect would happen to you, or around you. Hobei. I mean Cupid was Cupid but was given the shape of a cherub that could engage in no Cupid-like things. You know what I mean? And Godi was meant to have a lap but all that happened in that lap was lapdogs. Can you imagine! Pity the OtherOnes of the canine species. But never mind. Never pity the
OtherOnes. They don’t take kindly to any of that. They seek the pity but provided it, they will snarl and snap. I speak from experience, don’t even try going there. Never mind. And sorry. But to return to where we were before the OtherOnes of the canines distracted us: Things happen. They are meant to be. Hoy. I have said this before. Hoy. Relax. You cannot prevent what is to happen from happening. It’s written. Written in.
In fact most things are. In fact of fact it is tough to think of things that are not pre-ordained. They come written, in the secret language of lines on the palm. Not sure anyone can read them right, but the inability to read them right cannot mean the prophecies do not lie scripted there in all their detail, day, date, time etcetera etcetera. Look at the lines on this palm. Try and read. Such a labyrinth of myriad things, happened, happening and about to happen. Seems like a forbidding circuit almost, touch a line, or a wire so imagined, and the whole thing will short-circuit somewhere and set itself aflame. No wonder what was said was said. As a matter of fact, it was not said, it was commanded: Press the extensions of your palm so hard, it will send out currents. What’s that finger for? That crooked one? Jab it in, make sure you jab it in. And once you’ve jabbed it in, the current will flow, and it will electrocute. That is what the extensions of the palm are for. To kill. Press. Throttle. Kill. That’s what the circuitry of the palm tells you. That is its destiny. That is what is written in. Make a choice, people, kill! You’d have merely made a choice on a button, the killing as a result would merely be collateral consequence. Go ahead.
But why? There are many reasons not to endorse, I have always felt this. The prime reason not to endorse is who does one endorse? This dunce or that dunce? And what does one endorse? What this dunce says? Or what that dunce says? Eventually it all comes down to that, choosing between this dunce and that dunce. So why choose at all? Why make a dunce of yourself, which you are anyhow? Every dunce brays a promise; every dunce seeks a vote. We endorse this dunce, then we endorse another and in the process we go on being dunces. Agree?
Well, I don’t much care. That’s what I have learnt too — don’t care. Do what you have to, say what you have to, the consequences will be what they have to be. Don’t bother what others say.
If you bother what the others say and be guided by that, you will not be yourself. You might as well become the other. Why bother being yourself if you have to bother about the other? Or being the other?
But what is this all about? This public introspection in print? Why? What has triggered this? If this is introspection why is it not silent and private? Why is it being played out in public, distributed about from home to home this Sunday? Why this exhibitionism? Thinking? Do it by yourself, quietly. Don’t pour it out in the open, like raita. But raita is what this is all about, this poison we want to serve out as a delectable dish. Have a taste of it. And while you do so,
Listen ye folks on the park
If you insist on keeping it blocked
Let me not keep you in the dark
You will soon come to be shocked.