Almost fifteen years ago, I thought that the Moon was made of cheeze and the Sun set behind the horizon each evening. I thought that the fireflies were flashlights of fairies and that the angels were always watching us for bad deeds. I grew up imagining that life will always be sunshines and blossoms. I craved to be a grown up for I thought it would be wonderful to not always do what others told me to. I was dying to get out into the world and get that freedom which I so much envied the elders for. I dreamt of going places, meeting new people and seeing the world.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
(image courtesy: google)
As it has turned out, the Moon is not made of cheeze and the Sun never sets. There are neither any fairies nor angels; and above all, life is not at all a sunshine. As I look around now, I find only terror, death, bloodshed, and grief. Brothers are killing brothers, children are cussing their parents, parents are abandoning their children, democracies are turning into plutocracies, armies are shedding innocent blood without heed to humanity, industries are desecrating the environment and all that I once thought existed is now either extinct or a myth. Add to that, the humdrum and hullabaloo of daily “normal” life. The boorish beeps and clicks of our smartphones and tablets, the constant hum of machines that hold our brittle lives together, the honks and screeches of a perennial traffic, the everyday quarrels with the very people whom we share the (so called) strongest bonds with.
Chaos. Chaos. Chaos.
(image courtesy: google)
This was not what I had imagined life to be, and the more I get to know about life, this world, the people of this world, I crave to be in a different one. I long to go back to my childhood. How blissful was that innocent ignorance.
The daily front cover news about crimes against humanity have sent me into a stage where I rather prefer to be unaware, than be aware but incapable of doing something about it. How did the world develop so much of acrimony that it has now come to a stage where we cannot trust our own selves? How did we become so vulnerable that a few words can spur us into killing and conquering? How did we become so obdurate that we are deaf towards the strident cries of mothers and children? Or have our hearts been veiled against all feelings of compassion, sympathy, care and kindenss? How did this bitter truth become a reality which now seems to be spreading its wings like some uncanny, dark griffin? How did we come so far?
Now my dreams have transformed into fears, big and small. Fears of dying or losing someone I know, fear of getting attacked by some fanatic gunman in my very home, fear of being guilty (of extremism) by association, fear of one day waking up to ruins of my city. Now I wish I could somehow go back into that stage of my life when my only concern was a teacher’s reprimand and the bully next door; when I
did not know need not know what lay ahead of today.
How bitter is the truth about everything that I once thought I knew.