Tuesday 2 October 2012

The Sarcasm


The world lay buried in the depth of that tearing wintry night except some. They were the dogs, the beggars and the fervent nocturnal youth belonging to the civilized niche of this classified society. The smoke, the wine, the rasping music, the glittering lights and unrestrained wildness was what night meant to those reveling brutes. A door pushed open and a rhapsodizing crowd oozed out onto the empty, silent streets. It was a frigid dank winter dawn and the Sun was yet to rise. The raucous music that poured out through the door tried to amalgamate with the mundane moist air of the tranquil dawn but alas, it was hoarse enough to disrupt the silence till several yards. The intoxicated crowd marched on the streets with a drunken valor and faltering gait. The words were lost before they could find their way out moreover the ears were too deaf to hear.
The flame of their youthful ardor had died and they straddled through that narrow lane slandering everything which their drowsy drunken eyes could perceive. One of them went and kicked the lamp post while the other a bare street dog that lay half dead with cold…..and it woke up startled from its grave, whining and wagging its tail. As they made their way through those desolate slumbering streets rummaging the tranquility, a couple of sleepy eyes peered through the heavy eye lids as they pulled themselves up with great effort. The dying night was heralding the murky dawn……and as he craned his crest out of that Prussian blanket, he perceived the ferine roaring creatures mocking the wretched beings that lined the cobbled pavements. He stared at them with intense disgust and subtle heaviness as if endeavoring to fathom those sluggish beasts. One of them listlessly toddled towards the sleeping man and bent over him measuring that abominable dour beggar. She murmured something but it was lost in that cold moist air. The beggar gazed at the obtrusively clad tall girl with awe while she stared as if he was a loathsome object. It was perhaps his grotesque poverty and his unkemptness that made her look at him inimically. A faint smile smudged the corners of the dry lips and taking the shawl off her shoulders; she threw it at him….followed by a piercing laughter and then trotted away. It was laughter of ridicule!!!
The morning light slowly took reign over the night sky and traces of life appeared on the streets. A couple of municipal workers with two huge brooms were swishing the streets and heaped those colored wrappers at a corner of the pavement. The grey crested retired populace streamed towards the local park and the road was sparkling with life again. The beggar slipped out of his numerously patched torn blanket and wrapping himself in his newly gifted shawl he marched towards the shallow crowd that thronged the road several yards away. He jostled through the murmuring mob and perceived a thin delicate frame of a woman. It lay stiff but was still breathing. It was her, the generous owner of the gifted shawl!!! She had swooned and her companions had fled.
The beggar stooped over the delicate drunken beauty and sprinkled some water on her weary countenance, took the shawl off his shoulders and wrapped the girl with the same. But there wasn’t any smile of mockery or detest. The sarcasm of Life!!!

Monday 1 October 2012

The Ticking Clock!!


The fingers glided over the keys of that uneven keyboard and a stream of letters appeared on that white screen. He had been doing this for the last few days perhaps making an attempt to beget a creative literary piece. But his relentless efforts and his old ingeniousness had beguiled him……or hadn't been generous enough to give his thoughts a window……the window of words. He had been scavenging through every obscure corner of his brain to scrape out something productive but alas…all his efforts had been rendered futile!!
He sauntered around in his little room puffing out small rings of smoke from his cigar and reflecting upon everything that he could recollect and could submit his thoughts to those keys which arrayed the keyboard. Distressed by his futility, he dropped himself on a big couch and gazed at the massive historic clock that hung from an ancient nail embedded in the east wall. The red of the retreating sun which peered through the thin parallel stretches of the clouds tinged the room with its warm shade and illuminated the ceaseless time piece. But was it really ceaseless????
It had never stopped since he had known that he was in senses and that treasured clock had been an epitome of constancy and perfection. This ancient object of grandeur had always been revered and preserved because of its faithfulness and precision…..and his still eyes gazed vigilantly from their hollow shelter. He had been making comparisons between the relentlessly scurrying time and his insipid life. And he was suddenly struck with awe. A sudden trepidation....and a fear grappled him that it was the time that measured his life. It was not just the time either; rather it was the time piece that hung on that east wall. He could see the clock ticking away…..but not with its usual pace. The hands pinioned to a massive brass nail seemed to drag themselves sluggishly in that huge hollow chamber ….as if they would stop the next moment. His fears got exacerbated. He sat straight on his couch alarmed and perplexed…..waiting for the last minute when he would perish with the dying time!!!
He sat dumbstruck with horror and the clock seemed to run out of life….ticking slower and slower with each passing moment. There was a dreadful silence…except the clatter of a swift galloping heart and the clickety-click of the dying clock. All of a sudden a lady pushed in through the closed door and interrupted the silent cacophony. She pushed the half dead man with mild shudder and he woke up startled from his deep slumber. The lady pressed on his forehead a tender kiss….and handed him a cup of tea and departed from the room. He briskly made his way towards his unfinished task and made a dramatic narration of this fearsome reverie. It was an opus which portrayed the joy of life that filled the gap in between the brackets of birth and death. The concluding lines of the piece read ‘I receded away with the dying time. And I was dead!!!’
The next morning the lady entered into the little room and found him lying supine on his couch still, cold and dead. There was the finished piece of his last work and the dead clock gazing at the silent corpse.