The solemnly journey of a little wanderer

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”

Author's Note

Do you think it is hard for someone to connect? The story is based in things you generally see in India.

Do you think the ending is abrupt or fast?

Any other comments are always welcome!!