How sly can man get? In the race to transform his illusions into reality man has fashioned facts and interpreted phenomena to suit his own pleasure. A brittle, pale, yellow leaf marks the start of ‘gloomy’ autumns while a brighter hue of the same colour sported by a flower pronounces that the ‘beautiful’ spring has set in. This idea does seem mutinous but so is man’s ‘acquired’ instinct towards the pleasant and the pretty.
I confess that my opinion would involuntarily be biased in favour of man – I’m one too but I do have to appreciate that from simple to sophisticated; this expediency has corrupted my mind as well. My likes and dislikes are confined to self-interest. They are superficial. Weather is the easiest forum to discuss. My downright dislike for autumn is solely due to the fact that a dry October always leaves me ‘down-with-influenza’. “Barren” is the word which strikes me each time I see the parched, arid canal bed running through the city. The memories of sultry monsoons and juicy mangoes make my Octobers even drearier. Any meager rainfalls only fail to gild the pill. Unclad trees in silvery haze may seem mystic to some but to me, they too, look like craving for the monsoons.
Obviously, my partiality towards monsoons is again very desultory, very shallow. For me, the monsoon is not unlike cocaine or marijuana. Each time it pours, it flushes me with euphoria, an inexplicable ecstasy and then it does not rain for days! This makes me long for more, crave for more and just when it rains again I am insatiable again.
This is neither an ode to monsoon nor a denunciation of autumn. I just feel how indifferent my concurrent generation has become and how hollow our perception of nature is. Petty things have become prestigious and preferences are limited to trivial causes. This attitude, I fear, has become very common amongst today’s youth. All our passion and strength are focused upon achieving worldly pleasures. We extract our own interests, never bothering to plunge deeper. Mysticism is a far more complicated subject, or else way too ethereal for mundane beings like us. Emotions void of soul and deeds without the gratification of spirit are futile.
We do not ponder any more; we simply do not take it global anymore!
« return.