“I wish someone told me” said Sadanand gulping his last shot of tequila down
his throat. This was his seventh for the night. Not a known drinker;
something today made him weak from inside, an unknown, excruciating pain was
making inroads into his heart. He seemed to lose his control over his speech which
is otherwise very rare and reserved.
He wished he had a company- one that could be his drink-buddy. He had been
a recluse, a bigot all through his life. Always did things on his own
terms. An intellectual whose thought process was adored and applauded by his
peers and admirers; the most brilliant analyst and sociologist, who strove
hard, all his life to reach out to the rural parts of India and do mindboggling
research and analysis. His findings were stunning and seemed to invoke great
sense of onus on Indians.
But, today he was upset. Reason was known but accepting it wasn’t his
forte. He was afraid that his loneliness had begun to speak in its own tone.
The tone wasn’t smoothing. It poked him with his own secluded knife asking him
uncomfortable questions: “You haven’t
done justice to your life, have you?”, “Why did you defy your loved ones?”, “You
are wrong. All these years you spent time learning and delving the foundation
of societies, the perception of people who are the main contributors of the
society and in the whole process you forgot who you are- what are your own
needs?”.
He was 60 now- unmarried, with no “real” friends and with lots of mean friends
and students who vied to proclaim themselves as his partner or best student to
gain a share from his reputation. He lost his mother when he was 35 and father
at 40. He never came to see them. Not because he did not love them, but because
he loved his work too much to spare time for his conceivers. The news of his
mother’s death didn’t sadden him neither did his father’s death. He sat with
his eyes closed for s minute or so to offer his condolences. Even when he
closed his eyes, he failed to snatch memories of his childhood with his mother
and father. Crude, was the word now hammering in his head.
All he could reminiscent was when his mother told him in
seventh standard, “Son, you can earn everything but love in your life.” He tried
hard to recall the situation behind this line, but in vain. Cursed himself
badly for that. When all his friends were enjoying MNC job, hefty package
salary, he was down in some rural, remote places on the planet, studying and
interacting the people. He mocked them by saying that they were doing job just
for the sake of luscious life and were devoid of ideas, passion, and courage to
face, accept and do what they loved to do. Today, he lacked the courage to
face, accept and live with the fact that he was left with none. He realized,
not always one feels the peacefulness in what he loves to do because the more
you love to do, the more you are pulled and made isolated from the reality, the
more you are forced to forget those unbreakable connections you have got with
you. Nonetheless, it was too late to realize.
He never cared to look at the other side of his thoughts.
Now, it was inevitable. The other side was staring with bare eyes at him, his
body asked questions for despising its needs, and his heart seemed to show the
deception of never letting it free for his own parents or anyone else per se.
His convictions were mounting high and each time they did so, he felt his heart
burdened, eyes sore, mind perturbed. The melee inside his heart was soon to be
a riot and chaos instigated by some ignored facts of his life, some strangely
estranged sadness. He found himself midst of the riot, waiting for someone to hold his
hands, escort him to a placid place with love and affection, placate him
telling that this will pass, try to bring a smile on his face, try to caress
him, fondle with his hair. He saw his mother in this riot, ran to her; the
closer he wished to go, the farther she was moving. He wanted to hug her
tightly, but she moved on- in a jiffy, he lost her.
He murmured his last words before falling into the valley
conquered by his dark emotions, “I wish
someone told me I was wrong”………………
What a take on the prompt...Really good. :-)
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