Wednesday, February 15, 2017

In all the Hocus Pocus.

It's dusty and it gets dusty, this is a construction site and we don't care about the dust, mud or concrete taints upon our boots. 

While noises from grinding machines have now found their place in my ears and head as symphonies, while hammering of nails have become bass to the rhythm, I look up and around. While pine trees seem to dance upon the rhythm I hear, and the wind gushes, I get to wonder, what messages it brings from all over the world? If only we could know the wind on its subatomic level, we would have been a little more humble, little more caring, little more beholden, and perhaps, who knows, a little more loving and giving. While the firmament happens to be canvas of wind, cloud and birds, one can get lost and never be found, wondering and pondering upon thoughts that rejoices oneself, memories bitter and better to bring smiles, and each day, towards evening, everything turns golden. 

Perhaps, that's what we all are, we are different colours under different spectrum, we just have to set our spectrum right. 

I wonder about the lads who work hard, while few are older than my grandparents, I envy their zeal. The zeal of not giving up, the zeal of working hard and the thirst of making little money, all they can while they stay here. 

It is easy to complain and put each other down, in the name of freedom of speech, we have succumbed into the notion of being a vagrant and a vagabond, perhaps, it is always spicy to hear the stories of otherwise? I don't know what else to relate that to, but somewhere, we all are right and we all are wrong. I wonder what's going through those kids who haven't made into college and how their parents are reciprocating upon the so called, or branded failures of now. On the schedule of life, nobody actually knows where they are headed to, just that everybody feels that they know what they want and they are approaching their goals. While one creates franchises over oneself, that this is me and that is what I want, without worrying or pondering about what might come? I again look at them, the rays of sun reflecting upon them and making them look like minions tainted by gold dust, I again wonder, do they miss their families? Perhaps, all men travel to make a fortune, and embrace their wives while they have lesser stress or while they think they have taken care of what they should be stressed about. In all that, I again wonder, why isn't that our men are coming forward to make their livings out of these works. There lies a mine of gold, a fortune of an emperor beneath these rugs of dust and mud, will our men ever see it through their compasses where the true fortune lies? 

And in this hocus pocus, a one among many, one among the hoi polloi, I, just can't but appreciate everything that is around me. While many on the other side of the world, opening up their monitor screens and logging into the so called mainstream media wants to read something nasty about my nation, I just can't help, but compare it with a decent high school girl, whose scandals or rumours are much awaited upon the walls of corridors. I can't say that everybody is happy in my nation, that every body is content here, nor can I tell you that we do things differently, we don't. We are not different from the rest of the world, we just aren't mean to each other on faces, we still have that decency intact. Nor are we openly racist or on that matter, openly open to express our thoughts, we are just us, trying to be humble, and we have managed that till date. If you don't believe me, well, what can I say? We don't have mafia ganglords peddling drugs and building empires out of it, we don't have to pay weekly wages for doing our businesses to the thugs, we don't have slums sprouting around, we don't have curfews in every corners and nooks of blocks, we don't have load shredding and power cuts, we don't have rampant corruption - at least you will see the infrastructures being built. We might not be perfect, but if we go to compare ourselves with the rest of the world, we aren't that bad as we are portrait-ed. We are just chillies and cheese lovers, who finds solaces in not being bothered. Peace comes with sacrifices and choices. 

The dust still continues, concrete has started to set, and my boots are messier than what it was yesterday, and I still remain to be thankful, for this nation where I was born, didn't judge me over the creed and colour of my skin, but the marks that I scored and gave me education and pocket money, to pursue my dreams. Perhaps, if only we realized, the grass where we stood, still is and shall remain green. Because, one may not see, but there are many men and women, who have sacrificed a lot for this nation, and their stories, still remain unsung. 

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