I like sunsets, sunrise, chairs, compact tables, cats, books, pages, nature, sparkling wine, scotch whisky and moving pictures. I dislike dishonesty, disloyalty, lies, chattering mouths, deranged hands, torn pages, heavy clouds, tears, and sometimes, the entire mankind. I despise immorality, vice, felony, and the wrong. Even to this date, I remember dismembering the society and squishing its limbs on the bright white marbles of the patio in my house when I was just 16. I remember a tiny girl getting maltreated by her father in front of the nonchalant eyes of the society. I could feel my hands being enveloped by hot air, so was my temperament. And the aftermath of this mind aghast compelled me into hurling a hefty piece of a rock towards the man that resulted in a serious flow of blood under the scorching sun’s watch. Till this day I am quite unsure and baffled as to why my parents shoved me into the pit of a month’s house arrest and constant rebuke when all I did was teach that burly man a lesson.
I haven’t seen that girl ever since. Nor that pungent father.
I heard a loud thunderous harsh rap on the door. Something I wished someone would do the same on my life’s door. Well, surprisingly, no one, in a span of 2 months, has knocked my door; leave alone with such a gigantic aggression.
“What makes a call roar so loud? The need for a calling. Life does stifles us with such yawps and calls, ah, only if we listen to the calling!” I murmured as I stood up to push my body against the lonely whiffs of air that surrounded me and turn into a perfect ballerina, sway my feet, jingle my hands and help my head make love with a corny stiffness. “Just the way they do, just the way…”
As I progressed towards the door, it felt like the door approaching me with a shade of apprehension. I could sense voices. Not your average voices but the ones you hear where the mind is disturbed. How can one keep his sanity in check when he is surrounded by an army of insanity?
“Let me tell you something. This tale is not about the insanity that lingers outside, but it is about the insanity that lurks within.”
I heard the door creak for the first time. What immodesty, what humiliation.
“Hello!” A familiar face with smile plastered on it uncovered as my eyes gazed on the guest.
“Hello Mr. Gavin, how are you doing today?” I replied to the smile and then the human.
Mr. Gavin is one of those run-of-the-mill neighbors you would see slogging for five days a week across pavements to work and the rest of the week skewing barbeques and raising temperatures all across the neighborhood. We didn’t talk much for I had a lazy tongue to initiate an hourly conversation with him. And the fact that his head reflected sun’s radiant lights was something that had convinced me into thinking that this man would go on spurting out amateur talks about office, barbecues and more barbecues.
Please don’t utter that word…
“Barbecues…” He said “I’m cooking barbecues. Maybe come over and taste some? It’s a perfect weather to savor some!”
“No thanks Mr. Gavin.” I replied.
You see, barbecues are out of my tongue’s taste and Mr. Gavin, out of my mind’s. A complete wreckage of taste for a different lifestyle.
“I have got immense work and my work station is craving for an atrocious amount of attention.” That was my honest excuse, which, I think has always put me in lucrative situations. I can’t expose the bereavement and trauma in the form of negativity and free chants.
“Okay. Well, have you read today’s greatest reporting?” Asked Mr. Gavin.
What do you mean when you refer to a reporting to be specifically great? Almost all the reporting that have made their way to the newspaper in a way are stalwart and equally deserving. You don’t catch a fish by the neck, you consider the whole body. You don’t consider a lobster’s stalks or the behemoth armor that hugs the crustacean; you consider the whole body to call it a lobster in the first place. Likewise, you don’t fix your gaze to a single reporting you extol the entire bunch. How foolish and derogatory of you!
“Umm, what piece?” I could feel the dryness on my lips.
“The one that states Mr. Abercrombie is dead. It was a complete shocker! Haven’t you gone through today’s issue?”
Of course I have you dimwit and what difference does it make anyway?
“Yes, of course.” I replied. “Saddening and agonizing. Truly. My heart goes with the family and to the ones chiefly concerned.”
Well, to be honest, almost my entire life has tasted bittersweet relations and I have always witnessed myself being placed on the pedestal of letting go. ‘The plinth of losses’ is what I have branded it. So, it doesn’t make any sense to weep for the sands the esplanade has already consumed. The waves are meant to be surfed not wept.
“Yes, mine too. What are you up to?” Asked Mr. Gavin.
My hand with the index finger stuck out flickered almost in a slow pace that ultimately rested on the direction where the journey ended at a torn down set of a radio, a partially opened newspaper and a piping hot cup of cambric beverage.
“Ah, you’re busy, I see. No problem, carry on with your worship. Drop by our house if you wish to, once you are free.” Mr. Gavin’s parting words were unapologetically warm and kind. Parting steps alike.