When I was born, I was taught
that eventually I would die and in this death I would also experience a birth,
a kind of confusing yet equally disturbing birth into the hands of the creator
who had paradoxically given me life just so that he could have the pleasure of
controlling it and in the end taking it. How wonderful these notions seem to be,
but now they seem too wonderful, too surreal and too absurd. The only
satisfaction I have got out of all this is the unsatisfactory satisfaction of
questioning and of being puzzled. Self righteous Shepards have cursed me in
hushed tones so that their daring decibels go unheard, drowned by their
obsession with beads and chants. “God is way past your comprehension” “Man can
never understand God” they say, and for me this is just plain old escapism.
When I was born what I and the
rest of the others who celebrated my first coming did not know was that in the
very room there took place another birth, the birth of my the other. As I screamed and twisted, kicking back my legs, squinting-not
wanting another drop of light to disrupt my past year of bliss I failed to
notice on the wall, clothed with not
light there lay peacefully cradled in the arms of a much bigger figure my
very own demon. The demon or the other as
I like to call it, (as it was relative to my own existence) stayed there on the
scaling walls, mimicking my every movement, bathing in our combined experience
of all things that surrounded me and hence it. They named me Uh so I named my the other Oh and as I grew my demon
shadow grew too, it was surreal but it was never lonely. During night time we
used to have quite conversations but his tone was filled a deep sense of
urgency and mine had in it a calm composed passiveness. His oblivion seemed
inevitable at dawn; my long lasting existence seemed invincible. But at the age
of twelve when a friend of mine visited the temple he decided to stay there, I
decided to return and didn’t here from him (my friend X) for 21 years and 33
days, which gave me quite some time, too much time now I realize to spend with
Oh. My skin grew darker and his stayed the same, I now saw a fairy land on
those scaling walls, tasted the plaster and felt ecstasy and began to paint my
self on those lively walls in which Oh resided with un-holy tones of red that
flowed from my body. At the end of the wait Oh whispered “It is time” and now I
could feel my demon Oh and myself Uh unite. It was an inevitable moment I
knew-UhOh and then darkness was what was all around. Uh and Oh were one, yes we
were one and in that state of madness I could sense the nothingness into which
I was dragged grow around us. It was time to hush! Uhoh!
When I was born I never expected
that I would have to go through such a physiological purgatory-this state of
limbo. From such a sleep I hoped to rise but now such hope failed to reassure
me. It was then that another residing phantom of my thoughts (they were my only
friends now, being in a coma and all) said to me “You should hope that your
friend wakes you up.” “Why would he?” “He’s a good man. A bit mad but what the
hell anyone can tolerate a little eccentricity as long as he’s a good fellow” And
as I lay along with Oh in a state of nothingness in which there was nothing of
anything and this was the everything and the sole thing and at the same time the
nothing, I began to hope for my messiah. He would come for the second time in
my life, maybe a bit drunk, maybe a bit tipsy but would see the hieroglyphs on
the wall, immediately understand the implications, race into the void that I
made and wake me up. I would see him coming, clothed in contrast to all that
surrounds me and take me back up or down or wherever is it that I had come
from. This would be the perfect end or the perfect beginning.
When I was born nobody told me
that I would be born again into this
pompous world. But when this event actually took place, after hours or days I
am not sure in which I hoped and prayed that I be taken back into the world and
given a second chance, I found the whole process of coming back rather tiring.
The bright skies were still there, so was my scaly wall, the birds were also
there, just the same as the plaster that gathered below my four walls.
Everything was the same, but the people had changed. There were no more demons.
All the Oh’s had disappeared and the Uh’s, they were in a frenzy, my people
were panicky without their the others. Why? I asked myself till I understood that
there was no real answer. They were panicky because they were not composed. But
all this drama seemed too familiar and then it struck me. I had spread the
disease of hope. Yes, hope was a disease when hope was left loose it fornicated
with faith just the way it had in my state of oblivion. These people around me
now believed that they were going through everything that I went through. I had
carried their destruction on my back and had saved them but they still felt
lost and began to hope that some one would redeem them. The world with it
colours seemed grim to these souls, everything began to crumble. “Save us! We
are righteous” was all I could hear them say. It was too disturbing, that
question and so I decided to remain silent. And as a few more years went by I
saw grey headed clowns doing cheap magic tricks but this time in a comically
pious manner. They began persuading people to look up at the sky, promising
them that there was a better world up there and the sheep looked up but I the
lamb continued to keep by glance at the ground beneath my feet. These people
began to spread rumours of what was to come and these tales were narrated at
public gatherings in which all of them kept staring at the skies in devotion
(event though half of them had turned blind)
When I was born I was told that
God had a plan and nothing goes against this plan. But what I found out was that
the blind considered all possibilities and all conclusions as part of that fool-proof plan, instead of admitting
that the future was something that they really had no idea about.
