Living in the comforts of her city abode,there is nothing that life does not fulfill. Materially and socially both, she finds herself in the situation many would kill to be in. It’s the venom of the Generation Y cosmopolitan existence. She is just a girl and has a reputation of being wide eyed and gullible. She lives in the times where a sex video will circulate faster than a call for people to urgently donate blood. Where people are treated as institutes and feelings like business transactions. Who would not, in times like these have an existential crisis or two? But there is always that bottle of old monk to torpid the pain before the ‘fight or flight’ action of the body inclines itself towards flight. Some days, just some days she wished she could get away from it all and find a way to delve into the Flip Side of her existence.
She clearly doesn’t
Belong here. The rickshaw driver passes her by in his ornate little ride not stopping to stare but to observe. The alienation comes from within. She walks a mile and discovers the people of the sleepy town wide awake at an hour where most of the city folk are likely to be sound asleep in their satin sheets and feather comforters. The shops
Smell of fresh ink on parchment as the freshly printed newspapers are unpacked and set up on the stands, ready to be sold.The more she explores, the more the feeling of estrangement is driven away. She doesn’t belong there yet she finds comfort in little signs of mankind and humanity. The handiwork of her beautiful salmon coloured dress perfectly complements the colours and tassels of the ornate rickshaw. Little kids being rushed to school surmounted by the smell of soap and sandalwood exhibit an enthusiasm to learn, unmatched by most adults. The fresh stash of beetle leaves being washed and set out for business. The signs of art, beauty and debauchery continue to haunt her as she stands in a corner and lights one up, watching the town wake up and smell the coffee. We aren’t much different, she realized. Life and death across the border remains suspiciously similar to her neck of the woods. We aren’t much different, she mused, just a little more consumed in ourselves. And we all choose to live double lives.
We are becoming empty in the quest for that little bit more. Sure, we digress, we laugh, muse etc. eventually to return to our state of tired progression through all that we put ourselves through.
