In Quest of a Wall

Posted by Ashish Thakur on Thursday May 17, @04:11AM

We have this great need to possess..........

In the quest of, “a wall”’

Life they say comes in different phases. It so happens that, there are twists and turns, all along the path that we traverse. The road of life is often not a barren stretch spreading across miles. All around there are frames, moving frames. I often wish I were a recording camera, recording every minute that I live by. But that is nigh impossible, but then we are gifted with recalling our past as memories.

This is a story, “yes a story”, for, it has no future and no past. It reads like an excerpt taken from formulations of words. Often proclaimed as the originals in the form of ones writings and ones thoughts. We all seem to contemplate events that are, and often are not, meaningful and illusionary.

The story begins”

It holds a lost soul, a soul embarking on its journey of his actual existence late in life, yes, he was living, but without any idea why, and for what, or for whom. He had never ever given it a thought that “he was”, or what he needs to do. Taking every living day as it came and more or less ended it with the similarly. The expression that he carried all this while was the same as he wore it everyday, never a hint of any expression, neither did it show any disgust, nor satisfaction ever. The morning was as good as the night, the night as good as the morning.

He lived, “alone” yes alone. “Shelter”, never meant a thing for him, as he had none, nor did he contemplate ever having one. He never gave any thought as to what he needed to do next. And so life went on for him the same way day after day. His communication skills, if we consider them to be any, was exceedingly, well lets say negligible. Any person, who did try an exchange a few words, got little or no response, and if one did, it was more a gesture, an affirmative nod, or, a short word, “aah” and “naa” or “theek” meaning okay, and you and I wouldn’t call it a conversation exactly.

So, now the question which comes up is, “what would make a story here. Yes I thought similarly too, but, there is in essence a story in every aspect of living. As long as there is life, there always will be a story. And yes there is a story here, a story of an aspect of living. For this person one day changed, and a change which was too visible, and difficult to ignore. My thoughts exactly, as I sit wondering, and questioned myself, “what brought about this change, and what could have been the possible reason for it all. Most of all, he had begun to ”think“, good heavens, ”think“, what’s so precious about thinking and what’s different here, don’t we all ”think“. Yes we all do, but the scenario here was more baffling. A person needs a reason to think. It meant, this person here, had found, ”his reason”. The gods up there must have realized that this, wasn’t what they had devised life form for, this odd man just wasn’t fitting their design of the whole. They definitely must have taken it as their failing, or else how else could a living being, not think. And I am sure the gods thought it wiser to rectify them, for a human cannot exist if, “it cannot think”.

And so, getting back to, “what induced, the thinker in him, even if a mild one”, the fact that it got him to thinking, is as good as, “a bolt out of the blue”. Knowing it to be a fact, that one requires just that one moment, an insight, to spark off, to start a fire. He for one would have not realized what he was now armed with, or how this change was to affect him and his days ahead, and in short, take away all his, “that world of sweet nothings that he never possessed. Doomed as one might call it, to the justice or the injustice, favored upon him.

It was an usual day for him, and was going about it the same usual way, strolling through the mid-afternoon summer, the heat though intense, meant little for him. There was little traffic on the roads, as most preferred an afternoon well spent in front or within the confines of the cooling devices, and facing the grueling and oppressive heat of the summer. And our man here was ignorant of the fact, that heat is something to dislike and feel oppressive about. The afternoon being brazenly hot, and peaking at late noon, had another surprise under its wings, which it would release to the “unaware”, under the guise of a “dust storm”. Not many real hot summer afternoons can pass by, without resulting in one. And yes “unaware” as it is, one never knows till it hits you. It came all of a sudden on this day too, first, the dust rolled, and curled within, as if playing with its own self. Then slowly rising, and all of a sudden assuming a thunderous speed, and taking along, whatever came its way. The natural forces have their own sense of equality. They pick up dust from one place and deposit it to the next, this “next” happens to be a place, which has seen a thorough cleaning and sweeping of the day, and, found waiting to welcome, “a coating of the same again”. Only difference being that this dust came from a place, which could not be swept or cleaned. They were busy taking the dust from your domain, ironical isn’t it, for one for you have lived not in one but two places, if we go by the analogy drawn, the one that we take pride in quoting often. “We all belong to the dust”, and if we belong to the dust, then we have identified ourselves to the dust of two places, ofcourse without the knowledge of it being from two different places. Nevermind al this but the fact remains as to how, and what has all this got to do with our character here.

Well it goes like this” as the dust storm raged, it was from some innocuous place that it had picked up a piece of paper. Now this paper had traversed a long way or so it seemed, the state it was in, and it had decided somehow to cling onto this character here, for no apparent reason. This piece of paper happened to be, “a poster”, of a well known actress. This character though feeling the discomfort of the poster clinging onto him, but found him in no situation to rid him of it. He was helpless, as the wind beat at him with unrelenting speed, making it impossible for him to move even a single limb, so as to rid him of the poster. Helplessness led him to acceptance of the situation, and made no attempts further to rid him of the poster, reconciling with the fact, and letting it “be” is the way it was. No further thought was spared to feel or not to feel its discomfort. He let the storm go by, and that it did eventually, one its way disrupting a few odds and ends here and there. But, the disruption, as yet, “not foreseen”, was looming large on the horizon of change. This causative “factor” that was about to take effect in certain ways, as you too would, with the unfolding of the story.

With the eventual subsiding of the storm, this person taking natures fury in stride walked on. It was then, when he felt the discomfort again, and realization dawned, he had a piece of paper harmoniously clinging onto him, as if meaning to protect him from the sudden storm. He eased it out away from his body, he gave it a nonchalant glance, before releasing it to the dull wind, persisting after the storm. It was the glance that started it all, for he never gave a meaningful look usually, to things that came his way. He would not have known what he had missed, or what the poster had in it for him, but for that one slight glance And. that, somewhere within him, brought something to the fore, an inclination lying dormant or unawakened. Being on the street for as long as he was, he really had not looked at anyone, at least, in the manner in which one generally looks at others. He definitely was not a thinking man. Had he been one he never would have made it this far without a single thought of desire. Yes, “desire” isn’t this what makes people think, “desire” a man usually focuses, and chases ones whole life, inciting within the idea to own, to possess, a never ending blasphemy committed onto the self. Now we cannot pity this person if he never gave a thought to thinking ever. And nor do we need to wonder, how a simple “poster”, can make a person think. He must have seen many of these all around the places. “Yes ofcourse”, he surely must have, but then none of them had sought refuge in him, and shown the need to stay with him, rather than getting blown by the wind.

The poster in hand, he walked along, clutching at it, lest the wind came and chance to blow it off again, away from him. This act from his end of “clutching” the poster was the first act of a thinking man, for it is a thinking and conniving man that holds “on”, and not “let go”, an act of possession, which brings to the fore, the “desire”. One has to think to connive, it’s a state where the mind actively converses with the self, to initiate any action to be taken after weighing the pros an cons, and adding value to that something. The journeys for any thinking man is a long drawn one, for there is “contemplation” which one turns to, and take the path when one comes along one. Weather or not, one is on the right path or not, it has forsaken. In an effort to create a short cut, one veers away from the factual reality.

The next step, like that of adolescent does, he walked into the world of a thinking man. He wanted shelter, infact felt the need of one. As the there was every chance of rain following the storm, and thereby resulting in the loss of his very recent, and the lone possession, that chanced by. At times it makes me wonder, “why”, why do we give so much importance to the possessions we chance by, more than even the possessions that we earn the hard way. Well, now with a possession in hand, the thought flow of this person focused on just one aspect, that of, “shelter”. He wondered what kind of shelter to give to this newfound friend of his, would the tree provide it shelter, “no” that would not keep the rain away. He had to find something more suitable, and so he had to “think”, and a lot of it too. Answers, he did not get many, for he had no clue, as to where and how to find a place, earlier any place would do, but now it need to protect his possession too.

For the first time, the fixed expression changed, and that too of assuming a grim expression, one that is lost in a sea of worries. He needed answers that would lead him to solutions, now thinking doesn’t come easy, and specially when one is searching for something specific, the answers are hard to come by. The expression which one normally portrays seems to fade into that of an expression lost in the horizon of a setting sun. He finally sat down to contemplate the various thoughts that had crossed him in the last few minutes. The most prominent question he asked of him, was, what kind of a world was he in, is this the world in which he existed al this while, and where did he fit into it all, and what is it that he had done all this while. The questions ofcourse came easy, it were the “answers”, which were not easy to find, when one starts questioning the “self”, and the basics of ones own existence. Living has never asked you to think “why” do u live, it has wanted you to occupy oneself in the realm of living and nothing else. If one happens to tangle the self in the web of thoughts, then it is ones own making. “Cause” if one decides that, all is not as one thought it to be, then, there is no end to it all, one then has in all probability taken off, to a journey that goes on for eternity, and provides no solutions at all.

This man here had no idea, the “path”, his fate had taken him on, was to lead him to the eternal process of useless thinking, the escape from which is virtually nonexistent. Caught within the web, came another tangle, that of, “reasoning”, “comparing”, and the beginnings of “desire”. Looking at the rest of the world, he realized this whole movement he saw, being on the street, disappear within the confines of brick and concrete walls, spaces hidden behind the doorways, and theses people called them “home”. He did not have any, and it made him wonder “why”. He was like the rest all around him, so “why” did he not have the necessary walls to disappear within. He looked at the poster once again, unfolding it and ironing out the creases, and thought “yes I need a wall for it”, on which it can be put up, and would be safe too.

The next thing it got our man thinking again was the need of a “wall”, yes a wall, and he thought hard and with all his might, how can he possibly get a wall for his poster. “How” and “where” was his continuing thought, and in the long drawn process he had no answers with him. Not being able to come up with any logical solutions to his problem, he happened to chance by a stranger, whom he thought would be possessing sufficient knowledge, that would answer his queries, and help solve his immediate problem. Putting forth his question, he looked expectantly at the stranger, the stranger appeared even more perplexed with this mans query. He looked around him and then as in deep thought replied he was in no position to help him, as he had other far more important matters of his own to attend to. But left with a note of advice, pointing to the various boundary walls of the surrounding buildings. He had seen the poster in, the mans hand, and had presumed him to be a worker, wanting to paste the poster on some wall surface, as a promotional campaign.

Well expressing his views the stranger went on ahead, leaving a more than ever thinking man behind. This thought of pasting the poster on the wall opened a whole new dimension of thoughts. This possibility, got him thinking further, a wall is exposed not only to the weather but to the whole world, and, without knowing he had embarked upon the next stage of the thinking world. Though still in his infancy, step after step, he was progressing into this world of thinkers. This was his initiation to the response we term as “selfishness”, ofcourse he still did not know “that”, he was still in a state, where he was learning new words, of which, he still needed to learn the meanings.

A vagabond by nature, and an uncertain background, he was in all a clean slate to be more stating. This mans future was at the beginnings of its inception, his “self” is what was under creation. As we understand, a man without a “self”, is a man without a soul. The thought of not sharing his possession was his initiation to the world of “self”, the world of thinking men.

The “desire” of a wall that he could call his own became his prime concern, he wanted and needed it so badly.

Suddenly the task of which he saw before himself was colossal, for he as yet, needed to identify the ways and means to acquire a wall for him. The daunting task made him think harder and harder. This led him to his first tryst with pain, he had gotten himself a headache, and something he had not experienced ever before. This splitting headache made him feel, of a world spinning and losing its balance. And in it, he seemed more worried about the poster rather than himself, to him it seemed like an unknown force trying to take his only possession away from him. This made his resolve even stronger, giving him the strength to fight his headache, and whatever next that would come in between him and his prized possession. The irony of it all lay in one basic fact, he had no idea what he was fighting for, “the poster”, or, “the person printed on the poster”, all he was aware was, this is what now belonged to him irrespectively.

There were too many firsts happening to him all of a sudden, the pressure he faced was immense, but the strength provided by the act of possession, and therefore the fear or losing this possession was stronger than any of the problems encountered. The day was about to end, the gloom of dusk had just started setting in, and here we had a worried man, did I say “worried”, that would be in all likeliness an understatement. He was “worried”, what else could he do except worry, for the quest of a wall was yet to be fulfilled.

The evening traffic, had peaked with vehicles trying to reach their destinations, he looked at all the vehicles going past, there were long cues on the crossing junction, long line of cars, scooters, and buses, with their horns blaring loudly and impatiently. There were some people shouting about in their anger and frustration, meaningless verbal exchanges, their hands moving in uncertain gesticulations, all around, the environment around seemed charged, in “tandem” with what was going on within him. The glare of the car lights started hitting him at intermittent intervals, and reminding him of the task ahead, the question still looming large, where was he to find his very own “personal wall”.

Looking at the crowd around him, rushing with intended destination, whereto, for what, and why, were they all thinking on the same lines, were they all too looking for their own wall surfaces, or had they found theirs, and were rushing back to them. The latter seemed more logical or else they too would have been on the street like him, and looking and searching for their opportunity. The frequent light from the passing cars and scooters and buses had already dimmed his thinking, which, to begin with, hadn’t as yet formed a coherence between the real and fantasy, his day itself being a tumultuous of events, and had been dented with hard hitting thoughts. He felt completely drained of all energy, and seemingly ebbed towards the unknown, that feeling of emptiness and numbness.

The night brought out the stars, feeling worn down and tired, he lay down on the pavement, his usual place. He looked up towards the sky, and saw the stars, he saw them twinkle, and he wondered, what are these, are they too stuck on a wall up there.

To be continued further...